Chapter 24
Aeson
EVER’S CONFESSION RENDERS ME MUTE. We had our suspicions, but for her to actually confirm them?.
.?. My mind is reeling. Unexpectedly, hope begins to creep through my cracks like it’s unsure if it’s welcome.
To be fair, I’m not sure if it is. Questions, doubt, and the need to take action explode through me like Liberation Day fireworks.
Ever sits in a dragon-stone chair, her eyes closed as though she’s afraid of what she’ll find when she opens them.
I’m used to her being cagey and distrustful—it’s what I was prepared to face before I entered this hall.
I expected more subterfuge, more denial, more of the tug-of-war we’ve been doing since I first discovered her existence.
I did not expect her to drop the rope altogether and start tossing truth grenades at me like she was tired of juggling them.
Our suspicion about there being more Syphons was right, but I don’t know if I’m more stunned by that confirmation or by the fact that Ever actually proffered it.
I study my tricky mate, try to assess and anticipate what her goal is here, but my mind is too clouded by the bond and her proximity to be fully rational and objective.
“Where are they?” Lorn demands, looking as though he’s about to leap out of his chair and go find them. I know his head is wrapped around Novak’s secret about sisters, and I don’t blame him.
Ever’s eyes flash open, and all I find in her jade-green gaze is a defiant resolve that immediately has my hackles rising.
She squares off with Lorn, and my dragon does not like that, not one fucking bit, but I tamp down the unreasonable urge to do anything about it, like clamp a hand over her eyes and growl at my brother until he knows never to look at her again.
“I’m not going to answer that question,” Ever replies flatly, and everyone in the room stares at her, completely dumbfounded.
Elio shifts his weight in his chair, and I’m all at once aware of his every move.
His scent is cataloged in my nose. Every judgmental twitch of his brow and purse of his lips pings my radar.
If he lifts even a finger in Ever’s direction, I’ll snap it off.
I know it’s an overreaction. I know that the bond is making me volatile, but he was antagonistic toward her earlier, and I’m fighting the urge to do something about it.
“You’ll finally admit there are more Syphons, but you won’t tell us where? Why?” Lorn snaps, and I have to grip the arms of my chair to keep myself from telling him to watch his fucking tone.
I want to bash my head against the back of my chair and hope it clears it of this possessive insanity that isn’t helping anything.
My mind tries to wander back to the caves, back to Ever’s lips on mine, her tongue in my mouth, her pussy grinding against me?.
.?. My com pings, thankfully pulling me from my thoughts.
The last thing I need right now is a hard-on.
It’s already difficult enough not to leap off this balcony, throw her over my shoulder, and take her somewhere I can fuck every truth out of her that she’s still trying to hide from me.
I look down at my forearm and see that Ogdan has sent over the feeds cataloging the encampment where Ever and the others with her lived.
“How many Syphons survived?” my father asks when Lorn makes no further progress trying to appeal for answers.
“I’m not going to answer that question either,” she parrots, and Lorn’s growl rumbles through the room.
“Based on preliminary reports, there were anywhere between twenty and thirty souls residing within the wards found in The Scorch. Unfortunately, we can’t say for sure how many of that suspected number are wyverns versus Syphons.
We did encounter four wyverns when the small group was attempting to escape, but we were not able to apprehend them in the end.
They lost my Wing in the ocean,” I interject, proud I sound perfectly normal and the bond doesn’t have me snarling every word while perched protectively across the back of Ever’s chair.
“You mean over the water?” Commander Galerus questions, his brow furrowed with confusion.
“No, I mean in the water. It appears they’re excellent swimmers and had several contingencies in place for escape.
The same is true for the other group on the fliers.
Ever is the only one we were able to apprehend, and only then because she drew the hunt to herself, which allowed the others with her to get away. ”
“Thatta girl.” Commander Ventis nods in approval. Ever drops her head to hide her amusement, and both Lorn and I shoot the commander a disapproving scowl that does nothing to cow her in the slightest.
“My second just sent feeds of the camp, if anyone would like to review them and our findings for themselves,” I offer, and my father motions for me to pull them up now.
With a few taps on my com, the vid feed pops up just above my forearm.
I enlarge the file with a flick and, with another hand motion, project the feed to the center of the room.
The three black sand dunes that cradled the camp appear on screen, and with a pinch of my fingers, I forward the vid until the burn pile comes into view and all the scattered shipping containers are center screen.
I press play on my forearm, and Farrow’s voice fills the room.
“They did their best to tear it up and throw us off, but from what we can gather?.?.?.” Farrow starts as he focuses on several viewpoints of the mangled dwelling that Ever and the other Syphons lived in.
I haven’t seen the footage yet or had a chance to go through the camp myself. My priority was getting Ever back to Four Tiers, but seeing it now feels like a set of claws through the gut. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t?.?.?. this.
Charred and still-smoking shipping containers lie everywhere.
One has smashed through what looks like a long rectangle of patchwork metal.
Farrow identifies it as a makeshift garage based on the gutted fliers and tools that were found in the wreckage.
Another structure, this one resembling an overgrown shed I recognize from the farming sectors, comes into view.
Several shipping containers have flattened it.
They either fell on the structure or were thrown on it—it’s hard to say—but Farrow pans in on a sign lying in the black sand that has The Oven scratched into a large metal panel.
“After assessing welding marks and the pattern of the fallen shipping containers, we think the living quarters looked like this.” Farrow flicks a rendering in place, and it shows a rudimentary pyramid shape.
“They firebombed the inside of all the containers, destroying anything we might have been able to use to track the residents. Only one container remained untouched.”
Farrow strides over to the metal rectangle in question, and the feed grows shaky as he climbs a pile of corrugated metal and steps inside a doorway. A thin mattress, some cinder blocks, and a smashed-up dresser are the only things inside.
“This was Ever Tenebrae’s quarters. Her scent, both the original and the newly altered one, are present here,” Farrow identifies, and my eyes snap to Ever.
I can see her through the feed, her back ramrod straight and her eyes distant and defiant.
She was six years old and had just watched her entire line be slaughtered, and this was the only place that offered her any kind of safety.
Horrified, I survey her room. I try to picture her there, existing in this shell of a shelter, surviving the brutal desert, mourning those she lost. Not even the poorest Arcs or humans in Drameric are subjected to these kinds of conditions, and yet King Tenebrae’s daughter clawed out an existence here against all odds.
An ache starts in my chest, and my teeth are at risk of breaking from how hard I’m clenching my jaw.
I want to lament everything she deserved but never had.
I need to pull her into my arms and vow that it will never be like this again.
She will never go without. She will never scrape by and struggle again.
Her future will be filled with the finest of everything, and she’ll be treated like the royalty she is every second of every day until we see our last.
Another shiver runs through her, and I’m out of my seat and leaping off the balcony without a second thought.
I rip my cape from my back and storm toward her, fur in hand.
She looks up at me from her stone throne, her body set in a stubborn line and her beautiful eyes filled with a searing challenge.
I offer her my cape, knowing she’s cold and hating myself for waiting so long to do anything about it.
I’m angry with her, confused and hurt, but I will never let that distort how I care for Ever Tenebrae again.
She can curse me, loathe me, fight me every step of the way, but she’ll do it from the safety of our rookery, wearing the finest clothes, while dining on every delicacy she could ever dream of.
She will want for nothing even if she never wants me again.
Ever looks at the cape and then back up to me, and if she could set me on fire right here and now, I have no doubt that she would.
“I don’t want your pity,” she grits up at me.
“I could never pity you. You’re too strong and capable to ever warrant it. But you won’t suffer another second, is that clear?” I grit back.
Her hard eyes dart back and forth between mine, and I see the exact second she chooses obstinacy and anger over her own well-being.
“Take the cloak, Ever,” I growl, leaning closer.
Her pupils quickly eat up the green in her eyes, and her goose bumps seem to have goose bumps as she furiously calculates her odds of winning this little battle I’ve started.
“Fuck you,” she snarls, but then she snatches the cloak from my hands and begins to wrap herself in it.
I don’t say another word or offer to help, knowing she’d probably cut my hands off if I tried, but I stride back to the balcony, my chest full of pride, and my mind now picturing my mate wrapped in only my cloak while I coax those breathy little moans that drive me fucking mad out of her with my tongue, my fingers, my dick, my?. .?.
“As you can see from the amount of food being stored and the number of containers that were firebombed in an effort to incinerate evidence, we don’t think this setup could accommodate more than thirty,” Farrow explains via the feed that’s still playing.
“We only saw six fliers and four wyverns during our pursuit, leaving an estimated twenty souls unaccounted for.”
The feed ends and disappears, leaving the room quiet.
Stricken. Somber. My father leans forward, sorrow welling in his eyes, and my chest tightens at the pain spilling out of him.
A tear slips silently down his cheek, and I know he’s thinking of Ever’s father right now, the late king who my father considered kindred and misses every day.
“Bring them home, Ever,” my father pleads, and it’s so raw, so pained, I find it hard to breathe through the emotion suddenly clogging my throat.
“They’re not safe here,” Ever answers, and I don’t miss the pain in her tone or the flash of regret in her eyes as she addresses my father.
“Yet,” my father utters as he dries his cheeks and straightens. “They’re not safe here yet .”
My father pulls in a deep breath and checks something on his com. A flicker of anger ignites in his eyes, but it’s there and gone so fast I don’t know if anyone else caught it. Khalil and Elio both check their coms, and disquiet settles in my gut. Something has happened.
“It’s been a long day, and you need to rest and clean up,” my father declares abruptly. “We will reconvene tomorrow and discuss matters in greater detail, because I will not wait another sixty-two years to bring a lost kith home and begin righting the wrongs of the past.”
With that, my father stands and, without another word, strides out of the hall.
His second and third do the same, and when Lorn rises from his seat to follow, I level him with an expectant look.
He mouths Conclave to me, and my blood flash boils in my veins.
I look over at Ever, wrapped in my cape, and I know exactly why I wasn’t summoned.
They’re going to try to subvert my bond.
Ever catches me staring and promptly flips me the bird.
A vicious calm comes over me at the gesture.
My chest loosens, and the fire in my veins cools.
Of course, why didn’t I think of it sooner?
The dukes have no idea who they’re fucking with.
Maybe it’s time to introduce them to my Syphon and watch while she eats them alive.