Chapter 20
Wren
The sun is going down by the time I realize I’ve spent the entire day waiting for a conversation that never came. I stand with my forehead resting lightly against the cold glass, fingers curled around the chipped wooden frame as I track the slow slide of the sun toward the horizon.
I thought Ryoden would demand answers the moment the kings disappeared, not giving me even a moment to breathe and collect myself after those parting kisses that seemed to brand themselves deep into my soul.
Yet somehow he’d done the exact opposite, passing me off to Eli after we descended from atop the wall.
Not even a goodbye or glance in my direction.
All day I’ve paced the room, going round and round in my head about how much to tell him when he walks in. Thinking of the best phrasing and delivery to help him process the insanity that is my creation and purpose in this world.
I grew tired of my own circling thoughts and anxiety as the hours passed, exhausted from playing out every scenario repeatedly.
My breath fogs the glass of the window that I’ve spent far too much time in front of since arriving in this city. I exhale slowly, watching the outline of my face blur and then reappear as it fades. A soft knock breaks the quiet, barely more than the brush of knuckles against wood.
I straighten from the window, pulling myself back from the spiral of thought, and turn toward the door. “Come in,” I call, wary of my voice sounding as unnerved as I feel.
The door opens just enough for Derrick to step through. He closes it carefully behind him and instantly I notice his expression is…off. The usual glimmer of dry humor is missing, his shoulders held a little too rigidly, and his jaw set.
He looks like a man who’s been chewing on something bitter all day and his face forgot how to look normal.
“Evening,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets for a second before taking them back out, fingers flexing restlessly. His gaze flicks to the window, then back to me. “How are you holding up?”
Polite small talk…Yeah, something is definitely wrong with him.
I let out a breath with an awkward chuckle. “I’m…existing,” I answer, because pretending otherwise feels pointless. “You?”
His mouth twitches, but the smile doesn’t quite form. “Busy,” he says honestly. “Putting out fires. Metaphorical ones,” he hastens to add with a quick lift of his brows. “The actual fires were averted thanks to you and your…dragon friend.”
The statement lands somewhere between curiosity and discomfort.
My lips pull tight in a thin line as I recognize how horrible of a situation I’ve put them in simply by being here.
I shift my weight, fingers curling into the loose fabric of my shirt. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “For the mess. For making your lives harder.”
“Trust me,” Derrick replies, his tone gentler than I expect as his gaze averts to the floor for a moment, “harder lives are sort of in the job description.” His eyes drift back up to study me for a long moment, then he steps farther into the room, stopping near the foot of the bed.
“I didn’t come up here to make small talk, Wren. ”
My stomach tightens at that and I blink back in surprise. “All right,” I murmur. “What did you come for, then?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to make a barbed-joke, but I swallow it down. His gaze sharpens, the easy camaraderie we’ve found in the past week visibly taking a step back to make way for his officer’s role.
“I came to make sure you understand exactly what you’re standing in the middle of now,” he says, voice even but firm. “Because I don’t think you do. Not fully.”
The words land like cold water poured over my head, shocking me.
I actually rather think I’m the only person in the world who fully understands what I’m standing in the middle of.
“I know I’ve put the city in a difficult position,” I say slowly as my brow furrows. “I know the supernaturals being here won’t just…go away because they left. I’m not oblivious, Derrick.”
“No,” he agrees, “you’re not oblivious to your own situation. But I don’t think you realize how much he has put on the line for you.”
The emphasis is soft but unmistakable.
My throat tightens. “Ryoden.”
“Yes.” Derrick’s lips flatten into a thin line. “The colonel who let four high-level supernatural threats walk away from our walls without firing a shot despite getting choked out, because a woman he’s known for a week asked him to trust her.”
Each word is clipped and controlled, but the frustration underneath is palpable. It’s always been clear that the two of them share a friendship that goes beyond their stations, but this level of directness makes me realize his true fear for the position his friend is in…because of me.
“He didn’t do that just because you’re charming,” he continues, eyes never leaving mine.
“He did it because he believes there is something special about you that needs to be protected at all costs. And because of that, he ignored every instinct, every protocol, every training manual we’ve ever had drilled into us. ”
I swallow hard, fingers tightening on the back of the chair I pushed near the window. “I didn’t think I asked him to ignore all of that,” I protest, even as guilt curls heavy and hot in my stomach. “I asked him to give me a chance to keep people from dying.”
“You asked, and he heard more than you said,” Derrick counters, making the guilt feel even heavier in its attempt to pull me under.
He takes a step closer, the floorboards creaking softly beneath his boots.
“He’s staked his reputation on you,” he goes on, voice dropping to a softer tone than I’ve ever heard from him.
“His command. The trust of every person in this city. If HQ doesn’t like how he handled today—and they likely won’t—he risks being stripped of his rank.
Being court-martialed. Being labeled a traitor.
Jail, if he’s lucky.” His jaw works for a beat. “Execution, if he’s not.”
The room seems to close in around me, just a little, with that admission.
“Ryoden knew all of that,” he continues. “And he still chose to stand on that wall beside you, not as your jailor, but as an ally.”
My eyes sting with the implications. I look down at the worn rug, at the small fray in the pattern near Derrick’s boot, because I don’t know how to hold his gaze and carry on with this conversation at the same time.
“I never wanted that for him,” I whisper as my chest squeezes. “Any of it. I never wanted anyone to risk themselves for me again. I came here to escape that.”
Derrick’s gaze softens as I look back up at him, but he doesn’t back down. “Wanting or not wanting doesn’t change the impact you’ve already had, Wren.”
A fresh ache blooms under my ribs and I nod, at a loss for words, because he’s right. I’ve been caught up in not wanting to hurt the kings, my mission here as a weaver, and trying to convince myself that I’ve held Ryoden at a safe enough distance by withholding information.
“I’m telling you this because you need to understand something before he comes home,” Derrick says, taking one more step toward me, his eyes imploring as he looks down at my face.
“If HQ decides he’s gone soft, that he’s sympathizing with the enemy, they’ll use you to prove their point.
They’ll say he was compromised and that he helped you willingly, and everyone in this city that just saw you stop a dragon from raining down fire on us to rest his hand in your palm will testify to the truth of that. ”
His words feel like a dozen tiny knives digging their way into my chest.
That’s exactly what it would look like to those on the outside of the situation.
Did I somehow walk Ryoden into a trap without meaning to?
“All day I’ve been thinking that maybe the best thing I could do for him—for all of you—would be to…go. Leave the city and take myself out of the equation. If I’m the problem, maybe—”
“No.” Derrick cuts in sharply, the word ringing hard in the small room. “Absolutely not.”
I blink, startled into silence as he scrubs a hand over his face, dragging it down to rub at the back of his neck. When he speaks again, his tone is softer, but no less firm.
“Running away from this won’t fix anything,” he argues, turning to look out my window. “If you leave now, after everything that happened on that wall? It will not only make him look more guilty, but it will also look like you truly are on our enemies’ side.”
A heavy sigh escapes me as I shake my head at a loss for what I’m supposed to do—how can I help Ryoden the way he’s helped me, without making everything even more complicated?
“And if something happens to our people because of you,” Derrick adds dryly, “he’ll blame himself for not stopping you when he had the chance, and for trusting you. It will eat him alive.”
My chest deflates with an exhale as I nod softly.
“So if you have even an ounce of bravery in you,” he says, meeting my gaze squarely once more, “you stay. You stand with him while this plays out and you help him shoulder whatever comes of it. You don’t disappear and leave him to face the consequences of believing in you alone.”
While I understand the role I’ve played in this and accept that, it’s like he’s seemed to forget that Ryoden is his own person, with his own thoughts and the ability to make decisions as he sees fit. I don’t have some magical spell cast over him to do my bidding.
I won’t shoulder all of the blame here.
My breath shakes on the way out. “You make it sound like he’s some glorified hero I don’t deserve,” I say, the words escaping before I can stop them. “He’s a grown man, Derrick. He could have jailed me, turned me away from the city, or followed protocol at any part of this.”
Derrick’s expression eases, just a fraction. “He likes to protect broken things, Wren,” he says quietly. “That’s why he’s fought so hard to get to his station, so he can help as many people in this fucked up world that he can.”