Chapter 30 Seris
SERIS
Ipull the cloak tighter around my shoulders, the weight of it both comforting and strange.
The gates of Azhgar loom before me, iron and bone twisted into patterns that speak of ancient power.
The last time I stood here, I collapsed in the snow, begging entrance with nothing but desperation and the child growing inside me.
That feels like a lifetime ago. Like watching someone else's memories through thick glass.
My body still aches from what Zharra did to me in those underground chambers.
The healers assured me the bleeding has stopped, that the baby remains strong despite everything.
But my legs shake if I stand too long, and my ribs protest every deep breath.
I'm not the woman who first arrived here—broken, perhaps, but not defeated.
Never defeated.
The irony isn't lost on me. The first time I came to these gates, they turned me away. Now I'm the one choosing to leave.
"Having second thoughts?"
I don't startle at Vargath's voice anymore. His presence has become as familiar as my own heartbeat, though I'm still learning to trust the steadiness of it. Still learning to believe he won't disappear when morning comes.
"No." I turn as he emerges from the shadows cast by watchtowers and crumbling stone. The moonless night makes him look carved from darkness itself, all sharp edges and contained power. "Just thinking how different this feels."
He leads two horses toward me, their breath steaming in the cold air. The animals are sturdy rather than elegant—built for endurance, not ceremony. Travel packs bulge with supplies, and I catch the glint of weapons secured to the saddles.
"Different how?"
"The first time I stood here, I was begging to get in." I touch my belly, feeling the familiar flutter of movement beneath my palm. "Now I'm walking away because coming here turned out to be more dangerous than having no place to go."
"You sound like you didn't expect that to happen."
"I didn't." The admission comes easier than it should. "I wasn't sure I ever expected to get in."
He stops beside me, reins loose in his hands. The horses stamp restlessly, eager to be moving, but he doesn't seem to notice.
"And now?"
I study his face in the dim starlight, searching for doubt or regret. Finding none, I allow myself a small smile.
"Now I'm learning what it feels like to be worth the risk."
He moves to the smaller of the two horses, checking straps and buckles with military precision. When he turns back to me, his hands are gentle despite their size.
"Can you manage the mounting, or do you need—"
"I need help." The words still stick in my throat, pride warring with necessity. "I'm not strong enough yet to do it alone."
He nods without judgment, positioning himself beside the horse. His hands settle on my waist, careful of tender spots still healing.
"On three. One—"
"Wait." I catch his wrist, feeling the pulse beneath scarred skin. "Are you certain about this? Once we leave, there's no coming back."
His tusks catch what little light filters through the clouds as he almost smiles.
"There's nothing here worth coming back to."
The mounting proves awkward and exhausting.
My body rebels against the effort, muscles weak from days of captivity and trauma.
Vargath bears most of my weight, lifting me with patient strength until I'm settled in the saddle.
The leather feels strange beneath me, too wide, too high, but the horse stands steady beneath my shifting weight.
"Comfortable?"
"Define comfortable." I grip the reins, testing my balance. "I'll manage."
He produces thick animal skins from one of the packs, draping them across my legs and around my shoulders. The fur is soft against my skin, warm with the promise of protection against mountain winds.
"These should keep the cold out." His fingers linger on the edge of the blanket, adjusting the drape. "We have a long ride ahead."
"How long?"
"Days. Maybe weeks, depending on the weather and how well you hold up." He swings onto his own mount with fluid grace, settling into the saddle like he was born there. "We'll take it slow."
I gather the reins, feeling the horse's strength beneath me. The gates of Azhgar stand open before us, leading to roads I've never traveled and a future I can't imagine.
We don't look back.
The horses' hooves crunch through snow-crusted ground as we leave Azhgar's shadow behind.
The settlement's torchlight fades to pinpricks, then disappears entirely as we follow the winding path into wilderness.
My mount moves with steady rhythm beneath me, and I focus on staying balanced rather than dwelling on what we're abandoning.
The silence stretches between us, broken only by leather creaking and the occasional snort from the horses. Wind cuts through the furs draped around my shoulders, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow. I pull the coverings tighter, grateful for their warmth.
After an hour of riding through moonlit valleys, curiosity finally wins over caution. I glance sideways at Vargath, studying his profile against the star-scattered sky. His jaw remains set in that familiar line of determination, but something about his posture suggests relief rather than regret.
"Why now?"
He doesn't turn toward me, but his hands shift on the reins. The question hangs in the cold air like visible breath.
"I've been asking myself that since I found you outside in the snow." His voice carries easily across the space between our horses. "Whether it was seeing you nearly die, or watching the council pretend you never existed, or just finally admitting what I'd known all along."
"Which was?"
"That I was a coward." The admission comes without self-pity, matter-of-fact as a military report. "I let them dictate my choices because it was easier than fighting for what I wanted."
I adjust my grip on the reins, considering this. The Vargath I first met would never have made such a confession. That man guarded his vulnerabilities like state secrets.
"And what changed?"
"You did." He finally looks at me, and even in the dim starlight I catch the intensity in his expression. "The night we spent together, I told myself it was just hunger. Physical need. Something I could forget once duty called."
"But you couldn't forget."
"No." His horse sidesteps around a fallen log, and he guides the animal with absent expertise. "I tried. Threw myself into campaigns, planning the betrothal ceremony, convincing myself that tradition mattered more than desire."
"Then I showed up pregnant and ruined your careful plans."
"You showed up carrying my child and proved I'd been lying to myself for months." His tone sharpens anger—at himself, not me. "Every excuse I'd made crumbled the moment I saw you collapsed in the snow."
The horses climb a gentle slope, their breathing growing heavier with the effort. I lean forward slightly, easing the strain on my back while keeping my balance. The baby moves, responding to the movement.
"So why not claim us then? Why wait until Zharra nearly killed me?"
"Because I'm an idiot." The blunt response surprises a laugh out of me. "Because I thought I could protect you by keeping distance. Because I believed the council when they said acknowledging you would bring disaster."
"And now you don't?"
"Now I know the only disaster is pretending you don't matter." He guides his horse closer to mine, close enough that I can see the burn scars threading along his forearms. "Because I choose you. Every time."
The simple declaration hits harder than elaborate poetry ever could. No flowery promises or grand gestures—just truth, delivered with the same certainty he'd use to report enemy positions.
"Even knowing what it costs?"
"Especially knowing what it costs."