Chapter 45
Amara
We spend hours more planning, until dusk bleeds into midnight and the night itself begins to tremble toward dawn. Yet no matter what scenario we prepare for, no matter how many outcomes we twist and turn in our minds, the beginning is always the same.
I must open the portal, and I must bleed to do it.
When all is said and every argument spent, when our voices have grown hoarse and raw, we fall into silence.
It settles thickly over us, heavy and fragile all at once.
No one speaks. Not for a long while. Each of us trapped in our own thoughts, our own fears and hopes, with the same aching hunger to see Estra again.
No one dares speak the truth that gnaws beneath it all.
We do not know if she still lives.
To say it aloud would be to give despair wings and none of us are ready to watch hope fly away.
It is Orios who finally breaks the silence, his voice graveled and rough.
“What about the Tenders?” He clears his throat. “Can they aid us in An’kel?”
Daed shakes his head before I can answer. “I told Keeper Erania we would accept their aid, but these people have suffered enough. I won’t see them wiped from the earth.”
“They are not afraid to fight,” I say quietly.
Daed’s hand finds my shoulder, gentle but firm.
“I know, wife. I meant no slight. The Tenders have warrior blood, as fierce as any Fae. But I would not curse them with what we are about to face. What waits in An’kel will haunt those who survive.
” His jaw tightens, his voice falling low. “If any survive.”
Zyphoro’s voice cuts through the air. “What of the Legion dogs?” She jerks her chin toward the window, to the den where a few dozen prisoners are packed shoulder to shoulder.
“Yes,” Ronin growls. “Let them be fodder. Throw them in first.”
Daed shakes his head again. “Leave them where they are. I will take care of them.”
Zyphoro raises an eyebrow and stalks forward. She jabs a finger into Daed’s stomach.
He jerks back, scowling. “What was that for?”
“I was expecting to find your belly soft and pillowy,” she replies sweetly, “with all the sappy drivel you’ve been spewing lately.”
A ripple of restrained laughter circles the room. Even Ronin smirks.
“Because I won’t slaughter prisoners?” Daed asks, incredulous.
“Exactly,” Zyphoro snaps, arms crossed like a petulant child. “I was rather looking forward to it.”
“As was I,” Ronin mutters under his breath.
But the Fae hear him. Their ears are as sharp as their tempers.
“Leave our prince be,” Solena interjects, her voice silken but commanding enough to quiet the room. She looks up at Orios, her hand sliding into his massive one. “He’s given his orders. Now let us rest…” her eyes soften, “…and spend what precious time we have with those we love.”
Zyphoro rolls her eyes, throwing her hands up. “If I’m going to war with a god, I need to loosen my wrists first. I’ll be in the forest. Target practice.”
My brow furrows, and she sighs dramatically.
“Not on your precious creatures, Jewel. Only trees. I promise.”
“Trees have souls too, you know,” I remind her.
She groans. “I imagine the rocks do as well?”
“They do,” I say, fighting the smile tugging at my mouth.
Her glare sharpens. “Then I’ll throw my daggers at the air. Surely that’s not sacred?”
“Air should be fine,” I reply, deadpan.
Zyphoro mutters something about sanctimonious nature-priests under her breath, then strides to the window. With one boot on the sill, she flashes us a sharp grin.
“Try not to die before I get back,” she says just before she jumps.
Reon groans as he pushes himself to his feet. “Looks like everyone’s pairing off. Guess that leaves me with the human.”
Ronin doesn’t even look up. “Touch me and I’ll snap both your hands off at the wrists.”
Reon lifts his hands in surrender. “Didn’t mean it. Not entirely.” He tucks his hands behind his back for good measure. “Maybe I’ll go throw things at the air with Zyphoro instead.”
He follows her lead literally by vaulting through the open window, his laughter echoing faintly as his wings catch the wind.
The Blades disperse, and Solena and Orios exchange a knowing glance, also deciding to take the long way down, hand in hand.
Ronin lingers behind me for a moment. “I’m going to find the blacksmith,” he says. “I’ll be ready when it’s time.”
I nod. He lifts his gaze to Daed, who’s already watching him.
“Daedalus,” Ronin says with an acknowledging dip of his head.
Daed straightens, shoulders squaring. “In battle,” he replies, “you call me Rook.”
Ronin doesn’t understand the full meaning of what Daed has just offered him, few would, but the solemn look in his eyes says he feels the weight of it all the same.
“Rook, then,” he says simply, before turning and following the others down the stairs.
When they’re gone, Daed leans forward on the table, palms braced, shoulders heavy with thought. I step behind him, sliding my hands around his waist, pressing my nose against the warm line of his spine.
“Come, husband,” I murmur. “Solena is right. We should rest. I would hold you a long while before the end.”
He turns his head just enough that I catch his storm-gray eyes over his shoulder.
“I want that too,” he says quietly, “forever and always.”
His breath leaves him rough, uneven. “But I can’t still my mind.”
My hands trail up his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palms.
“Do you need me to distract you?” I whisper.
He tips his head back, a rumbling moan slipping out as he laces my fingers over his chest.
“Fuck yes. I’ve been able to think of nothing else since you rubbed yourself all over me in the river.”
He turns in one fluid motion, palms circling my wrists, pulling me flush against him. I smile, teeth catching my bottom lip as he leans in, only for him to freeze, breath stalling just as heat licks through me.
“What is it?” I ask, brow arching. “Am I not as enticing as I was a second ago?”
He gives a half-grin, a flimsy mask, then shakes his head as his gaze catches mine.
“You are all I want. All I think of.”
“Then what?” I press.
He drags a finger along his cheek, pressing hard into his temple as if trying to burrow through bone.
“Even your heat wrapped around my cock would not stop the noise,” he says. “Even as sweet as you taste on my tongue when you come,” he leans close to my ear, voice a rasp, “and you will come… if I am to rid this world of Gygarth, and reunite us with Estra, I need the voices to quiet.”
If he’s trying to stop me from wanting him to take me on this table, he is doing a painfully poor job. I drag in a breath, steadying the ache curling low in my belly.
“Then how can I help you, husband? Tell me.”
He goes still, thinking, chin lifting as I slide my nose along the sharp line of his jaw. He hums, deep in thought.
Then he stills completely, as if a notion has struck fast and clean.
“Zema,” he says.
I nod. “Your friend who was Awakened?”
“She had the power to bring back memories so vivid, so real that I felt as if I were living them all over again. It took away the noise. Can you…” Then he shakes his head. “No, you have already given so much of yourself.”
“And I will continue to give.” I straighten my shoulders and clear my throat. “Now…how do I do it?”
“I’m not sure. Zema just…did it.”
“Then kneel,” I tell him.
His brow arches, a slow, teasing grin curving his lips. But he obeys, sinking to his knees before me, gaze burning as it drifts down my body like a touch. His hands find the backs of my thighs, strong fingers curling against my skin.
I cradle his face between my palms, my thumbs brushing the stubble along his jaw before sliding upward. My fingers sink into his hair, silken and damp against my hands. “Stay still,” I whisper, though my voice wavers under the weight of his nearness. “And close your eyes.”
He exhales, the sound a low, amused rumble that vibrates against my palms. But he does as he’s told, lashes lowering, head tilting forward until his breath warms the inside of my wrist.
I focus, centering myself as the power stirs. My veins hum, threads of green light shimmering faintly beneath the surface. The moment my fingers touch his temples, it begins.
A prickling warmth races through me. Flashes of memory burst behind my eyes, blinding shards of Daed’s life.
Fire. Screams. Steel and blood.
A child’s cry cut short.
A kiss in a storm.
A battlefield of smoke.
Too violent. Too painful. I push them aside, weaving through the chaos until I hear a sound.
Soft and pure. A baby’s soft breaths.
The vision steadies. A bed of furs, pale light spilling through a porthole, and a tiny hand reaching from the blankets, a red ribbon tied around a chubby wrist. My heart twists when I see her. Estra.
Daed kneels beside her. His smile trembles as he holds out a finger, and their hands meet, his massive and calloused, hers impossibly small as she curls her entire fist around him.
“Yes,” I whisper. “This is the one.”
Daed flinches beneath my touch, and his whole body shudders as the memory floods through him.
I watch as color warms his skin, as the furrow in his brow softens. The corner of his mouth lifts into something bright, something unguarded. A breathless laugh escapes him, quiet but full, like sunlight breaking through cloud.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, lost in the memory, but when he at last opens his eyes and looks up at me, there’s something different in his. The storm in his eyes has quieted to a calm tide, and in its reflection I see us both as we were, as we might still be.
His hands slide higher, tracing the shape of me, the warmth of me, until they find my hips.
Gently, he pulls me down, guiding me into his lap.
His breath catches; mine follows. His fingers trace the bite marks on my neck before sliding into my hair, threading deep until his palm cups the back of my head, just beneath my ear.
His other hand finds the curve of my waist, resting there as he pulls me closer.