Chapter 36 #3
Iryana slowly opened the door, peering anxiously into the waiting darkness. She could just make out the shape of the bed and the small window.
She could smell the faint bitterness of dried herbs and sweat, and beneath that, the faint hint of blood.
“Hadima?” Iryana whispered, voice raw and brittle. Tears clung to her lashes, threatening to fall.
Please, she begged silently. Let her be okay.
There was no answer.
She crossed the room, her steps dragging.
Every part of her resisted, afraid of what she’d find when she closed that distance.
When she came to the side of the bed, she paused.
Reaching her hand out, she slowly and carefully lowered it onto the bed.
Her fingers touched the worn fabric of her sister’s quilt, and she felt her sister’s body beneath the blanket.
“Hadima?” she asked again, urgency creeping into her voice.
At first, there was no answer, just a slight rustling that Iryana thought she might be imagining. But the voice that followed was real, dry and rasping.
“Iryana?”
Her knees buckled, and she grabbed the edge of the side table to keep herself upright. A shuddered breath tore out of her as relief swept through her body.
“It’s me. I’m here,” she said, the words catching in her throat.
“What are you doing—can you light the lantern?”
“Yeah.” Iryana wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, fumbling for the lantern on her sister’s table.
Light erupted into the shadowed room.
She turned, almost afraid to look. The only sound was the slide of her shoes as she slowly turned.
Hadima looked awful, but very much alive.
Darkening purple bruises speckled her face and the scoop of neck visible above her nightdress.
Pillows were propping up one of her legs.
She seemed thinner than she had before; an exhausted weariness in her eyes.
Eyes that were watching Iryana with a sad intensity.
Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure how to start. Years of regret and pain, so much pain, there was too much to say.
“I—” she started, but guilt choked her.
Hadima filled the silence. “Tonhald said you carried me all the way back.”
“You were unconscious,” she murmured, twisting her fingers together.
“He said you were barely standing. That you almost collapsed.”
“I’m fine.” But the words came out too fast, too defensive. “I was just tired.”
Hadima frowned, and then shifted, trying to sit up—but the movement caused her to cry out.
Without thinking, Iryana rushed forward to ease her back down against the pillows. But as soon as she was comfortable, Iryana retreated to the far side of the room, putting distance back between them.
“What are you doing here?”
“I had to come.” She swallowed, looking away. “To apologize. Before I go.”
“Go?” Hadima’s voice sharpened, panicked. “Go where?”
Iryana stared at the floor.
“I’m not coming back to the post.”
“What?” Hadima started trying to sit again, wincing. “I’m sorry I didn’t kill him. I’ll try again—don’t give up on us yet.”
“This isn’t because of you, I promise. This isn’t your fault.” Iryana flicked her eyes up to find tears streaming down Hadima’s face. “I can’t protect any of you. If I stay, I’ll only make things worse. I always do. I can’t keep pretending.”
Hadima was crying now. “I don’t understand; I’m the one that messed up.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry for everything. For thinking I could save us. For going to the brigade. For failing. For not being enough.”
“Iryana…”
The last defenses she’d kept around the pain inside of her cracked, and then crumbled. Crashing over her.
“I couldn’t hold our family together.” She dropped to her knees at the side of the bed, sobbing. “I ruined everything. Mom left because of me. I broke everything.”
Hadima reached for her hand, pulling her close.
“Stop.”
“I’m sorry I made her go,” Iryana cried, barely able to get the words out. “Ever since Dad—since he got hurt—it’s like there was this rot inside of me. I poison everything I touch.”
“Do you really believe that?” Hadima’s voice was quiet. Soft.
“I’m broken, Hadima.”
Hadima flinched. “Mom leaving wasn’t your fault. I should have been there.”
“You were training—”
“I should have been there,” Hadima snapped, voice cracking.
“I didn’t want to be; I was scared of his injury, of his pain.
I knew how hard it would be, and I ran from it.
Abandoning you.” Hadima sucked in a sob.
“I wasn’t as strong as you. I knew it would be hard, and I jumped at the chance to leave. ”
Iryana reared back, stunned.
“Mom didn’t blame you,” Iryana said. “She was proud of you.”
“She was a coward,” Hadima said bitterly. “Just like me.” Hadima was crying so hard her shoulders were shaking. “We failed you. And Misha.”
“No,” Iryana shushed, leaning in to wrap herself around Hadima as gently as she could.
Hadima clung to her. “I thought you hated me. I thought that was why you left.”
“I could never hate you.”
“You should.”
“No. I shouldn’t.” Iryana squeezed her eyes shut. “I was jealous that you got to stay with the cousins, and I missed you so much. But I never blamed you, never hated you.”
Hadima was quiet for a moment before the words came out in one big sob.
“I try so hard to make up for it.” She sucked in a wail. “So they forget how selfish I was. So they keep loving me.”
Iryana stared in shock at her sister. “How could they not love you? You’re perfect.”
She had never once questioned that everyone loved Hadima unconditionally. She was whole in a way that Iryana wasn’t.
“No, I’m not.” She laughed between sobs. “I’m barely holding it together. I am exhausted and pushing myself too hard. And I just—I can’t say no. To anything.”
It was strange watching her sister fall apart. Strange to realize that Hadima struggled like she did. That she just hid it better.
She’d put her sister on a pedestal, put all the Kleesolds on one, really.
But they all had their own scars, their own torments.
She’d been so oblivious to Hadima’s pain.
Even after their dad died and Hadima was trying so hard to push her to be with the others.
To fit in. That was Hadima’s coping mechanism.
To pretend. To make everyone else happy and hope it rubbed off on her.
A bit of shame curled up inside her.
Iryana rubbed her sister’s arm while they lay there, trying to come to terms with it all, until Hadima’s breaths were slow again.
“And I’ve always said ‘no’ too much,” Iryana offered quietly.
Hadima offered a sad smile. “But you’ve always tried to help anyway, even though you kept saying you didn’t want to be part of the family. Don’t think we never noticed.”
“It’s just,” Iryana whispered. “I don’t know how to act around the family, around you. I can feel everyone’s eyes watching and waiting for me to mess up.”
“You push us away because you’re afraid. Not because there’s anything wrong with you.”
“But there is though, isn’t there?” Iryana asked quietly. “I spent so long alone with Dad, always waiting for the next moment he’d get mad at me. It didn’t even matter what I did, if I really did anything wrong. It was just me. Something wrong with me.”
“Iryana.” Her voice was pained. “Our father was sick. Addicted to the awful poppy and angry at the world. Nothing you did would have mattered. He would have screamed and yelled at you, no matter what.”
There was a bit of logic to Hadima’s words, but her heart struggled to accept them. To believe them.
“But.” Her voice wavered. “When I came back, everyone was so uncomfortable around me. And it felt like every little thing I did was wrong. What I said, how I trained… everything. And then with Marisha…”
“That wasn’t your fault,” Hadima said firmly. “I know you think we blamed you, but we didn’t. We were grieving and upset, and I am so sorry if we didn’t make it clear that it wasn’t your fault then.”
Hadima gripped her arm tightly, looking so intently into her eyes. “Marisha’s death wasn’t your fault.”
Her sister sighed. “And Iryana, everyone wasn’t uncomfortable around you because there’s something wrong with you.
It was so obvious you were hurting. Your eyes were so hollow, you didn’t smile.
You would jump anytime anyone got too loud or excited.
And I don’t think any of us knew how to handle it.
How to help. And I know I blamed myself for leaving you alone like that; I’m sure the others did too. ”
Iryana tried to imagine what the others might have seen back then. How it might have looked from their perspective. She could almost see it.
“That was our failing,” Hadima urged. “Not yours. And I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”
Iryana turned her face into Hadima’s arm.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, voice muffled.
“Me too.” Hadima tucked her head against Iryana’s. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Iryana let those words sink in. Focused on the feeling of being in her sister’s arms, of feeling her sister’s love. Gods how she had missed it.
Then Iryana leaned back, reclaiming a bit of distance.
“I knew having you try to kill Karvek was a mistake,” she admitted.
Needing all her truths out in the open now.
“I knew I was the one who needed to do it.” Iryana let out a slow breath.
“I was just… I thought if you messed up, the family wouldn’t care.
That they’d forgive you for everything. And I was just so tired of letting everyone down. ”
“It’s okay,” Hadima shushed. “I understand that fear. Iryana… I know I shouldn’t have volunteered to kill Karvek but—” Hadima sighed. “I just wanted to finally protect you. To take care of you like I should have before. I wanted to prove to you I could do it. It was stupid.”
She wrapped her arms around her sister again.
“No, it wasn’t. I mean, yeah, maybe. But the reason wasn’t stupid.”
She’d missed Hadima taking care of her, looking out for her.
Hadima squeezed her back. “I was scared for you—but I knew you could do it. I’m sorry I made you doubt yourself.” She sniffled. “The Kleesolds are capable of a lot, but we need you. We’ve always needed you. We’ve been trying and failing to fill the hole in our family that’s meant for you.”
Her mind was spinning, struggling to absorb what her sister was saying.
How could all the pain and regret inside her exist in a world where her sister loved her? A world where Hadima didn’t blame her for any of it and instead blamed herself.
She’d made so many decisions because of fear. Because of pain. Had gotten so used to being at fault for everything and nothing. Had let a sick, hurting man change the way she saw herself. The way she saw her family, made herself blind to their love.
And she’d pushed them away. Over and over.
But they hadn’t even given up on her, had they?
Not like she thought. Her grandmother tried to get her to come back, hadn’t once let her go entirely.
They had all been right there the entire time.
Waiting for her. Suddenly, those years of loneliness seemed so long, so pointless.
An affront to everything that she had grown up believing.
Something Pyetar had said came to her, and she whispered, “I can’t keep fighting by myself.”
The soldiers knew how to fight together; even the dakii knew how to fight together. One soldier, one dakya, or one Kleesold was nothing compared to a team.
Hadima’s lips curved up. “We aren’t meant to do things alone—guardian clans are strong because we have each other.”
But fear had controlled her life for years.
“How do I just—get rid of the fear?”
Hadima was quiet for a moment, her hand rubbing over Iryana’s back like she used to do when Iryana was little.
“I don’t think you have to get rid of the fear.” She said slowly. “Not at first, not entirely. I think that will take time.”
“So what do I do?”
“Try to trust us, trust yourself.” Hadima pressed a kiss to the top of Iryana’s head. “Ask yourself what you would do if you weren’t afraid. And then do it.”
It sounded so simple.
“The general knows we tried to kill him.” Hadima pointed out. “He’ll want revenge. And we need to do something that will show the duchess that we can gain control of our post. Of the dakii, of the brigade. That we can handle all of it.”
The magnitude of their problems crashed down on her again.
“If you weren’t afraid,” she said quietly. “If you trusted us to stand with you, what would you do?”
Iryana stared at her sister. At the face that looked so much like their mother’s.
It wasn’t her against her family, against the world. And with the dakii and the war Karvek wanted to fight, it couldn’t be her against the brigades either. They were stronger together—would all be stronger together. The duchess wouldn’t be able to deny that strength.
Plans began clicking together. Not one big revelation, but dozens of tiny ideas that she’d dismissed before, not falling into place. A path forward—bold and frightening, but possible.
“I don’t know if we can do it,” Iryana admitted. “It might be too late.”
“We’re guardians.” Hadima smiled, weak but sure. “We will try anyway.”
Try, she could do that.
Iryana nodded, then hesitated. “Does grandmother really believe I should be the Third? Even if there were another option?”
“We all do.”
“Even after everything?”
“Because of everything.”
Something inside Iryana, something that had been frozen for a long time, began to thaw. She felt the shape of herself again, like she was finally recognizable. She was cracked, yes. Broken, even. But still her. Capable of being whole again.
“I love you, Hadima.”
“I love you too. Always.”