Chapter 32 Family Ties #2
Cedric couldn’t make sense of the sharp emotions tangled in his chest. It was a cocktail of guilt, curiosity, helplessness, anger, and he didn’t know which ones belonged to him and which belonged to the fae he was pursuing through the woods.
If Raefe was to be believed—and Cedric hated that any part of him was even entertaining the bastard’s words, but what would be gained in lying?—then Elyria’s entire life had been shaped in connection with one terrible man after another.
The dark sorcerer Malakar, whose power went to Elyria the night of the Shattering, causing her to spend a century trying not to be consumed by her inner darkness.
Varyth Malchior, who was responsible for what happened to Evander during the Crucible, responsible for that heartbreaking end. He tainted even the memories of what was perhaps one of the only good things in Elyria’s life.
Then there was Evander himself, who, granted, was not terrible at all, as Cedric understood it.
Not until he’d been corrupted by Malchior’s darkness—Malakar’s darkness.
Not until he’d succumbed to its lure and tried to eliminate Kit and Cedric and anyone else who stood in between him and getting out of the Sanctum he’d been trapped in. Who stood between him and Elyria.
And now, her father, whose motivations were shrouded in mystery but couldn’t be good based on what Cedric knew. Based on how Elyria was reacting now.
And here Cedric had been, stewing in resentment over Lord Church’s interference in his life. Here he was, thinking he had it rough.
Whatever misguided attitudes the lord paramount might have had—might still have—he had long been the premiere presence in Cedric’s life.
Perhaps he’d been too quick in his recent judgments.
Lord Church was, after all, a man who was willing to put in work, to get his own hands dirty.
That was apparent enough in their dealings on the road to Luminaria.
He hadn’t even needed to accompany Cedric to the Lost City.
The lord could have easily taken the opportunity to visit his estate in Seastone rather than guide Cedric to the Gate himself.
The man was a set of contradictions. There was Lord Paramount Leviathan Church, right-hand of the king, a man with little patience for foolishness and even less for incompetence.
And then there was Tenny’s father, and the closest thing Cedric himself had to one.
Amused and occasionally patient and even, sometimes, kind.
Cedric bit the inside of his cheek, the memory of Lord Church’s words as they traversed across the Chasm ringing in his ears.
“Mercy is a luxury of the weak,” he had told Cedric, mere moments after disposing of the bandits who had tried to rob them.
“You would do well to remember this for the trials ahead.” The lord paramount’s justice was swift and brutal.
But there was also something like softness behind his hardened exterior, wasn’t there?
“You have a strong heart, Cedric. Stronger than you realize. You can do this. I believe with every fiber of my being that you are the only one who can.”
Cedric’s shoulders felt heavy with the weight of wondering what the lord might think about what he was doing right here, right now. Chasing after the very fae he was supposed to best in the Crucible. Who was, at one time, his enemy.
Seeking her in more ways than one.
Sid yowled as Elyria finally came into view, leaning against the narrow, striped trunk of a white birch, her back to Cedric, wings cloaked.
Shadows swirled around her ankles as the final dregs of sunlight filtered down through the branches overhead, the edges of her periwinkle hair lit by the rays of the setting sun.
Light above, dark below, Elyria was twilight personified. The perfect meshing of day and night.
“You’re persistent, I’ll grant you that,” Elyria said. She didn’t bother to turn around, so Cedric couldn’t be positive whether she was speaking to him . . . or the cat.
Sid bounded ahead, weaving between Elyria’s boots and batting at the shadows swirling there as though they were balls of yarn. Then, with a glance back at Cedric that looked suspiciously like a smirk, she disappeared into the ether once more.
“You never answered my question,” Cedric said, stepping closer even as he shook his head over the exasperating creature’s behavior.
Elyria peered at him over her shoulder. “You already know the answer.”
Cedric waited.
“Yes,” she said, the word carried on a heavy sigh. “Tartanis is my father. For lack of a better term.”
Her voice was sharp, bitter, but when she finally turned to face him, there was something fractured in her expression.
A crack in her control, her pride—the distance she wielded like a weapon.
She looked so vulnerable that there was nothing Cedric could do to stop his legs from carrying him forward, from letting that tug in his chest guide him directly to her.
Elyria stiffened as Cedric drew his arms around her, pulling her into an embrace. Then, like the final snow before spring, she melted into his arms.
“Don’t,” she said, but she didn’t try to disentangle herself, even as she added, “It’s not the time. Not the place.”
The words weren’t cold. Weren’t cruel. She just sounded . . . tired.
“When will be?” Cedric asked. “By the celestials’ grace, we were granted this extra time together. Should we not capitalize on it?”
“What an apt choice of words, given the previous topic of conversation,” she mumbled into his shirt.
Cedric swallowed. “Is that what Tartanis did? Capitalized on you? On your name, your status as the Revenant?”
“He tried to. Still does, apparently.” She sighed. “Until that night in The Sweltering Pig, I’d thought he might’ve finally given up on me. Might’ve finally let me know some peace. But then Raefe and his muddy little henchmen came busting in, catching me off-guard and off the wagon.”
She flexed her hands over her thighs. Fire burst in Cedric’s veins once more, though he kept it inside, his arms tightening around her.
He himself had burned her twice on accident, and the guilt was still so great he couldn’t stop ruminating over it.
He couldn’t fathom having chosen to do so on purpose.
Cedric turned his head, looking back through the trees as if he might be able to see the camp, might see whether the bastard was still there.
Briefly, he wondered how it might impact the accords were Cedric to murder a member of the visiting delegation.
Elyria’s melodic voice drew him back. “I should’ve known better than to return to Coralith in the first place,” she said, voice wistful. “But Artie’s always been . . . Well, let’s just say the grouchy old dwarf has been more of a father to me than Tartanis has in nearly two centuries.”
“How long has it been since you last saw your father?” Cedric asked.
“Not long enough and too long all at once.” She shrugged.
“After the war . . . When the Revenant was born in the wake of the Shattering, he was eager to show me off. I thought maybe I’d finally earned his respect, his love.
I only joined the fucking war effort because of him in the first place, you know.
Granted, after the Great Betrayal, every Arcanian was ready to lay it on the line to defend the realm against Malakar and his cultists.
It wasn’t as though I didn’t want to fight.
But I was just so young.” She glanced up at Cedric.
“I know that probably sounds funny to you.”
“I know a bit about fae lifespans.” He smothered the instinct to scoff, gentling his voice. Now wasn’t the time for pride. “You must have been only, what, eighty-some years old? Barely more than a teenager for your people, yes?”
She shrugged. “In human years, I’d have been, say, eighteen?”
Something sharpened in his chest at the thought of Elyria, fresh-faced and idealistic, joining the effort to protect her queen and country, only to end up equal parts war hero and war criminal. Forced to become the Revenant against her will.
Her soft voice broke through Cedric’s swirling thoughts. “He used to call me his dark star. Isn’t that poetic?” She smiled, a hollow sort of tilt to her mouth that didn’t reach her eyes. “He said I had gravity. That everything and everyone would fall into orbit around me.”
Cedric’s throat tightened.
“I hated it then,” she scoffed. “Hate it now. As if I’m something worth revolving around.”
The urge to protest roared in Cedric’s mind, but he didn’t get the chance to voice it.
“And anyway, I always knew it was fake. False platitudes meant to bend me into being grateful for his wisdom.” She settled into Cedric’s embrace, her cheek on his chest, his chin resting in her hair. The mark on his shoulder throbbed.
“But there’s this sort of sad truth to his words,” she continued, “that I hate even more. Because sometimes it does feel a little bit like I’m at the center of all this. That, as the Revenant, I became something so much bigger than myself. But I never asked to be. Never wanted this.”
Cedric swallowed, tilting his chin to plant a light kiss on the crown of her head. “What do you want?”
She didn’t answer for a long moment. She broke from his embrace, taking half a step backward in order to look up at him, something Cedric couldn’t name sparkling in her emerald eyes. “To find a light of my own now that I’ve mastered this darkness.”
Cedric reached for her again, cupping her face. “Then it’s your turn to burn bright, Elle. And if anyone dares to try and dim that light, you—”
She surged forward and kissed him.
Not soft. Not shy. Not tentative.
Not like she was at war with herself over whether to do it, or like they were running out of time, or like this was some sort of goodbye.
It was more like coming home.
Elyria pressed her lips to Cedric’s, her body molding against his. Throwing her arms around his neck, she pulled him into her. She clung to him like the forest was about to fall away. Like he was the only thing anchoring her to the earth.
And maybe he was.
Because celestials knew she was that to him. His anchor. His tether. Cedric would never say it aloud, would never put voice to the words for fear of the reaction it might invite from Elyria. But she was like gravity.
She was the sun, and he was simply lucky to be in her orbit.
When they finally broke apart, Elyria whispered, “We’re really in trouble now, aren’t we?”
“I’m the one in trouble. You simply are trouble.”
“Yes, I think perhaps I’ve heard something like that before.” She let out a low chuckle. “Don’t think any of this means I forgive you for trying to trick my cat into liking you better than me, by the way.”
“I’m not trying to do anything,” Cedric said, exhaling on a laugh. “Can I help it that she’s drawn to me?”
Elyria hummed. “Well,” she said, tracing a long finger down the line of his jaw, then the column of his neck. She brushed over the spot where she bit him, and Cedric shivered. “Then I suppose she is something like me after all.”