23. Lora #2
His gaze dipped to my lips, and my breath caught.
Slowly, he leaned in.
Stars and sea, he was going to—
His lips pressed against mine.
My mind blanked. Nothing stirred in my chest. No flutter, no spark. Just the press of his slightly damp lips. My stomach twisted with something uncomfortable.
I broke away. Heat flared in my cheeks, prickling like a rash. I’d only wanted to comfort him as a friend. Nothing more.
Mortification flashed across his face as he raised his hands between us. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—I thought—”
Guilt stabbed through my chest. I cared about Erion. I did. He was kind. Handsome. Gentle. Yet I’d felt absolutely nothing when he kissed me.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said, easing back until cold bone pressed against my spine.
My mind clawed for anything to drag us away from the humiliation hanging between us.
“It’s just… everything we’ve been through tonight, and everything you’ve told me—it’s all tangled up in my head.
That ritual, the rift opening, your poor sister. ”
Erion’s gaze slid away, fixing somewhere past my shoulder.
“It’s that sun wielder’s fault,” I blurted, my voice sharp. “Beloren. He tricked her.”
Confusion flickered across Erion’s face. “What? No, I don’t think—”
“He manipulated her into performing that ritual. Not to mention making her kill his own father for whatever depraved reason. That’s what sun wielders are like. Cunning. Evil. They twist people. Use them. Lysanna was a victim—”
“Lora, stop.” His voice cut through mine, firm but kind. “Beloren wasn’t some manipulative villain. He was a young man in love, trying to fix a broken world the only way he knew how. And Lysanna wasn’t tricked. She made her own choices.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “But the Sun Kingdom—”
“Didn’t force them to do anything.” His hazel eyes locked onto mine. “You have every right to be upset, but don’t judge people without knowing their side of the story.”
Indignation flared hot through my veins, and I opened my mouth, but Erion kept talking.
“Both domains have fed their people the same poison—just different flavors. Sunfolk aren’t monsters any more than moonfolk are saints. They’re just people shaped by their country’s propaganda.”
My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. “A rotten egg is still rotten, no matter the reason.”
He opened his mouth, but this time I cut him off.
“A sun wielder killed my mother.” The words came out flat. Hard. Final.
A range of emotions flickered across Erion’s face—confusion, understanding, sympathy, pain. “Oh, Lora, I—”
“Maybe sunfolk were decent a hundred years ago. But things have changed. They’re vile, murderous filth, no better than the beasts roaming Blightlands.”
Erion’s voice softened. “I still don’t think you should judge an entire population based on what one individual did to your mother.”
A harsh laugh burst from my throat. “One individual? It’s not just one, Erion. People fall victim to the sun guard all the time. They kill moonfolk on sight, wielders and non-wielders alike. They’re evil.”
“They weren’t born evil,” he countered, maddeningly calm. “They’re probably doing what they think is best, based on how they were raised.”
“Born evil, raised evil—what’s the sodden difference? They’re still evil!”
Erion shook his head. “Winter always melts into spring.”
I blinked. “What?”
His gaze dropped to his hands. “It’s something my mother used to say. She taught me everyone has good in them. If someone does bad things, it’s because they’re stuck mid-winter. They just need a little warmth to transition into spring.”
By the deep, could he really be this naive?
My voice dropped dark and venomous. “The only warmth you’ll get from a sun wielder is the fire they’ll burn you with.” I leaned forward. “Believe me, we’d be better off if every single one of them were dead.”
Erion’s tone sharpened. “And yet, you saved those pirates back there.”
I tore my gaze away, fists clenching. Because he was right. Turning tides, he was right. I had saved those sun-wielding scum.
But it hadn’t been a conscious decision. As soon as those monsters attacked, all my mind registered was people fighting for their lives.
Bitter regret coated my tongue. Zaivareth had tried to kill me and capture Erion, and yet I’d saved him. The sun prince. Even if he’d been exiled, he still represented their dreadful Kingdom—a living symbol of the man who’d killed Mother.
“You’re right,” I muttered. “I should have let them die.”
“No, Lora.” His voice turned pleading. “What would the moon be without the sun?”
My lips pressed tight, his platitudes grating on my nerves. But a twinge of guilt tugged at me. Here I was, spewing venom about the Sun Kingdom while he was still reeling from the devastating revelation about what had happened to his family.
I dragged a hand over my face, exhaustion crashing over me. “Let’s just forget it. We should rest. In the morning, we’ll head toward Brookfalls. We need to get you started on your training.”
Shuffling onto my uninjured side, I curled my arm beneath my head. Erion hesitated, then did the same.
Tomorrow, I’d finish healing our injuries, then we’d have to cover as much ground on foot as possible. At least we’d already passed through most of Blightlands before the pirates attacked. If we kept a good pace, we’d reach the Moon Queendom within a few days.
Silence settled between us, heavy and uncomfortable.
I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come. But my mind circled back to Erion’s refusal to see how the sun wielder had caused his family’s death. Probably because he hadn’t witnessed Beloren’s cruel tactics firsthand. Not in the way I’d watched a sun wielder set my mother’s skin on fire.
That smug face was etched into my memory—sharp cheekbones, cold brown eyes, the satisfied twist of his mouth as he watched her burn.
If I ever found him again, no amount of protective instinct would stop me. I’d drive a thousand ice needles through his flesh. Shove water down his lungs. Freeze the blood in his veins until it cracked.
He deserved every bit of pain my powers could inflict.
Not that it would bring Mother back. But watching him suffer would at least quell the fury raging through me.
Somewhere in the distance, a creature howled, as if mourning something lost. A grief I knew all too well. I closed my eyes and let the sound wash over me.
Grief had a way of changing shape over time. Mine had crystallized into something sharp and acrid. One day, I’d wield it against the man who’d stolen Mother from me.