Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Iryana couldn’t stop staring at the forged dagger she had formed in the dakya’s head. Black, soulless eyes bordered in blue-gray fur stared at her.
With a shudder, the beast collapsed beside her, jerking her arm that still held the dagger, and Iryana just kept staring. She couldn’t believe it had worked. She pulled back her magic, her blade disappearing, and blood gushing out of the wound.
“Iryana, are you alright?”
Iryana turned, eyes wide, head spinning, to see her team racing through the trees. It was Lidishta that was somehow closest. Her usual sneer was replaced with something softer.
“How did you find me?” Iryana asked weakly, not sure how to answer.
Had they seen what she’d done? Had she just imagined it?
“The soldiers at the wagon told us what direction you had run in.” Pyetar stormed toward her, eyes still searching the trees. “It isn’t hard to track a pack racing through the forest. Where are the rest of them?”
“The cliff.” Talking was getting harder, her body shaking slightly. “They went over.”
Vaneshta dropped to her knees at Iryana’s side, eyes wild and her braid nearly undone. “You’re bleeding.”
Iryana sat there in a daze as more soldiers surrounded her, some staring over the cliff’s edge and some standing guard. Vaneshta started removing Iryana’s armor, and Iryana jerked with surprise when Lidishta kneeled down to help, eyeing her suspiciously.
“You took on an entire pack on your own,” Lidishta snapped. “So stop moving?”
When the leather peeled away from her red-stained shirt, it revealed an arc of puncture wounds below her left collarbone. The wounds weren’t as deep as she’d thought, though they stung, and it hurt to move.
The world seemed fuzzy and sluggish, things moving incredibly slowly, but somehow she was still missing things, like she kept jumping forward in time to catch up.
With a blanket wrapped around her body, someone pulled her to her feet. She recognized she was close to passing out, but Iryana forced herself to stay conscious. The soldiers kept looking at her in awe and amazement, and she had to stop herself from frowning at them.
“They were charging the fort,” a soldier remarked.
“Abandoned her post, left the other soldiers weaker, recklessly chased after a whole pack, could have gotten multiple soldiers killed,” Vaneshta mumbled, not happy. “But it’s fine because she saved the fort.”
Iryana shrank from Vaneshta’s reprimand.
Pyetar scoffed. “That’s dramatic.”
Iryana agreed, but perhaps if Karvek heard about it, he would appreciate the accomplishment. Or scorn her along with the others.
She watched Vaneshta walk away, discomfort crawling across her skin.
Iryana sort of felt like that dakya, willing to sacrifice itself for its cause, but Vaneshta wouldn’t understand that. She did not know what truly drove Iryana, who she was trying to protect. Vaneshta could only see her being reckless and the danger that put the others in.
When she was sitting on the cart, heading back toward Myura River, Pyetar walked beside her. Each bump and rock sent bursts of pain through her body, but she stared down the anger in his eyes. The rest of the soldiers spread further out, perhaps avoiding Pyetar and his mood.
“You’re off scouting until after the fights,” he said softly so no one else could hear.
Iryana jerked. Karvek’s night of fights was over a week away.
“You can’t do that,” Iryana argued. “I need a day, maybe two, and then I will be ready to go back on duty.”
Pyetar looked her over, lips slightly tilted. “You need to heal. Take the time to rest, and then you can continue throwing your life at every beast you encounter.”
“I am not being careless,” Iryana snapped before she realized that yes, she had been.
Pyetar laughed dryly, looking away from her and into the patchy canopy above them. “Why did you come back? You shouldn’t have.”
Iryana took a slow breath in, trying to calm her anger. She hated being told what to do, hated him telling her what to do. But she couldn’t deny that what she was doing wasn’t enough.
Her hand gripped the edge of the cart, unable to stop herself from leaning back more.
“This is my only home now,” she answered coldly instead. “Where else would I go?”
Pyetar only shook his head, but his eyes softened. Iryana looked away, realizing she preferred letting the darkness have her over facing Pyetar and his questions. So she leaned back and closed her eyes.
It wasn’t long after they returned to the fort that Karvek summoned Iryana to his study.
Her pulse jumped as she entered, gaze flicking to where he sat.
He wasn’t behind his desk like usual, but sprawled across a low leather couch, one arm draped across the back like he owned the world.
His black uniform cut sharp lines against the pale blue-gray dakya skin thrown beneath him.
The fortress outside his window was draped in muted grays, but the room was warmly lit on the inside.
He didn’t look up right away, just let her stand there in silence watching him. Uncertainty rose until it wrapped around her throat.
“Shut the door, Iryana,” he said finally, voice calm. Controlled.
She hurried to obey, suddenly hyperaware of her loose braid, still laced with leaves and dirt, and how helpless she looked.
The left side of her chest was bandaged thickly to cover the seeping wounds below her collarbone, with that arm in a sling and tied to her waist to keep her from disrupting the healing. The medic had called her fidgety.
She tried not to fidget now beneath Karvek’s intense stare.
And worse than all that, she felt raw. Exposed. Battered on the inside even more than the outside.
Karvek patted the couch beside him. “Sit.”
Iryana crossed the room and lowered herself stiffly beside him, careful not to jostle her injury.
“I just heard the debrief.” His tone was unreadable. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
She blinked in surprise.
“I’ll be fine in a few days,” she said softly. “Nothing to worry about.”
“You were impressive.” He paused. “Though my brother didn’t seem to think so.”
Her breath caught.
Why did you come back? You shouldn’t have. That’s what Pyetar had said.
Iryana felt entirely untethered, like her loose hold on her place in the world was slipping from her grasp. She suddenly, desperately, needed to know that Karvek would truly not turn away from the pain inside her.
“I think he was… upset with my recklessness. Sergeant Vaneshta was too,” she muttered, the ache in her ribs flaring. “They almost seemed upset I didn’t fail.”
“They’re all fools,” Karvek said flatly. “So worried about approval and not upstaging each other.” He leaned closer, voice low. “You don’t need their praise. Their approval.”
She swallowed. That was what he’d said before—what had helped her get through those first months.
But it was exhausting pretending she didn’t care. Pretending she was fine.
“I try,” she said. “But it’s like I’m broken and everyone can tell. But I can’t hide it or let them in without making it worse.”
Karvek stilled. “Your pain isn’t a flaw, Iryana. It’s clarity. So you can see how the world works.”
She turned to him, startled.
“You can’t get rid of the pain without falling back into ignorance. Embrace it. You’re not weak.”
Her throat tightened.
“I barricaded it,” she whispered. “The pain. Like it’s like this festering wound that won’t heal, and I need to keep everyone away from it. I don’t know how else to live with it.”
Karvek tilted his head, considering her. Gaze sharp as a metal-forged blade. “Then don’t just live with it. Use it. Cut with it.”
She could only stare.
“You are better for it,” he continued.
A twisted kind of comfort coiled through her chest. He wasn’t telling her to heal, to change. To be better. He was telling her she was enough already, broken as she was. That it was a weapon she could use to be stronger.
She’d seen Karvek kill people. Knew he planned to wage war against the other brigades. Yet somehow, he was the only person who could accept her, jagged edges and all.
“Do you want me to take you off your team?” he asked casually. “You don’t belong with them. I can give you solo work, something worthy of your talents.”
Her heart beat too fast.
The thought was tempting. No more sitting with the team in the hall for dinner. No more awkward marches through the woods. No more of Pyetar’s judgment. But… something inside her resisted.
“I don’t want to burden you,” she answered carefully, slowly. “I think your advice will make it easier for me on the team. But I’d still be glad to take on extra work. If you need me.”
Karvek didn’t answer right away. He studied her with that unreadable calm, then set his journal aside and leaned in, voice low.
“You don’t have to prove anything to them,” he said. “Not when you’ve already proven yourself to me.”
The words slid beneath her skin like a balm. She didn’t know how to respond. Her throat tightened.
“Let them struggle to understand you. Let them judge,” he continued. “You don’t need them. You never did.”
His hand brushed the back of the couch near her shoulder—not touching, but deliberately close.
“You’ve fought so hard to keep the world out. You could stop fighting, Iryana. Just… be what you are. And with me, you’d never have to apologize for it.”
It was tempting. Gods, it was tempting.
With him, she didn’t have to explain herself. Didn’t have to struggle to earn every scrap of trust. She could keep the walls up and call it armor. And Karvek was making her believe it could be enough.
She could picture it—staying at Karvek’s side after she’d done what she could for her family. Growing comfortable with all the parts of her that’d been shattered.
Karvek studied her a moment longer, then stood.
“I’ll give you some time,” he said, low and unhurried. “To settle in. Test your footing with the others. Let you see what they can offer you.”
Iryana’s breath caught.
His tone wasn’t cold. It was patient and indulgent. Like she was already his, and he was waiting for her to realize it. His gaze lingered on her face, and for one fractured second, she didn’t feel weak under it. She felt chosen.
Then he leaned closer, voice a whisper just for her: “Why keep clawing for a place in their world, when you already have one in mine?”
And then he left her there—surrounded by warmth, silence, and the echo of the door clicking softly shut.