Chapter 28
Riven
The air wafting through the night smells like ash from the remnants of the short-lived battle launched from the Great Lakes by the human’s naval force.
Even from high up atop Azyric’s fortress, the stench of burned fuel and charred metal threads itself in the current, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of all the blood spilled.
The latter has my fangs aching, testing the limits of my vow to only drink from my darling.
When I agreed to the thirty-day ceasefire, it didn’t even cross my mind how hard it would be to not drink from her for such a period of time. My brow pinches at the complications it poses for me, and for her.
Can I risk crossing into their territory again to visit her?
Will she still let me feed from her if I do?
I could have used that night that she thought was a dream to feed, but all my mind and body wanted to do then was provide her comfort. After the heavy concern about her well-being, my anxiety grew into a frenzy post discovering she’d fled from the battle.
My hands curl into fists at my side as my gaze lingers on the human bodies floating in the water.
We gave them everything to start anew as their own civilization when we could have easily forced them into servitude beneath the might of the factions.
Yet now they want to take everything from us… from me.
Defending my people and our lands is a mantle I’ve always willingly taken on as king, be it from the factions before our own agreement to work together, or from the humans at our border states. Yet the one part of this war I can’t come to terms with is the idea of losing Wren to the humans.
Battles I can maneuver to my victory, but my position in her life I cannot. The loss of control in that particular facet is turning out to be one of the most infuriating positions I’ve ever found myself in.
Moonlight pours over the expansive dark water in the near distance, catching on the destroyed remains of the human forces.
Smoke drifts up in steady plumes from the still smoldering ships and a low rumble spreads through my chest as my fangs lengthen.
While we’ve all endured attacks from humans as the rebellion forces took over and found their footing, it was few and far between.
Never have they been so emboldened and strategic as they have in the past month.
No longer are humans doing offensive attacks in plain sight, but small, calculated efforts to find weak points throughout each faction.
But the attack tonight was a vastly miscalculated step.
They likely thought the darkness would give them cover to approach without being seen, but it seems they forgot the shadows of night are owned wholly by the wraiths.
A grave mistake that cost them every ship and human life on them.
My only regret was that word didn’t reach the other factions until the battle was already over.
Naively we assumed they’d be scared from our counterattack at my border, after such a sweeping display of our strength and coordinated efforts between all four factions for the first time.
My upper lip curls back in a snarl at this underhanded, offensive move at night.
It reminds me of the surprise attack against my nests while they slept, and still my desire for vengeance burns brightly. One offensive attack wasn’t enough.
It will never be enough until they’re all eradicated.
Sharp pain blooms along my gums as my fangs pulse with the need to sink into the delicate, soft necks of our enemies. To rip each of their throats out and leave a trail of their dismembered bodies in my wake.
“Six ships,” Azyric snarls, pulling me from the bloodlust consuming my thoughts. “Six ships loaded with the firepower to try to crumble my castle if they got close enough.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to question if this was the vision of his castle on fire and crumbling that Wren saw in a thread, but I swallow the notion down.
We’re here to ensure Azyric doesn’t do anything reckless in retaliation, and bringing my darling up won’t do any of us any good.
He’s lost all concept of logic regarding her, from the moment he realized he couldn’t have her to himself when she chose to go to the shifter lands.
His chest expands with a deep breath as his hands curl around the stone parapet, eyes still trained on the graveyard in the lake. “You expect me to sit here and do nothing.”
It isn’t really a question, yet the undertone of accusation is clear as day.
His shadows are unleashed around him, lashing out in wild arcs through the air. Torryn stands behind him on Azyric’s left, bare feet planted shoulder-width apart and his jaw clenched. My eyes swivel to Sylvin occupying the opposite side, wondering how he’s managed to hold his tongue for so long.
“We’re not asking you to do nothing,” the fae king replies, breaking his silence since arrival.
His tone is deceptively neutral, despite the frost spiderwebbing out from his boots in a thin, lacy pattern across the stone.
“We’re asking you not to launch an all-out assault on their cities tonight because you’re angry. There’s a difference.”
Azyric’s laugh is short and humorless. “I lost people tonight. Their bodies are still floating in my waters alongside the humans and ships they dragged down with them in a final sacrifice. Angry seems appropriate.”
“Angry is appropriate,” Torryn agrees quietly, the words rumbling out. “Recklessness is not.”
Azyric whirls on him, shadows snapping like whips. “Says the man whose dragon was ready to level a human city last week.”
“You’re right.” Torryn’s gaze doesn’t flinch despite him taking a singular step back from the whirling shadows. “And I would have, if she hadn’t appeared and begged us to not harm them. I honored her request, which is what we need you to do tonight as well.”
The mention of her hangs between us all, instantly adding a new layer of tension to the situation.
“I remember precisely what she asked of us,” Azyric bites out as he whirls to face us. “I also remember that the humans did not agree to that ceasefire. We did. We tied our own hands while leaving theirs free.”
His gaze cuts back to the water briefly. “This isn’t something I can sit by and allow. I will not watch wraith bodies pile up at the bottom of my lake because we are trying to comply with a woman who isn’t even here or on our side.”
Instantly my spine stiffens at his implication that he would put her in harm's way and break this ceasefire.
“She isn’t here,” Sylvin says evenly, and the faintest emphasis on the last word makes my brow crease. “But she is deep within human territory and still relying on us to keep the promise we made.”
Azyric’s head snaps toward him and his eyes narrow on the silver-tongued fae. “Your words are very specific, as if she isn’t in that city anymore.”
My attention cuts to Torryn as he sways, weight settling more heavily into his heels, and for the first time since we came up here, I notice the shift in his demeanor.
There’s a calmness and assuredness to his energy and heart rate that confuses me.
Ever since she left us on the battlefield, his pulse has been erratic, yet it suspiciously isn’t now.
Why is that?
“She’s not where we left her last,” Torryn says before Sylvin can answer. “She left.”
Every muscle in my body clenches at that as the wind tosses a dark strand of hair across my eyes.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice pitched higher than I mean to allow it to, showcasing my shock and anxiety.
Torryn’s golden eyes flick to mine and then away again, as if the distance will make the next part easier for him to say. “She traveled north today, deep into the heart of their forces.”
Sylvin’s eyes also narrow on him as he blinks twice. “For once, Torryn seems to know as much as I do,” he murmurs. “I confirmed her location before coming here. She’s in New York.”
“How did you know that?” Azyric demands as he stares daggers into the side of Torryn’s face.
“I also find myself wondering how you know what direction she’s moving,” Sylvin adds before crossing his arms against his chest. “We all know how I’m tracking her, but you don’t have access to that.”
Torryn remains quiet and the tension around us curls tighter. A gust of wind tugs at his hair, lifting the hair at his temples, yet his eyes are wholly fixated and steady, seemingly unaware of everything around him. It’s like he’s looking inward, weighing information.
When he finally snaps out of it, his chin is higher and shoulders squared.
“Because she’s my mate,” he says, volleying his attention between all three of us, as if daring us to fight that admission.
The world around us seems to pause. Even Azyric’s shadows hesitate, the constant whirling of them stilling for a heartbeat as the declaration rolls across the rooftop and sinks into each of us.
His…mate.
“My bond with her allows me to feel her either getting closer or further from me,” he continues, voice steady now that he’s admitted the biggest part of this equation. “I’ll know when she’s hurt, when she’s afraid, and if she needs me.”
Jealousy is too small a word for what surges up in response to his declaration and lodges itself under my ribs.
I’ve felt the sharp edge of possessiveness over her since the day we all laid eyes on her for the first time.
I felt it each time like a knife to my heart, each time she chose to go to a faction before mine.
I felt it countless times between then and when that human dared to step between me and her on that wall.
But this is different. This is the kind of jealousy that wraps its fingers around the base of your lungs and squeezes until your breath comes out in shallow pants. The kind that turns every treasured and intimate moment into a question I’m afraid to ask myself.