CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Neya stood across from me, her stance steady, her blade angled toward mine.
“Lower your shoulder,” she reminded me, circling my form. “You are giving away your balance before you even strike.”
I lowered my shoulder and adjusted my stance.
Recovery had suited her. The pallor that once hollowed her features had faded, replaced with strength that radiated through her posture. The scar along her neck would remain, a thin reminder of how close we had come to losing her, but it did not slow her movements.
Vesuva slithered lazily along the edge of the Gauntlet floor, her twin heads lifting to observe our practice.
Neya lunged.
This time, my blade met hers cleanly. Steel rang in sharp harmony before I twisted my wrist, guiding her strike downward and stepping inside her guard to press the flat of my blade against her ribs.
“Better,” she huffed. “You are not hesitating anymore.”
I grinned. “I am going to need a new training partner soon. I know all of your tells.”
She scoffed and waved me off. “I would hand you over to Bater, but you will not learn much with him.”
That was entirely truthful. Bater was naturally fun, and training with him never seemed to be educational. At least Neya instructed me. I was gaining more confidence and strength in my abilities because of her.
“You are a great teacher,” I affirmed. “And I know I am landing more strikes, but I would rather you curse me for bruises than bury you.”
Neya’s gaze softened. “You sound like him.”
Before I could respond, the Gauntlet doors opened with a low groan.
“Lady,” Bater called, already grinning in a way that suggested he carried news too large to contain. “I come bearing interruption.”
Vesuva hissed in mild annoyance at the disturbance. Neya sheathed her blade and bowed respectfully. “We can resume tomorrow, Lady.”
I lowered my weapon, looking at Bater. “What have you done now?”
“For once, nothing,” Bater said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “This time, I am merely the messenger. There are visitors at the outer gate. Requesting entry beyond the bridge.”
My brows drew together.
Visitors were not uncommon anymore. Traders from distant territories. Wandering emissaries curious about the shifting power between Haelen and Umbral. Occasionally even Veythar who had once lived at the fringes and now sought to return.
But something in Bater’s tone unsettled me.
“From where?” I asked.
He held my gaze. “Haelen.”
For a moment, the Gauntlet seemed to narrow around me, the clang of distant practice blades fading into silence.
Neya straightened.
I had not realized my breathing had grown shallow until she spoke.
“Go,” she said gently.
“I—” My voice faltered.
Her chin dipped respectfully. “Take care of your business, Lady.”
I placed a hand briefly over hers in gratitude before turning toward the doors.
Vesuva slithered after me, her long body weaving across the stone in smooth arcs. Bater fell into step at my side, unusually quiet.
“You did not tell me who,” I said softly as we moved through the corridors.
“I thought you might prefer to see for yourself.”
The walk to the outer gate felt longer than it ever had before. The air grew cooler as we approached the entrance carved into the city’s outer wall. My pulse thundered as hope warred with caution.
Talon stood just inside the threshold. The gate had been opened slightly—just enough for conversation without fully breaching the defenses. He turned as I approached, and I saw a look in his eyes that had the hope in my chest blossoming.
Beyond the threshold, standing on the stone bridge, were four familiar figures.
My mother stood closest to the gate, her hands white-knuckled around the handle of a woven picnic basket. My father stood beside her, straighter than I had seen him in a long while. And behind them, shifting from foot to foot, were Lyra and Theron.
I did not remember crossing the remaining distance.
One moment I stood at Talon’s side, the next, I was at the threshold, my hand lifting to my mouth as tears blurred everything before me.
“Kaelia,” my mother breathed.
“I thought—” My voice fractured. “I did not know if you would ever—”
My mother set the basket down and closed the distance between us, her arms wrapping around me. She smelled like home—flour, rosemary, and the faint soap she had always used.
“I would cross any bridge for you,” she whispered into my hair.
My father joined the embrace, his large hands settling on my shoulders. Lyra threw her arms around all of us, laughter and choked sobs tangling together in the cool night air. When at last we drew apart, my mother cupped my face.
“You look well,” she said softly.
“I am,” I replied, my voice still trembling. “I truly am.”
My father cleared his throat, emotion thickening his voice. “We have heard stories.”
“Not all of them flattering,” Lyra added, wiping her eyes.
A small laugh escaped me. “I imagine not.”
My mother bent to retrieve the basket she had dropped, holding it up between us.
“I did not know what you eat here,” she admitted. “But I remembered what you loved.”
She opened the lid. The scent hit me instantly—fresh bread, honey cakes, and berry preserves.
“You carried this all the way here?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said simply.
“We were afraid, at first,” my father said quietly. “We did not understand. We thought we had lost you.”
“You did not,” I said, glancing briefly over my shoulder toward Talon before looking back at them. “I found something here. Something worth standing for.”
My mother’s eyes followed my gaze.
“He is watching,” she observed softly.
“He always is.”
“And he has not taken his eyes off you.”
Warmth flooded my cheeks. I gestured Talon forward and he moved to my side. “This is Talon.”
Talon held out a hand to my mother and when she placed her smaller one in his, he bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.
“It is a pleasure to meet the woman who raised such a stubborn woman,” he teased.
My mother’s eyes widened before she let out a short laugh. “She is a handful, isn’t she?”
“She is a delight,” Talon corrected, dropping her hand to look at me. “She is very loved here.”
My father stepped forward and held out his hand. “Thank you for taking care of her.”
Talon shook his hand firmly. “I will continue to do so until my last breath.”
“We cannot stay long,” my father said, glancing at the darkening sky. “The journey back is a long one.”
The thought tightened my chest, but my mother reached for my hands. “At the end of each season, we will visit. We will bring food. You will bring stories. And we will sit here, between our worlds, rather than choosing one over the other.”
Tears slipped free again. “I would like that very much.”
“Good,” my mother said firmly. “Now, let us eat!”
My father laid a checkered rug across the stone of the bridge while Lyra and Theron handed out plates.
We sat together at the midpoint of the border, sharing bread and honey cakes as though nothing had changed—and yet, everything had. Vesuva coiled contentedly near my feet, her heads observing my family with cautious curiosity before settling into stillness.
When it was finally time for them to leave, we stood at the center of the bridge.
“End of the season,” my mother reminded me, hugging me one last time.
“I will be here,” I promised.
Lyra grinned at me. “Do not miss me too much, sister.”
I rolled my eyes with a huff. “I will try my very best not to.”
They walked back toward Haelen, turning to wave until the night finally swallowed them. I stood at the gate long after they vanished, Talon’s hand settled securely at my waist. I leaned into him, watching the river carry starlight across its surface.
“Thank you for being here with me,” I murmured, nuzzling into the cool fabric of his tunic.
Talon’s fingers brushed my cheek before he pressed a soft kiss to my hair. “I would be anywhere for you, little flame.”