Chapter 13 Carwynn #2
Without a word, Wyatt pulled off my filthy coat. A velvety green blanket was draped around my shoulders.
He planted a soft, lingering kiss on my head, then spun and walked out. I didn’t need to hear his words. His footsteps were telling enough. He was pissed . . . but not at me.
I was left to myself—to my staggered breathing and the echo of tears I was too exhausted to cry.
The blanket tightened around me as I leaned my head back on the couch.
A muffled argument bled through the wall. Voices restrained. But a furious whisper carried.
“Are you purposely trying to lose her? Because that’s exactly what’ll happen if you keep this up!
She’s right, you know. She’s not a child anymore, David.
It’s time you came to terms with that! I understood sheltering her when she was young, but now—” A long, exhausted sigh.
“What if the best protection for her, is her? Let her train. Let her learn. Let her grow.”
I closed my eyes, using the corner of the blanket to wipe my damp face. My temples throbbed like a bad hangover. This one from an overindulgence of high emotions.
Several minutes went by, maybe even longer.
Then slowly, I felt the couch sink next to me. I didn’t bother looking at him. I would rather my eyeballs melt into the back of my skull.
“My father harassed me for decades about stepping into his role as the Lord of Loveland,” David said quietly, voice thick with regret.
I stiffened, only willing to hazily listen.
“I fought him, tooth and nail. Didn’t want it.
Had no desire to rule, no desire to be bound to so many lives—carrying that weight.
Living in a cage with a target on my back.
” He expelled a breath. “I wanted to be free. Or whatever illusion I thought that looked like.” Pausing, he swallowed.
“Then, on the worst day of my life, I lost my greatest friend. Your mother.”
His voice staggered, bracing against the storm of that memory.
“When I returned to Loveland, Mount Lovelorn was erupting. Everything destroyed—my castle, my city, my home, my people . . . my father.” He dragged a hand down his face.
“Upon his death,” he said glancing over his shoulder, as if spotting his now-disappeared feathery extremity.
“I inherited these wings, and with them, a title I never wanted.”
My eyes unwillingly opened, pulled from the agony in his voice. Such profound grief settled on his face, making him look older.
David was shaking, tremors of the past resurfacing.
“But the Lord of what?” he whispered. “Everything was destroyed. The heart of the land’s power—the Candela—snuffed out. Things I cherished most in my life were ripped away in an instant. Along with a piece of my heart.”
“The Collapse of Loveland, they called it.” He shook his head, tone dancing between anger and mockery. “The greatest natural disaster in Ferie history.” Blue eyes glazed over as they shifted, looking distant.
The words sounded rotten on his tongue.
Over the years, David and Wyatt were reluctant to speak too deeply about the fall of Loveland. I knew it pained them to rehash what they’d lost. Their home, their people, their Candela, their past . . . So I never pushed.
Mount Lovelorn had once been the magnificent centerpiece of their land.
A towering, ancient mountain that stood long before the first Lovelanders.
On that catastrophic day, molten fire surged through the streets of Loveland.
It wrecked the Crystal Castle and swallowed the waterfall—the entrance to Cherub City.
Natural philosophers from every corner of the realm looked into the disaster and all came up short with any feasible explanations as to how Mount Lovelorn, an extinct volcano, had gone active.
The vacant look on David’s face, the sting of his words—it horrified me. What wasn’t he saying?
“There’s more.” He stared down at his clenched fists.
“Before your mother died, she suspected the Skell King was up to something. Believed he was planning some dominion over Vinterland—or the entire realm, as crazy as that sounds. She suspected he was creating weapons out of Vinter Coal, stealing it right out from under them. Was adamant he was behind the Vinter King’s disappearance as well.
But never told me how she knew.” He sighed deeply, looking at the fire.
“Maura kept secrets from me. Probably to protect me. Ironically.” Eyes filled with regret as he took me in, softening.
“Carwynn, I don’t think your mother was murdered just because she hid you.
That was part of it, yes. The real threat was that she knew too much.
She would’ve fought him to the very end.
” A sad smile curved his mouth. “I’ve never known anyone so strong, so resilient—something she passed to you.
She believed our greatest chance at stopping him was you.
I promised her I’d keep you safe. No matter what. ”
The back of my throat stung as I repressed the urge to cry again.
My mother.
Hearing her name filled me with emotion I couldn’t describe . . . an intangible ache, like reaching for something that’d suddenly turn to smoke the moment your fingers grazed it. The memory of her, or lack thereof, was a bruise on my soul, forever sore.
I’d spoken to the dead often. Heard their stories, their whispers. Sometimes, with a personal object, I could pull in a sliver of their soul, connecting briefly enough to hear them clear as day. Like a distant echo answering back. But never with her. God, I always tried too.
After every dream, every nightmare, I’d slip off my ring—my mother’s ring—and squeeze it in my palm, fist clenched close to my heart, calling to her soul.
My ability would reach out, deep into the thick otherworld, crying to her, begging.
But I was always met with silence. No echo.
No flicker. Nothing, just an eerie, foreboding stillness.
What I wouldn’t give to hear her voice, to sense her, if only for a single moment.
I wiped at my eyes, pulling in a breath.
God, the things my mom must’ve witnessed, the things she must’ve endured.
The Skell King didn’t deserve death, that’d be too merciful. He deserved suffering. Eternal, unrelenting torture. Not just chains and knives, I’m talking an assembly line of prickly pineapples shoved up his tight asshole kind of torture.
My mind spaced out. It was all too much. Information overload.
For a moment I dissociated, completely frying out. I couldn’t hold onto the anger I had for David. Minutes ago, I was drowning in it. But now, it withered away.
Fuckkkk . . .
I took in a disbelieving breath and shook my head, attempting to recollect my thoughts.
“Okay. So my mother was also killed because she possibly figured out what the Skell King was up to. That he kidnapped—or killed—the Vinter King. And could be creating his own stolen Vinter Coal armory, which in turn, could lead to all-out war or chaos?” My voice hitched up at the tail end, cringing.
David calmly nodded in confirmation.
All right, then. Well, another reason I absolutely hated politics.
Bitches are so dramatic—always willing to steal, cheat, and kill, all in the name of greed.
Hoping the extra dose of ego will make them forget what miserable, pathetic cretins they are.
And the Skell prick King was the worst of them.
I blinked. Hard. Then released a heavy sigh, rethinking it all over.
“Wait, so how does my safety relate to stopping him? What did you mean by me being the greatest chance?”
David chewed on his bottom lip.
He clearly didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to tell me anything. His eyes pleaded with me, as if begging for the verbal diarrhea to stop. And yet, he opened his mouth.
“Maura found a powerful seer, in soul form, locked away in Castle Skell. They spoke of a prophecy. Of a child—her child—born of unmatched power. An heir who could be the Skell King’s downfall.”
An incredulous laugh rumbled up my throat, dry, sharp, bordering on a snort.
Was I having a mental breakdown? My face was still puffy and swollen from crying, but now my cheeks were straining from this twisted, amused smile.
Unmatched powers to the fucking Skell King? Yeah, surrreee! Butter my ass and call me a biscuit—this had to be a joke. Or at the very least . . . a mistake.
He ignored my brief mental episode.
“I promised your mother I’d protect you,” he gently said, “so that’s what I’ve been trying to do. That’s why I’ve kept these things from you. The less you have to know, the less you’ll be involved.”
It was there in his unwavering tone that I felt the deep truth.
“The Skell King will hunt you, Carwynn—the moment he knows you’re still alive.
You already have a target on your back simply by being your mother’s daughter.
I didn’t want you to carry another one because of me.
Loveland—my father—had a very strained relation with the Skell King to begin with.
A lesson for another day,” he said, waving a hand before continuing.
“But if he ever found out the things Maura shared with me, or that I aided in hiding you away, then I’d be at the top of his wanted list as well.
” His hand came atop mine. “Only Wyatt, the Cherubs, and I knew where you were hidden. We hoped to keep it that way, but when your ability emerged that day, it somehow sent a ripple through the realm. Enough for his men to trace it—to you.”
His eyes shut, as if the memory was still carved deep into his skin.
“I hid my title from you because I was willing to lose it if it meant you’d be more protected.
The moment the Skell King thought you were dead—we had an advantage—time.
A chance for you to start fresh. To live a life without shadows, without monsters.
” His voice lowered. “But everything’s changed now.
I was a fool to think I could shield you from all this bullshit. ”
I placed my other hand on his forearm, gliding my thumb in an attempt to soothe him. His eyes searched mine.
“Carwynn, I’m so sorry, ma cherie.” His voice broke, a piece of my soul with it. “I never wanted you to live life looking over your shoulder. Never wanted to hurt you. Only ever keep you safe.”
Something in the air between us stirred impatiently, souls nudging one another to open up.
He briefly hesitated, looking torn.
“Carwynn, I’m—” Another moment of pause, then he looked away. “I need you to understand. Because of who I am and what’s happened, there are still things I can’t tell you. At least, not yet. Knowing them would put you in even more danger.” A sad truth painted over his face, wanting to be washed off.
He took a shaky breath in. “But I promise—I will try to be, no, I will be more forthcoming with you from now on.”
An ember snuffed out at the disappointment that sunk in, knowing there were still things he wouldn’t say. But seeing the profound remorse in his eyes slowly diffused my anger. His hand tightened around mine, as if he’d lose me if I let go. It was a pleading gesture.
And it hurt . . . knowing he was hurting too. But that was so typically us. Sometimes I wondered if he projected his ability without meaning to because more often than not, our feelings seemed to intertwine. I suppose we were Soul Connected, as they called it.
So I squeezed his hand tightly back. When I leaned in, his arms came up to wrap around me, cocooning me from the world.
I should’ve told him about the strange vine magic I’d conjured, how the monster implied he’d been sent. But I felt the gut-wrenching weight that loomed over David tonight. I wasn’t going to add any more to it.
Maybe now, I understood a little bit better why people kept secrets.