TWO
HOMECOMING
The thing about deception is that you rarely see it until it has already wrapped around you.
Its nature is to mislead—to conceal, distort, to lie.
In the hands of the skilled, it becomes an art form: a patient weaving of half-truths and shadows until the victim is caught in a web they unknowingly helped spin.
By the time they sense the trap, their sight is clouded, their voice silenced, and they are left utterly destroyed.
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
We continue our parade to the center of the city. The steps of the Ember Throne feel impossibly long, stretching high into the towering structure before us. The banners of the Fire Clan and the Spiritborn snap in the wind, and the weight of the city presses around us, watching, waiting.
We dismount our horses at the foot of the stairs. I watch them being led away by stable hands, then glance up.
I’ve faced warriors on the training field, soldiers twice my size, and Kethraki. My hand automatically presses to the spot on my side where those damned winged creatures clawed at me when I was flying with Calryx.
And yet, somehow, I feel more nervous now, as we approach the steps of the Ember Throne.
Standing there, watching us with sharp gray eyes that are far too familiar—is Thane’s sister, Rowena.
She is smaller than I expected. Slight build, her form compact, efficient, built for speed rather than brute strength.
Her dark hair, the same shade as Thane’s, is pulled into a tight braid woven into a crown on top of her head.
A few strands have come free from the wind, framing a face that is both sharp and expressive.
And those eyes. Gods, those gray eyes. Thane’s eyes. It’s like looking at a version of him that doesn’t carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.
There is something undeniably fierce in the way she carries herself, something calculating, quick, sure. And when she turns her gaze on me, my stomach tightens.
Beside her, stands a woman, taller, broader, more imposing: Sera, Rowena’s wife.
Where Rowena appears quick and precise, Sera looks all power and discipline, a warrior through and through.
Sera stands like a blade sheathed in silk.
Her spine is straight, shoulders squared with a practiced ease, like her body remembers the weight of armor even when she isn’t wearing it.
Her eyes, blue as the deepest parts of the ocean, scan me with a quiet assessment. She wears simple, unadorned leathers, her sword secured on her back rather than her hip—a sign of confidence in her skill.
They’re opposites in nearly every way. But when Rowena leans into her space, and Sera’s fingers brush her elbow, automatic and unthinking, I see they have the kind of partnership that is built over years.
The cheering fades behind us, replaced by a smattering of conversations as the crowd begins to disperse. But I still feel the weight of every eye watching, and for a moment, I miss the simplicity of dust and ash and survival.
“You made it,” she says to Thane, arms crossed, watching him like she’s studying a puzzle that doesn’t quite make sense.
Thane meets her gaze, unreadable. “Of course we did.”
Her eyes flicker over him. And gods, she sees it. The change. The way his shoulders are no longer rigid with tension. The way he isn’t brooding, isn’t carrying himself like a man waiting for the next battle to break him.
Her gaze snaps to me. And then, she grins but not just a grin. A full, beaming smile.
“You’re Amara!”
Before I can respond, she grabs my hands like we’re old friends.
“I’ve been waiting to meet you. I had to meet the woman who managed to make my brother tolerable.”
A bark of laughter escapes me before I can stop it. Thane mutters something under his breath, but Rowena is already grinning at me like this is the best thing that’s happened all week.
“Truly,” she adds, squeezing my hands one more time before letting go. “You are a miracle worker.”
Thane groans. And I smile, immediately drawn to her warmth. She makes it so damn easy.
“So . . . ” Rowena’s eyes are bright and full of mischief. “What exactly did you do to him?”
My eyes widen, cheeks flushing. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, look at him!” She waves a hand at Thane like he’s some rare, unusual specimen. “He’s . . . relaxed. He’s standing like someone who no longer has an iron rod up his ass. It’s unnerving.”
“Rowena—” Thane’s voice is warning now, but that only fuels her.
She turns back to me, delighted. “Tell me how you did it. Was it your special Spiritborn magics that gave him a new personality? Or did you beat the moodiness out of him?”
Thane’s hand twitches toward his sword hilt.
“I haven’t done anything,” I say, trying and failing to keep a straight face.
“Liar.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Rowena angles her head, considering. “You finally get him to admit he has more than two feelings. By the way, they were brooding and more brooding.”
Thane actually rolls his eyes. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“Yes! I am your ‘pain in the ass’ sister!”
I snort. I can’t help it.
Rowena grins at me, victorious. “I like you, Amara.”
“Likewise,” I say, grinning.
“You should have heard him talk about you before he left this last time,” she muses, tapping a finger against her chin. “You would have thought training you was worse than ruling the realm.”
Thane turns, fully prepared to throttle her.
“Row,” he says, impatience simmering beneath the surface.
“And now look at you—softer, gentler—oh gods, Thane, are you having trouble navigating all of those new feelings? There must be so many now.”
“Rowena—”
“Sera, hold me, I don’t know how to handle this.”
Sera sighs, clearly used to this. “Row, give him a break.”
“Never.” Rowena’s small frame spins back to Thane. “You brought this on yourself, brother. We’re doing this. In public. Loudly.”
Thane rubs a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath, but Rowena is unstoppable now. I can’t stop grinning. I’m loving every moment of watching the unshakable Warlord look a bit . . . shaken.
“Let me set the scene for you, Amara.” She gestures broadly, like this is a performance for the ages.
“Thane storms into the war room, moodier than usual. Honestly, I didn’t think that was possible.
The tension? Palpable. The dramatics? Exceptional.
He throws himself into a chair, crosses his arms like a sulking child, and when I ask him what’s wrong, he goes—”
She clears her throat, then lowers her voice into a near-perfect imitation of Thane’s clipped tone: “That woman is impossible.”
I choke on laughter.
Thane stares, flat. “I don’t sound like that.”
“You absolutely do,” Rowena assures him.
Sera, watching this unfold, hides a smirk behind her hand. I get the feeling Sera is the more measured and socially-appropriate of the pair.
“And then,” Rowena continues, relishing every word, “he goes on to list every possible complaint he could think of. And I quote—” She lifts a hand, ticking off on her fingers.
“‘She doesn’t listen.’ ‘She’s reckless.’ ‘She challenges everything I say.’ ‘She doesn’t think before she acts.
’ ‘She has no sense of self-preservation.’ ‘She’s a pain in my ass. ’”
I snort. “That’s . . . not entirely untrue.”
“Oh, good to know!” Rowena remarks before continuing. “But the best part? The absolute best part?”
She pauses for effect, brows raised and a grin, ear to ear.
“He sounded like a whiny child!” Rowena raises the pitch of her voice. “It’s not fair! Why does she have to act like that? No one respects me! Blah, blah, blah.”
I glance at Thane, who is looking anywhere but at me. And I think I see his cheeks flush. This is absolutely amazing. I have never seen Thane squirm this much.
I might be in love with Rowena.
“But here’s where it gets interesting,” Rowena continues, grinning.
“The more he talked about you, the more it became painfully obvious that he was a man possessed.”
Thane looks up at the sky like the gods might spare him from this moment. Rowena grins like a predator sensing weakness, then turns to Sera with a dramatic flourish.
“And then he gets quiet,” she says, lowering her voice to something mockingly serious, like she’s telling the most tragic tale ever told. Sera, who has heard this story before, smiles knowingly.
“I mean, full on silence dripping with drama,” Rowena continues, gesturing wildly now. “Thinking. Contemplating. Probably questioning his entire existence.”
She pauses, drawing it out, letting the moment stretch unbearably long. Then—delivers the killing blow. Thane stiffens as if he is bracing for impact.
“And then, with all the weight of a man walking to his death, he mutters—” I lean forward slightly, waiting, curious. Thane squeezes his eyes shut as his cheeks color. “‘She makes me crazy.’”
Silence.
A beat follows before I burst out laughing.
She waves a hand at the two of us, at the space between us that is no longer filled with hesitation, with denial. “He’s doomed, isn’t he?” she asks Sera.
“Oh, completely.”
“It’s almost tragic.”
“Almost.”
I grin. “Not just doomed,” I muse. “Completely fucked.”
Thane groans loudly. “I think I’ll head back to the outpost now.”
“No! Please don’t. You’ve been away so long,” Rowena argues. Something in her expression softens.
Thane sees it too.
And just like that, the teasing falls away, replaced by something unspoken. Familial. Forgiven.
“I missed you, little brother,” she says, quieter now, reaching her arms up around Thane’s neck.
“I know,” Thane murmurs, wrapping his strong arms around her small frame. “I missed you too.”
And gods, I feel that.
Thane was just here only days ago, but Rowena isn’t hugging the man she last saw. She’s hugging the brother she thought she’d lost years ago. The one softened, steadied, reshaped by all that we’ve shared in the past two days.
“Are you quite done?” The voice cuts through the moment, smooth and measured, but with an edge of something else.
I turn.