Chapter 52
I woke to a sharp bite on my calf. Startled, I sat up and pulled my knee to my chest. With my heart pounding, I searched for the danger and soon spotted Kiara at the foot of the bed, giving me a worried look.
“You bit me?” I asked, my hand trembling against my chest.
She snorted in agreement and climbed back onto the bed, snuggling against me and resting her head on my leg. All around me, the pillows and blankets were on the floor. An uneasy feeling had settled over me—my throat was tight and painful, and there was a taste of blood in my mouth.
“Was I dreaming and scaring you?” I asked Kiara, stroking her ears. She huffed again.
“I’m sorry, and thank you for waking me up.”
I thought about the dream, but this time I couldn’t remember anything about it.
Still, something told me it was related to the wyverns I’d read about in the book.
Sighing, I raised my eyes to the window.
Outside, a light rain was falling, and silvery light filtered through the glass.
It was a dreary day that matched my mood.
Δ
When I sat down at the kitchen table for breakfast, it was 7 a.m., and I felt like an old lady for being up so early on a Sunday.
I heard a door open upstairs and tried not to look in that direction, but Zion’s presence had a magnetism that bordered on madness—like a planet with its own gravity, and I could only orbit toward him, unable to escape his pull.
When my gaze landed on him, I was dumbstruck to see him coming down the stairs in a black suit.
He looked uncomfortable as he adjusted his tie, his hair loose but neatly styled.
When he saw me in the kitchen, he frowned as if he hadn’t expected to find me there, but quickly looked away and finished coming down the stairs.
He stopped in front of the kitchen mirror and kept trying to fix his tie.
I wanted to ask where he was going, dressed so nicely, but the air between us was heavy and I didn’t want to pry.
I nibbled on my apple and sipped my juice.
Zion looked gorgeous. The suit fit perfectly on his broad shoulders and accentuated his muscular arms. The scent of fresh aftershave clung to him, so pleasant I couldn’t look away. I stared at him until he met my gaze, then I was forced to look away, caught off guard by his intensity.
“Today is the soldiers’ funeral,” he explained, though I hadn’t asked. I froze. The funeral for his men—the men he had shed tears for.
“Do you...” I cleared my throat. “Want me to go with you?”
Normally, a wife would accompany her husband at times like these, but he hadn’t asked and I didn’t know if I should go. Especially since I wasn’t exactly his wife, and no one expected me to be there. He studied my face for a long moment, his expression tired as he fastened his cufflinks.
“You don’t have to,” he replied, pinning on the insignia that marked his rank as general. Then, without a goodbye, he was gone.
I immediately stood up and started pacing. I looked at the chipped mark on the living room door. That knife had been aimed at his right thigh. What had I done to us?
I needed to fix this mess. Zion was right to be hurt by the bite, and I was right to be upset by the omission.
But he had apologized and even swallowed his pride by going to Serguei’s birthday and behaving himself.
And me? I just sat on my throne of pride like some wicked queen.
Now I was alone on it, clinging to a grudge that made less and less sense.
I looked at the clock on the wall and pulled my phone from my pocket.
Then I called a taxi and ran upstairs to get ready.
Δ
Zion arrived at the funeral in the middle of a light drizzle.
The burial grounds lay behind the first mountain, near the royal palace.
It was a lawn nestled among the mountains, surrounded by a well-kept garden full of butterflies that added color to the somber setting.
Headstones pointed toward the sky, gleaming in the silvery light of the rainy day.
He walked among them and joined the still-small gathering of people assembled around an altar for the ceremony.
His watch showed he was quite early, but that was intentional—he wanted to arrive early to welcome all the families and friends of the victims.
Up there, fifteen urns were being displayed for the wake—all that remained of the bodies from the border hospital. There were no urns for the eighty soldiers from the gorge, as no bodies had been recovered. They had all been left behind in enemy territory.
Wherever Zion walked, people made room and stepped away.
He didn’t care, but it still felt strange, as if he didn’t even deserve to mourn his men.
The shadows clustered on his shoulders, sad about the situation.
Zion felt terribly empty, and now that he had distanced himself from his partner, loneliness dug permanent claws into his chest. He didn’t understand what more she wanted.
Zion had given everything—his time, his attention, even his heart.
But nothing seemed to be enough. He had made a mistake, he admitted that.
Now he knew he should never have hidden something like that.
If he was being honest with himself, he would have been distraught too if he’d learned his partner had slept with someone else—and it would have been even worse if that someone was his best friend.
But now there was nothing to be done. He had given his best to fix things and had only earned her contempt.
He stopped in front of the altar and turned to face the people trickling in.
Cauê was on the other side with his wife and son, and nodded in greeting to the general.
All the soldiers he had saved were there too, all with their families.
He watched Kaori approach with her father, who limped along leaning on his cane.
She wore a black dress that fell to mid-calf, but to Zion’s surprise, her hair—which should have been shaved—now reached her shoulder in an asymmetrical cut.
It was straight and black, like the hair of all Vinturian women.
It must have been the work of some elmedic specializing in aesthetics.
The Yamamotos always had one on call in Vinturis, as they were meticulous about appearance.
As he watched, Kaori's father shot him a sour look, then quickly pretended he didn't exist. Zion exchanged a meaningful glance with Kaori and silently thanked her for staying put. He didn't want any more trouble, so he shifted his attention and cleared his mind.
People finally stopped arriving. Everyone looked at Zion and saluted, though only a few actually greeted him.
Many knew what the general had done in the gorge, and he couldn't tell if they were more afraid now or grateful for the vengeance.
Looking at everyone present, Zion wondered how many deaths it would take to achieve peace.
He believed the world had a natural cycle of hatred between wars.
As long as conflict existed, both sides would fight for a cause they deemed noble.
Right now, he was fighting for peace, but he didn't know how much of it was truly peace or just a blind desire to strike back because he'd been struck.
The general knew that wanting to maintain peace would only provoke more wars, and pain would keep being born to protect happiness.
But what was the meaning of love, war, victory, or loss?
In the end, it all just brought more tears.
He no longer saw meaning in the battles he was fighting.
After all, when he lost his men, darkness enveloped him, and when he killed the enemy, he lost a piece of his soul too.
Zion ended up alone. He heard footsteps in the distance, but at that moment, it was just him and his grief.
The rain grew heavier and he looked up, watching in slow motion as the drops washed over him and soaked into his suit.
Some stung his eyes, but he liked to imagine it was rain, not tears, streaming down his face.
He closed his eyes and stayed there, still, just breathing.
He caught his partner's scent, but it had to be anguish playing tricks on his mind.
Pain struck at the most fragile parts of his heart—of course it would send memories of her.
Then suddenly, the rain stopped. He opened his eyes and instead of the gray sky, saw a yellow umbrella above his head.
He looked to the side. Kyller was watching him.
“You came,” he whispered, stunned. He was afraid she was a hallucination brought on by the whirlwind of emotions.
“I thought you might need an umbrella,” she murmured, with a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes.
He composed himself, running his hands over his face and trying to hide the moisture, but he knew she'd smell the salt.
Tears smelled as strong as blood. He was ashamed to be caught like this, but there was nothing he could do about it now.
It was the second time she'd seen him vulnerable; apparently, he was the crybaby in the relationship and she was the strong one.
Serguei had always warned him he was too soft. It was true.
He studied her—she was beautiful. Every freckle, every strand of red hair, every golden fleck in her intense eyes. His heart swelled until it nearly overflowed, and now he could finally breathe. The weight became bearable, simply because his ray of sunshine was there.
“Thank you for bringing an umbrella. You just saved me from a storm.”
Kyller looked around at the light drizzle falling on all the people pretending not to watch them.
“It doesn't look like it's going to rain much,” she murmured, staring at the cloudy sky.
She didn't understand that the storm was in the general's heart.
He gently took the umbrella from her hands, taking over the task of shielding them from the rain. It was small, so he pressed close to her.