Chapter 33
Chapter
Thirty-Three
- AYC -
H e’s alive.
Ayc scarcely believes it, even after he unwraps the bandages at his side to find the flesh there healed so completely it has not scarred. He plucks out the thread of his stitches as he listens to the voices in the adjoining room. Lora explains to Bronwen and Tavish—who have just returned from somewhere—what has happened. How Marcellus has won. He will be Sovereign.
And Ayc will be forced to obey his every command.
Ayc’s usual pain rattles through his nerves, an ever-present reminder of the curse he must follow. He would rather be dead than obey him.
“There’s still light in your chronicler,” Bronwen says in the other room, her protest shaking with the fragility of someone who already knows their protest will do no good. “ Perhaps if we complete the quests and make it back to Wyntra before he does, we’ll beat him.”
“A message already came onto my arm saying someone has completed the quests, and we should return to Wyntra,” Lora explains. “It’s over, Bronwen. I failed you, and I’m s?—”
Ayc stiffens when Lora’s voice cracks, a fracture in the coolness she showed him right after she lost. She clears her throat before she finishes.
“I’m sorry.”
Ayc grits his teeth and yanks out the very last stitch. A knock sounds at the front door to his hospital room before it opens tentatively. Avabeth pokes in her head, keeping her eyes low.
“Peregrin said you needed clothes.”
“Come on in.” He rises from the bed. His legs wobble, weak from the days he was in bed, but he steadies quickly. He takes the clothes she offers him. “Thank you.”
She starts to leave, but he can’t quite let her go.
“Avabeth,” he says, lowering his voice. “If there’s ever anything you need, if you ever decide you want out?—”
“Out?” she repeats, staring at her feet.
“If you want a different life, find a way to send me a message. I can help you.”
She peeks up at him through her hair, and her lips part. But then footsteps sound in the hallway. She darts out and slams the door closed without a goodbye. Ayc sighs as he shrugs into the new clothes, relieved that the linen shirt is white and not the Lux Aester blue. The leviathan tooth scraps against his skin as he adjusts the shirt, somehow still sharp all these years later. He untucks it from his shirt and runs his thumb over the point. It could be a weapon. Just the right force propelled into a neck. A way out …
He shakes his head, forcing the thought away. He pulls back his sweat-damp hair and secures it with a tie that's still on his wrist. Then he approaches the other door.
In the small sitting room, he finds Tavish, Bronwen, and Peregrin all slumped in chairs, wearing expressions that can only read as defeat. At the sound of the door, Lora stops her pacing, clamping her previously fluttering hands into fists.
“Ayc,” Bronwen says with a sigh of relief. She rises from her chair, closes the distance, and folds her arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”
Ayc returns the embrace, before she steps back. “Where’s Xylie?” he asks.
Bronwen glances at Lora, who hesitates before saying, “She slipped out to help complete a quest.”
“What quest?”
Lora says nothing, and none of the others do either. Do they not trust him now, because they realize that Wren used him?
Ayc fiddles with his bracelets. “Is she safe, at least?”
Lora shifts her weight, but Peregrin reassures him. “Yes. Tempest is with her. She will protect Xylie.”
Ayc tries to imagine Xylie riding Tempest for any length of time, but he's unable to conjure it in his head. Her loyalty to Lora must make her do terribly great things. “Is this why I have memories of seeing Avabeth dressed in Xylie’s coat?”
Bronwen nods with a little smile that wobbles and then falls. “You were a bit out of it. You kept hallucinating a baby dragon.”
Tavish’s cheeks pucker as he presses his mouth into a hard line. One look at his face is all it would take for Lora and Bronwen to know he’s up to something. Luckily, they don’t look at him .
“A baby dragon, huh?” Ayc says. “I was hallucinating some very strange things. You were praying, Bronwen.”
“That wasn’t a hallucination," Bronwen says, her lips parting with what Ayc thinks would have been a laugh if he hadn't interrupted such a hard conversation.
“Wasn’t it?” Ayc thinks over the last few days. Only a few memories are sharp prior to when he awoke after the golden root.
The memory of Lora giving her command—taking away his choice after she swore not to—is vibrant, as is the rage that blazes over him. But then, the heat is dampened by what else he remembers. The tightness of being inside of her, the sharpness of the knife against his throat, the sweetness of her soft moans as she slowly unraveled for him. That was certainly a dream. He even knew it at the time, no matter how vivid his intoxicated, dying mind made it.
But there is something else, too, something that lingers on his lips like the echo of a dream. He remembers kisses and teeth and her name growled on his lips. Was that a dream, too? Or was it real?
No, of course not. In what world would she ever kiss him?
But then Lora came for him, saved him, sacrificed for him .
Why?
It's a question he doesn’t want to ask again. He doesn’t trust her to be honest. She told him it was only out of obligation, guilt after everything, and as much as it stung to hear at the time, he’s not sure he believes it. But even if she were to tell him the truth, he’s not sure he wants to hear it— whatever it is. Not when he’s furious with her for her betrayal.
The door opens, and a healer steps in. Age is written in the lines of his eyes and around his mouth, and Ayc wonders if this is Avabeth’s ancient husband.
“Ah, good,” the healer says. “I’m glad to see the patient is well, but this is a hospital. Not an inn.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” Bronwen says, twirling her wrist toward the window. The darkness outside is heavy, barely touched by moonlight.
“And we never know when a patient and family will need these rooms.”
The message is clear. Ayc is stable and Marcellus is done with them, so the Lux Aester healers are done with them, too.
Bronwen snaps her head side to side, her braid flaring. “That’s rid?—”
“It’s fine,” Lora says. “We need to be in the nearest air dock by morning, anyway.” She looks to Ayc. “If you’re feeling well enough.”
He nods. “I’m fine, but what about Xylie?”
“Tempest will be able to find me,” Peregrin says.
“Then let’s get out of here.”
They walk through the plains of Lux Aester toward the nearest air dock for a few miles, until the exhaustion becomes plain on their faces. Ayc’s anxiety still demands movement, after being sedated for the last three days, but Ayc fakes fatigue so they will agree to rest. They make a fire and spread out the bedrolls. Lora insists on taking the first watch, and Ayc pretends to sleep for an hour before a gnawing in his stomach becomes too much to ignore. How long has it been since he’s eaten? He can't remember.
He sits up, but Lora standing beside him, holding a bowl. She crouches down and offers it to him. It’s filled with unleavened bread he baked before they left, squashed but smeared in preserves.
“Your stomach is so loud it’s going to wake everyone,” Lora explains.
Ayc takes the bowl. He should thank her, but all he can manage is a grunt. He stuffs a bite in his mouth, half to ease the stomachache and half to have an excuse not to talk.
She folds her knees beneath her. The firelight plays over her face, highlighting the curve of her cheeks. Her eyes look dark at first, but when the light hits them, they turn a royal blue. The very air feels different between them now. Charged. Like the air between two people after confessions are spoken and cannot be taken back. But Ayc can’t remember what that confession was.
“You’re angry with me?” she says.
He takes his time chewing and swallowing, long enough to decide to be honest. “Yes.”
“Because I agreed to Marcellus’ deal or because I forced you to drink?”
He shrugs. “All of it.”
Her hands start to flutter, and she clamps them around her knees. “I never wanted to break my promise to you, but what was I supposed to do? You would have died to save some hypothetical person you thought deserved it more.”
“It was my choice to make.”
“Fuck.” She throws her head back and glares at the stars. “I’m not going to apologize, Ayc. I’m not sorry I did whatever it took to save you, because I believe you are worth saving.”
A comeback is halfway up his throat when he fully hears her words, and he’s left with his mouth parted, unable to say anything at all. The words fit like a key into an empty space in his chest, a hole created when he watched his people be slaughtered and knew he should have died with them.
You are worth saving.
It echoes in his head, a new melody, a sweet refrain. Maybe one day he’ll believe it. For now, he shuts his mouth and stares at her, wondering how they got here, how his beautiful villainess was the one to say such kind things to him.
She always did have a way of leaving him breathless.
When she meets his gaze, her eyes look like the stars themselves, the firelight blazing within. She is close and yet too far. The inches between them feel like miles and decades, and he both aches to reach across it and run from it. Her breath catches, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and he remembers : her tongue dancing with his, the softness of her body melding to his bare chest, the stab of her teeth against his bottom lip.
Was it real? Or was it only a dream?
And if he leaned forward now, would she let him kiss her or stab him in the neck like he deserves?
Saga lets out a loud, long snore from his sleep. Ayc jumps and then laughs. Lora’s lips tilt up on one side, and whatever comes, however angry he is at her, he’s grateful that he’s still here to see that smile.
“I meant what I said about fighting Marcellus,” Lora says after a long moment. “I won’t let him take away everything I love about Everadyn, and in the meantime, my organization will help as many people as we can.”
Ayc licks preserves off his fingers and sets the bowl aside. His hand absently wraps around the leviathan tooth at his throat, his thumb plucking at the sharp end. Another idea is forming in his head, like a phantom hovering at the edge of his vision.
He asks, “And can I help in this plan? I know, with being Bound to the Sovereign, I might not be able to do much, or be more risk than I’m worth, but?—”
“I would very much like your help.” She says it firmly, as though she’s not teasing or doubting. Like she means it. “First, we will free Everadyn, and then, we will find a way to help Aluina. I promise you.”
The words rattle the earth beneath him, shaking his very foundation. He stares at her, searching for any sign that she is being dishonest. Her eyes of starlight do not lie. He sucks in an unsteady breath. He has hoped, with all she’s told him, that she longs to help Aluina, like her father did before her. Here she is, confirming it. And damn, if it doesn’t doom him to sink deeper into an affection that already feels bottomless.
She stretches out her hand to him. “Deal?”
He takes her hand, and the static pulses between them. For a fraction a moment, it feels as though no distance exists between them. That they are entirely united. It is an exhilarating feeling… and a terrifying one. He drops his hand and shifts away. “Deal.”
To fracture the intensity of the moment, he grants her a teasing tone and a small, genuine smile. “But it’d be irresponsible to make dastardly plans of rebellion and mayhem on no sleep. Best leave the treason until morning.” When she doesn’t budge, he flicks his hand in a shooing motion. “Go on now.”
“You—” she begins to protest, but he cuts her off.
“I’m not tired. I’ve slept for three days. You look like you haven’t slept at all.”
It’s true, now that he lets himself really look. It’s clear in the darkness in her eyes, the heaviness of her shoulders. She doesn’t fight him but lays down on her bedroll. He moves closer to the fire, taking his pack with him. Tavish told him that Xylie left it in his care, and now Ayc has it back, still heavy with the weight of the dragon’s egg. He keeps it close to the fire.
He pretends not to notice how Lora watches him, like she’s afraid to take her eyes off him. But how can he not notice? His skin, his nerves, and very heartbeat come alive when she looks at him, singing out a familiar, haunting tune he can no longer ignore…until her eyes finally drift shut.
Long into the night, Ayc studies the twisting, forked tongues of flame and thinks about sacrifice, about evil men and blood and monsters, about wars and rebellions and ways to stop them. He clutches the tooth hanging from his neck and ponders it for hours until something forms fully in his head, something that terrifies him. It is downright… villainous.
But perhaps there's a time for villainy.
The cry of a gryphon startles Ayc awake. He has only just fallen asleep, after Bronwen took his place at guard. The sun has begun breaking over the horizon. A dark shape, framed by the hazy pink and orange sky, approaches rapidly .
Peregrin bolts upright. “Tempest!”
Xylie! Ayc ignores the protests of his muscles as he shoves to his feet, the way his nerves rattle in fury. Lora stands and shields her eyes as she gazes into the sun.
“I can see her. She’s here.” She exhales softly.
Ayc echoes the sigh as relief settles his soul. His best friend has returned.
Saga barks excitedly but remains still as Tavish uses the guide handle to stand. Tempest lands in a flare of wings. Xylie clings to the beast’s neck, her body trembling, her face buried in the feathers. Ayc races toward her, but Lora passes him, reaching her cousin first as she half dismounts, half tumbles off Tempest. Lora steadies Xylie then yanks her into a hug.
Where did she go? Ayc wonders. How long has she flown?
“I am never flying again,” Xylie signs.
“Did you get it?” Lora asks.
Xylie lifts the deep purple, velvet pouch she clutches in her hand. Lora takes it from her, and then Xylie turns. When she sees Ayc, she cries out and flings herself at him. She clings to his leather armor, and he returns her embrace with the tightness of a snug blanket, the way he knows she needs to be hugged.
“Hey, friend,” he whispers. “You all right, there?”
She nods against him and takes a step back, wiping at the tracks of tears that descend her cheeks. Her trembling has stilled. “I thought you’d be dead,” she signs.
“Can’t get rid of my obnoxious ass that easily,” he says.
She sends him a crude gesture then hugs him again.
Tempest trots over to Peregrin who runs a loving hand down the beast’s wing. “Thank you, friend,” they say, before looking back to Lora, Xylie, and Ayc. Bronwen already watches the trio. Tavish holds the Kindred leash and gives Saga a command. The dog obediently turns his focus from Tempest to Xylie. It’s as though they all know something is about to happen .
Ayc frowns. “Xylie, do you want to tell me what you were doing?”
Lora looks up from inspecting the contents of the drawstring bag. She pulls the strings taut again and tosses it to Ayc. “It’s for you.”
He catches it and weighs it in his hand. Whatever object lies within fits within his palm, smooth and hard and heavier than he imagined. “What is it?”
“Reach in and find out," Lora says it like a dare, her lips tilting upward in a brief smirk.
He arches an eyebrow at Xylie, who signs, “ Do it.”
Everyone watches him intently. He shifts uneasily. He would think that this is a set up for a prank, but he trusts Xylie. And Lora, too. He unties the pouch and reaches within. His hand wraps around something cool and hard. An impulse shocks through him, rushing through his arm, down his spine, all the way to his toes. It knocks all the air from his lungs, and he gasps. But it isn’t painful. It’s the opposite. It feels as though he’s jumped into the Bellum Sea and the icy waves are covering him like a balm. It soothes over the pain in his body, calms his nerves, quiets the protests of his muscles. In its wake, the pain remains, but different, not as strong or sharp. Instead, it feels like a ghost, a haunting, the last remnants of an eternal torment that no longer exists.
His hand trembles as he pulls the object from the bag. In his palm sits a stone, which is the same deep purple as the bag. A rune marks its smooth surface. He has seen similar runes before, only those stones were green.
“It’s a Severing stone,” Bronwen explains, at the same time as Xylie signs it. “It’ll undo any Binding on the first person who touches it.”
But it can’t be…
Because that would mean that Ayc is free.
Free. It’s a strange word, an impossible word, a word that makes his knees shudder and threaten to buckle. It cannot be true. Ayc shakes his head. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”
“Xylie went to Velphin to get the stone from the sorcerers there,” Lora says.
Moisture pools in his eyes, and his vision swims. They were all headed to Velphin, before Wren ruined those plans. Getting a Severing stone was Lora’s plan all along. As soon as she found out about Ayc’s Bond, she intended to go. He blinks rapidly and clears his throat, before he trusts himself to speak.
“Xylie, you flew all the way to Velphin?”
Xylie nods.
“It must have cost a fortune,” Ayc protests. “Too much.”
Lora flicks a hand dismissively, and Xylie signs. “The sorcerer didn’t want much, at least of money. I made a deal instead.”
“You made a deal,” Bronwen snaps, all joy dropping from her face. “I told you not to make a deal. What was it?”
Xylie shrugs. “Nothing I didn’t part with willingly.”
Despite Xylie’s nonchalance, uneasiness settles in Ayc’s gut. What would some of the most powerful people alive want from Xylie? Bronwen and Lora exchange a look, like perhaps they're thinking the same thing .
“Why would you do that?” Ayc demands, looking between Xylie and Lora. “You shouldn’t have risked so much. Neither of you.”
Xylie flicks him on the shoulder and signs, "Because you're my best friend, silly."
“I told you, Ayc,” Lora says, steadily. “I believe you are worth saving.”
Ayc swallows hard. He clutches the stone in his hand, still not quite believing it’s real.
“You’re free, Ayc,” Peregrin says, a smile dawning on their face. “You do not look as though you yet believe it. But you’re free.”
It’s that smile, the joy in his beloved friend’s face—the only one who has known how Ayc suffered all this time—that makes the truth settle.
He’s free. No longer will he be forced to follow an order. No longer will Wyntra and the kitchen within be his unlocked prison. No one will have power over him. Not anymore.
Free. A word so big and so wide he doesn’t know how to bear it, contain it, make sense of it. It bowls him over, and he has no choice but to sit down, right there in the grass. Emotions wave through him. Relief, then joy, then grief for the boy who believed he’d always be a prisoner, and finally, hope for a future that is his—only his —to choose.
Hope is a beautiful thing.
And Ayc is laughing and he’s crying. He drops the stone and covers his face in his hands, knowing how he must look. He tries to slow his breathing, but he’s unable to stop the tidal wave of emotions. A head rests on his shoulder, bringing with it the scent of peppermint, and he knows it’s Xylie. When he finally gathers control of himself, he lowers his hands to confirm Xylie is indeed at one of his sides. And Lora crouches at the other.
The tears he sees in Lora’s eyes disappear in a blink. But they were there. He’s sure of it.
“Are you all right?” Lora asks.
He grins, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hands. “I’ve never been better. I’m free .”
Her smile lights up her entire face, and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “You’re free.”
“Thank you.” Those words are not enough. They are a drop of water in the ocean of his gratitude, but he has no more words, so he lays his hand over his chest, over his heart.
Lora returns the gesture.
Bronwen inhales a sharp breath. “Lora, look at your chronicler.”
Lora stands and lifts her hand. The sixth stone shines, and Ayc knows which one has disappeared from her arm.
Undo a great wrong.
Days ago, Ayc might have believed that fulfilling the quest was Lora’s only reason for giving him the stone. But that was before she stormed a temple to save him, before he saw tears in her eyes. She wants him to be free. Whatever anger he held toward her for forcing him to drink the supposed antidote is gone now. After all, if their positions were reversed, he knows he would have done whatever it took to save her.
“If the chronicler turned on a stone even now,” Bronwen says, “perhaps there’s still a chance.”
Lora shakes her head. “I’m sure by now my mother knows Marcellus won.”
Xylie jerks her head off Ayc’s shoulder, reminding Ayc that she didn’t know. She sways, and Ayc wraps an arm around her shoulders.
Lora looks down at her and signs, “ I’m sorry.”
Xylie only signs back, “ I’m proud of you.”
Lora turns away, walking back to her pack and withdrawing Xylie’s coat from it. The cousins say nothing to one another as Lora gives the coat back. She merely returns to her bedroll to begin to pack, a silent signal that the others should do the same.
Ayc only watches Lora for a long moment, and he thinks again about sacrifice, about how she sacrificed her chance to be Sovereign to save him. He considers the plan he’s been toying with, the one that will certainly bring his worst fear to life, but one that might give them a chance.
He has a choice now, a choice between who he has always wanted to be and what he could become. He fiddles with his bracelets, trying to decide.
Man or monster?
Hero or villain?
He stares at Lora, his beautiful villainess. The one who set him free. He feels once more like he’s on the bank of the Ever River, waiting for her to rise. Asking himself: what would he do for her?
The answer is as clear as when he jumped into the dark unknown of that water.
He would do anything.
Everything.