35. Aryn
Aryn
Two days pass in a blur of activity. I spend more time than I’d like confined to bed or bound to chairs in the common areas, but the healers here are skilled. Now that I’m warm, fed, and safe, my body is healing the way it should.
Cato barely leaves my side. He fusses constantly—bringing me food, escorting me from place to place, and steadying me when my leg stiffens up. I feel like a damn village elder.
I can’t pretend I don’t love the attention, though. Every time I catch him watching me with that worried, protective look, this growing thing inside my chest swells a little bigger and takes up a little more space.
Brihn visits often, and we talk for hours.
He tells me how the village has grown and changed in my absence.
One sunny afternoon we sit by the fire outside while he shows me old journals he kept as a boy, filled with pages of questions about the father who vanished.
I answer as many as I can, fighting a smile as he jots notes and carefully records every response.
A scholar, like me—happiest with his nose buried in a book.
He’s patient with me in a way that hurts.
If he was angry at my absence or indifferent at my arrival, it might be easier to swallow than this easy acceptance into his life.
He so readily makes a place for me to belong with him, and it only makes me grieve the years that were stolen from us that much more.
I’m grateful he was surrounded by love in my absence—I only wish I could take credit for the incredible male he’s become. Mostly, I’m just thankful he survived.
After some nasty weather caused a delay, riders left for the Vaelor’s palace on the second morning.
Brihn dispatched them with a letter to Galdren, explaining our urgent need for a private audience.
He assures me Galdren is not only reliable but has the Vaelor’s ear. Now we can only wait for their reply.
In the afternoons, I take the others through the village, showing them around as much as I’m rediscovering it for myself.
Maelithryne has changed. The market square is larger now, lined with new stalls and shops selling goods from all over Elyra.
Food and necessities are prevalent, yes, but there’s also literature and art.
Large wool tapestries, painted canvases of mountain ranges and fields of wildflowers, and hand-written stories bound in leather.
My old study is now a classroom. These tables were once covered in tomes, parchment and samples, but now they’re clean and neat with perfectly spaced chairs for students. The oversized wooden desk sits in the same corner, and Cato holds my hand as I drag my fingers over the familiar worn top.
So many late nights were spent here by lantern light, reading hastily scribbled notes about how conditions of plants affected the livelihood of the avian creatures, or how a full moon brought more energy to the trees. It’s always been fascinating to me—how things work together. How they connect.
I try to explain the research in a way that communicates just how exciting my studies could be, but when Cato stifles a yawn, I kiss him instead.
He’s far more interested in that connection.
The bakery on the eastern terrace is still there, though the woman who once ran it has passed it to her daughter.
I recognize a few familiar faces. A Dreven female who used to sell me bread as a child now runs a vark shop, with strands of silver weaving through her hair and new lines wrinkling her face.
She cries when she sees me, careful of my injuries as she pulls me into a hug.
Several of my father’s old inner circle remain, as much a part of this place’s foundation as the walls themselves.
We spend hours sitting around platters of fresh-baked pastries and steaming mugs of vark.
I show Ronan and Lillith the old training grounds where I first learned to fight.
They’ve expanded them, adding covered arenas for winter sparring.
The textile workshops have also grown, and Taryn watches, fascinated, as the weavers spin wool and boil dyes.
Cameron favors the library, and spends a long time poring over maps and thumbing through books.
Cato stays close to my side the entire time.
The days are busy, but we steal moments when we can—slipping into a dark corner of the library or into a quiet alcove between shops.
He kisses me like he can’t help himself.
Slow and deep, full of relief and a hunger that keeps building.
This need for him fills every part of me, from the crown of my head straight to my toes.
Cato is learning to speak openly with me, but he still communicates best with his body.
When he squeezes my waist, he’s holding himself back, and when his hands slide under my shirt to drag against my skin, his composure is slipping.
He holds me at night, damn near wrapping himself around me, and I know it’s because of the guilt he carries for letting me be the one to save him.
I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, but we haven’t taken things further. I’m still healing, and something in me needs the timing to feel right. It needs to be intentional, not rushed in the haze of painkillers and exhaustion.
On the evening of the third day, I leave Cato at dinner with the others. He eyes me curiously when I tell him I have business to handle, but he doesn’t argue as I step out. I find Brihn in his study. He’s reviewing messages, poring over the pages with that same focused intensity he had as a boy.
“I have something for you,” I say, leaning against the doorframe.
Brihn glances up, one brow raised. “Oh?”
I step forward, holding out the sigil ring that’s been around my neck since the day they took me from his side. “My father passed this ring to me when I took my place as head of the family. It was such a moment of pride, and one I never forgot. I never had that chance with you.”
Brihn’s face is anguished as he lets me place the ring and chain in his palm. “This is yours—”
“It was always my wish to pass it along to my son,” I interrupt.
“I planned out the whole thing in my head, even when you were just a tiny thing. I’d wait until you were ready, then I’d sit you down and tell you what a beautiful responsibility it is to lead others.
” A soft, sad laugh leaves me. “But we’re long past that conversation now.
I couldn’t be more proud of who you’ve become, Brihn. This is yours now.”
He takes a long, deep inhale and nods. “It is unfair, isn’t it?”
“Everything about this is unfair,” I agree quietly.
“Can I confess something?”
My brows pinch as I nod for him to continue. “Of course.”
“My riders could’ve handled the weather just fine. I delayed them on purpose.”
“Why?”
He sighs, twirling the ring in his hand. “Because you are here on a mission, Father, and I am no fool. When you achieve what you came here for, you will return to the human realm. Is it… is that home for you now?”
“Home is with the people I love,” I answer, my throat thick. “Home is two worlds, Brihn. I have loved you every second of every day since the moment you were born, and I have never once stopped trying to find my way back to you.”
“And Cato?”
I glance away, staring at the orange flames that crackle in the fireplace. “Does it bother you? To see me with another?”
“Bother me?” he repeats, waiting until I look up at him to continue.
“I was very young when Mother was killed, but above all else, I remember her kindness. She would want you happy. She would never expect you to live a lifetime of solitude in her memory.” He hesitates, then says, “You love him. That much is clear.”
I huff out a frustrated laugh. “Gods, he might run for the hills if he heard you say that.”
“Why?” Brihn asks with a frown.
I shake my head with a small, reassuring smile. “Things are new between us. Cato has lost people, too. He needs time to work past his fear of it happening again, and I certainly didn’t help matters when I left him in the forest.”
His frown pulls deeper. “You were protecting him.”
“I know that. He knows that, truthfully, but he needs to process it in his own way. He’s fretting over me like a nursemaid right now, and I’m afraid if he doesn’t get a break from it soon, he’ll start seeing me as a decrepit old male.”
“It isn’t a weakness to allow others to care for you,” he scolds.
“I know. I do. I just… I want to… court him. Properly.”
Brihn’s face eases into something teasing. “I always heard you were a smooth talker. Are you telling me those were lies?”
“Sweet words would convince Cato to do very little,” I say with a fond smile. “He’s likely to do the opposite out of pure stubbornness.”
“Actions over words, then,” he muses. He thinks for a moment before his expression softens. “What about the hot springs?”
“They’re still there, even with the weather?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes, just as warm as they ever were. The valley is private, and even though it’s outside the walls, it’s close enough that we’ve never had problems there. You could take a picnic. Good wine, warm blankets, lanterns. The moons are bright this week. It would be beautiful.”
I nod slowly, already picturing it. “That sounds perfect.”
Brihn stands and claps me on the shoulder. “I’ll have a basket prepared for you tomorrow night. Try not to scare him off before then.”
I huff. “I managed to get him this far, didn’t I?”
“Pure luck, I’m sure,” Brihn says, failing to hide his smile. “I’m happy for you, Father. Truly. She would be, too.”