33. Aryn #2
He pulls back from the embrace, and I let my gaze trace over him—the high braid on his head, the rows of piercings climbing his ears like a ladder.
He’s taller than me now, though our eyes are the same and he carries that same perpetual crease between his brows that always makes us look a little too serious.
His nose is wider and his lips thinner, like his mother’s.
A bittersweet ache settles behind my ribs at the sight.
His eyes dart around my face and down my frame, examining me just as closely.
I wonder if I felt bigger in his memories, like he felt so small in mine.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived,” he says.
“When I heard you were out there alone, I took a search party out to look for you. We must have passed each other on the roads.”
The memory of those passing hoofbeats flashes through my mind. “You were on sylvaren?”
He nods. “We were.”
“I heard the riders pass, but I thought it was more of the Viskari searching for me. I hid.”
“Bah,” Brihn snaps, shaking his head. “They are a plague on this place. We try to wipe them out, but they are like vermin. Always crawling out of their little holes and causing trouble.”
“I just… I can’t believe you’re here,” I say, my voice low with the lingering shock. “You stayed.”
“Of course I stayed,” he answers with a sad smile. “This is our family’s home.”
“What of the others from my time?” I ask.
“Many have moved on, but some are still here, yes. When you heal, we’ll visit everyone. I swear it.”
“My father?” I ask, glancing behind Brihn as if he might suddenly appear.
Brihn’s smile fades, and he slowly shakes his head. “I’m sorry. It’s been many years since his passing.”
Grief is a strange thing. Logic told me I would likely never see any of them again, but it doesn’t take away the pain of learning that as truth. “How did it happen?”
“There was a Drüinae homestead being held captive several days’ ride from here. He led a mission to rescue them, but his crew was ambushed. Grandfather sacrificed himself to get the others home.” He glances up with a sad, knowing smile. “Seems that runs in the family.”
“Seems it does,” I agree, reaching over to squeeze his arm.
“He never stopped looking for you. He'd volunteer for every mission he could to get out there searching. When he was home, he would spend hours on the walls, just waiting. I grew up hearing stories of you every night.”
My eyes squeeze closed as a tear slips loose. “I'm thankful you had him.”
“He knew you'd come back. He never once gave up hope.”
I choke on a wet laugh. “Stubborn old man.”
“The most stubborn,” he agrees. “A trait passed between generations, as luck would have it.”
My lips pull into a bittersweet smile as I wipe my eyes. “What of your old friends?”
“Do you remember Galdren?”
“The one you used to run around with as a child?”
He nods with a fond smile. “The very same. He lives in the capitol now and heads the Vaelor’s royal guard.”
“You keep in touch after all these years?”
A faint flush colors his cheeks as his eyes dart away. “We do, yes.”
A sound from my right pulls my attention. Cato shifts between his feet, timid in a way he rarely allows himself to be. He’s staring at the floor, clearly trying to give us space, and I realize he hasn’t understood a single word we’ve said.
“I’ll give you two some time alone,” Cato says, flashing me an uncertain smile.
My heart feels like it’s being pulled in three different directions at once. The sharp grief of losing my father wars with the overwhelming relief of finding Brihn alive and grown. Both feelings fight for space with the deep, steady rightness of having Cato here beside me.
Brihn surprises me by switching to English. “Please, forgive my rudeness.”
My lips part in a bewildered laugh. “You speak their language.”
“Our library is still one of the largest in the lands,” he explains. “We have many of their writings here, and I have studied their tongue most of my life.”
“That’s incredible,” I say, shaking my head before turning back to Cato. “Please don’t go, rha khor.”
Brihn leans back and crosses his arms, his gaze moving between us. “He is important to you.”
“He is,” I agree. My tail flicks out from behind me, and the glow from my mark shimmers along the walls, dancing with the firelight.
Brihn watches the mark with the same wide-eyed curiosity he had as a child.
“We saw this when you were with the healers. You have been blessed by the dirdira trees?” When I tilt my head in question, he nods toward the mark.
“There are few humans here, but there are tales of those who carry a yellow sun beneath their skin, glowing like the dirdira. I have never seen one in person, only read about it.”
“Show him,” I say to Cato. He nods and pulls off his sweater, revealing the matching mark on his arm.
“This is why we’re here,” I explain. “You know about the divide between our world and the human one?”
He nods. “Yes, though my knowledge comes from the volumes I’ve read. It closed when I was a child.”
“It’s why Zadeus’s army took me,” I say. Brihn watches me carefully, like he’s finally getting answers to questions he’s carried for a lifetime. “I don’t know how much you were told about that day—”
“When he killed my mother and took my father, all in a span of minutes?”
The words land heavily. I glance away for a moment, the memory sharp.
“They threatened you. You were only four years old—just a tiny thing—but that didn’t matter to them.
There was no choice. If I hadn’t agreed to go with them, they would’ve taken me anyway, and they would’ve killed the entire village as punishment. ”
“I know,” he insists, voice steady. “I do not blame you for this. But Zadeus disappeared so long ago, Father. Where have you been?”
My eyes find Cato’s. He seems to understand I need him right now, and he steps closer and sits on the bed beside me, weaving his fingers through mine. “Zadeus took his army through to invade the human lands,” I explain. “He took his scientists with him.”
Brihn’s eyes widen. “You were in the human lands?”
“For nearly the last century. I was on the other side when the veil closed between our worlds, and I have spent every day since trying to find a way back.” My tail flicks again, coiling gently around Cato’s arm as the light between our marks brightens. “There is much I must tell you, son.”
He glances between us, studying the marks for a long moment before he nods. “Let me call for more food, then. This sounds like it will require more than broth.”