Chapter 28 The Hollow Canyon
The Hollow Canyon
More than any of the Major Arcana, the Star reminds us not to give up. No matter how hopeless the outlook, we must hold strong, for light will always follow the darkness.
WHEN WE REACH OUR QUARTERS, they’re empty. No one’s back yet. I’m not sure if I’m happy about that or not. I don’t know how much of this I want to deal with.
Draven paces away from me, hands on his hips as he stares through the expansive windows at the hollow citadel laid out before us.
The moonlight barely touches it now, clouds obscuring the sky beyond the canyon opening above.
Instead, the kingdom twinkles with zenith and lantern lights.
I stay still, and he doesn’t turn around.
He’s the son of the uprising leader and a demigod? Why would they let him live?
“I didn’t—”
“Know. Yeah, you say that a lot.” His tone is frostbitten.
“What do you expect from me? An apology? What my mother has done isn’t my fault.
” Anger heats my words. I’m already struggling with the horrific things I’ve learned.
Every mortal enslaved, or beaten, every death tallied, she had her hands in it the same as the immortals she fought against. The immortals Draven’s real father fought against. “And you lied to me.”
“I told you my father was a rebel.” He clears his throat, unbuttoning the top of his shirt. I kick off my shoes. “I didn’t want to risk getting either of us killed with the truth of who he was. Gods Below, I wish your mother was anyone else.”
“How are you going to get her out of there?” I demand.
“What makes you think I can?” His wings fold around his shoulders.
“We don’t have good options here. King Altair is clearly already looking for her.
If I show too much interest in freeing her to Eldarion, then we’ll be pointing him her way, too.
He’ll put it together, hand her over to Altair or keep her himself, torture her for a cure.
Whoever reverses the Curse will have all the power in the immortal world, as they could lord it over the others, demand fealty or anything they want in return.
If Altair gets it first, he would demand we all join his war against the mortals.
Eldarion would do so in a heartbeat, as would my father despite his resistance to it so far.
Without the Curse, my father could replace me with an heir of his own, all changelings would be at risk, and the mortals would be annihilated should immortals think we don’t need them—”
“I’m hearing a lot of excuses,” I spit, “but this was our deal. Or did you forget? It doesn’t end because you don’t like her. Use your station to end the binding!”
“She was right in that I have little choice. And we made that deal before I knew who you were, who she was. I can’t just go and steal her in the night, it could start a war with the elves—”
“You can’t take my father back because he’s part of Altair’s court. Now you can’t save my mother because she belongs to some little lord? You’re the Blood Prince of Sedah! And apparently the son of the Bastard King of Mortals! A half god!”
“Yes, and you’re the daughter of Reina the Ravager!
” he snarls back. Draven searches his pockets, finding a tin, and pulls out something to smoke.
Fire flashes right out of his hand, the World tattoo alighting for a wild moment.
He takes a deep inhale. He rubs his forehead with the heel of his palm, smoke curling around him.
“Draven, I didn’t know who my mother was, I thought I was a nobody! That I came from nobodies!” Why can’t he see how hard this was for me tonight? Why can’t he look past himself?
“You’ve never been a nobody. Neither have I.”
The coldness in his voice makes me hurl my words. “How did you not recognize my father? You knew my mother, but if my father was some general—”
“I’d barely been around Riordan; he was off fighting. Your mom was with the families and my father. I didn’t even know his name.” He takes a puff. “But Altair knows who you are. Who your mom was. Depending on what your father’s told him.”
“Does King Altair know who you are?”
“Yes, one of many reasons I didn’t want to be engaged to his daughter and stuck in Nevaeh. He loathes my birth father.” He runs a hand through his hair. “The royals know where I hail from, but no one else does. It’s … complicated for me to talk about.”
His arms fold, tucking tightly across his chest. “I thought you were in danger because of the prophecy alone, but for Altair it’s more than that.
You’re the daughter of a rebellion leader, the alchemist who developed the Curse alongside my father.
If he finds out she’s alive, then you’re crucial to forcing her into compliance.
And not just her.” He runs his hands through his hair in frustration.
He can’t seem to look at me, my heart is pounding so hard I can barely stand up straight.
“Equal partners, Draven,” I remind him. “I’m not your blackmail, not your weakness on a path to power. Partners.”
Draven shakes his head, rubbing his temples, lost in his own thoughts. “Altair knows the truth, but no one can know she’s alive, or who she is. If it gets out, there’s no place safe for you. Your brother might be hunted down, too, as leverage to get her to cure it.”
I hate the truth of his words. My frustration spills over. “I guess our deal is at an end then. If you can’t bring my family to me or protect us, I’m not throwing myself into danger to help you secure a crown I don’t even want—”
“I’m the only chance you have, and I will return your family to you.
I just need time to think.” His arms fold across his chest as if he’s not sure whether he wants to plead or argue.
“And I still fucking need you, Rune. We made a vow. At the end of this, I want you seated on the throne with me. So, we can see this through. Vengeance for us, justice for everyone. I thought that was your wish?”
What I’ve learned weighs me down slowly—what he hid, what she did.
“What do you wish for, Draven? Beyond power?”
He blinks at the question. “I told you. I want a partner.”
“Why?” I throw up my hands. With his ancestry, it seems whatever life throws at him, a crown awaits at the end of every road. Son of a rebel leader. Son of a goddess. Son of a king.
“I’ve never had an equal until you walked into my life. Never someone I could trust.”
“What about your friends? They practically worship you—”
“My assigned friends, you mean. Every person I’ve known has been cultivated and chosen by my father, or a royal advisor, or some manipulative courtier. Except you.” He pauses, swallowing. “I thought you wanted this, too.”
“That was before—” But I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence.
Before what, before I started falling for him?
Pathetic. I flinch, changing the subject.
“Why should I believe your greed won’t lead you to using me to get to the throne and wanting it all to yourself in the end?
You see an equal in me? Or equal power to be used? ”
He steps back as if I’ve slapped him. He asks in a pained whisper, “Is it really so hard for you to believe that I don’t want to do this alone?
That I don’t want to be abandoned by yet another person?
That I just … want …” He swallows hard, but confesses, so quiet it’s like a prayer hissed at the gallows, “to be loved?”
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that, not that kind of vulnerability, nor the truth dropped into the room like a bomb. I’m stunned, silent.
His jaw clenches, nose scrunching like he’s suppressing a growl, and I’ve never seen him fidget so much. “Am I always going to be a monster to you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” He flinches and his voice breaks. “Keep your shields up.”
My tattoo burns like I’ve been branded. Shit. Do I really think of him like that? Like he’s just one of them? And who is them? The immortals? The rebels? The gods themselves? He’s all and none.
“Draven,” I say, but he stalks up the stairs instead, spine straight, shutting the door with a snap.
This space seems too large suddenly without Draven here, like dangers could lurk in any shadow.
Breathing hard, I cross over to the hidden spying closet, opening it and slipping inside, the walls around me a comfort, like shields at my back.
I slump onto the floor, trying to gather my breath.
My hands comb through my hair, and the overwhelming emotions of everything that happened come flooding out of me.
I’m glad he’s not here to see me break.
I’m dying that he’s not here to make it better.
Knowing what my mother’s done … what does it say about me if I still love her? What’s it say if I don’t?
And Draven … I need to talk to him. I should go up those stairs right now. I need his apology. I need to apologize. Yell. Anything. All of it.
Yet I feel glued to this space, terrified to cross the threshold of that door. Not because he’s a monster.
But because I’m afraid I am.
THE NEXT DAY the tension strung between Draven and I grows more palpable by the minute.
We portal to the zenith site in silence.
The others, his friends, guards, and an elven envoy, make small talk around us.
I can’t bring myself to say anything. I wouldn’t even know where to start.
There’s still too much roiling inside me to sort through.
The zenith is located in a strange box canyon, which rises at least a hundred feet on either side of us in shades of gray, veins of white and cinnamon etched onto either wall. Draven’s clearly displeased about the elves escorting us, though at least they brought a pack of horses for us to ride.
“Why are Mom and Dad fighting?” Malik whispers to Fable, as Draven silently helps me up onto an all-black steed, his body pressed behind mine. We sit molded together, but we may as well be miles apart.