Chapter 55 – Dain
DAIN
Irode north alone. Azaria would follow later. She’d said midday once she’d finished with Myrin. I hadn’t argued. Some conversations needed to happen without an audience, even hers.
The road to Thalor was empty at this time of year. Cold wind, gray sky, the smell of wet stone and pine. My mare moved at an easy pace, and I let her. There was no rush. The dead don’t keep appointments.
The hill rose ahead, familiar as my own hands.
Wildflowers dotted the grass despite the season—stubborn things, growing where they had no business growing.
The waterfall hummed in the distance; the sound carried across the ridge like a pulse.
The mountains watched from the horizon, snow-capped and indifferent.
I dismounted, tethered the horse, and walked the rest of the way on foot.
The gravestone was small and simple. Eris’s name and the year he died. I kneeled, brushed away the moss and dead leaves that had gathered since our last visit, and poured water over the top from my waterskin. The old Thalor custom Azaria had taught me years ago. I’d never stopped.
I placed a stone at the base, one more among dozens. Then I sat back, and for a long moment, I said nothing. Listened to the water. Let the wind pull at my coat.
“Hey, brother.”
Hey, Dain.
I exhaled. Dragged a hand down my face.
“I don’t know where to start.”
Start wherever you need to.
The grass was cold and damp beneath me. I could feel the chill seeping through my trousers, but I didn’t move.
“I keep coming back to that road.” My voice was quieter than I intended. “And I’ve gone over it a thousand times: what I could have done differently, whether my magic could have reached you if I’d been faster.”
I stopped. Swallowed.
“I used my mind bending to ease you out. Did you know that? Slipped in, numbed the pain, let your mind drift somewhere far from what the rot was doing to your body. It was the only thing I could give you.” My throat tightened. “And when it was over, I was the one who closed your eyes.”
I know. I felt you there. It was enough.
“I’m furious, you know. Furious at you, that you left us.
Furious at the fucked up world that took you from us, furious at myself that I didn’t see the signs.
Furious at the fact that I had to pick up the pieces of our lives on my own, because if I didn’t, it would tear apart whatever scrap of soul we had left. ”
It wasn’t your fault, Dain.
“I almost lost her again.” I took a deep breath. “She was arrested after we returned from Solmarin. Some bullshit charges. They locked her up for six days.” I swallowed hard. “Her mind almost didn’t make it.”
I know. I’ve been there with her.
“But she survived. She healed, and I thought Azaria would come back to us. But whatever happened in those cells, whatever dark place she went… Gods, Eris.”
I shook my head. “Torven sent abyssal beasts after her. They nearly tore her apart. By the time we found her, she’d killed seven of them by herself. But one had clawed her side, and the rot?—“
I had to stop. The memory pressed in. “The same black tendrils. The same stench. Her blood running dark and wrong, and all I could see was your face, Eris—your arms streaked with the same corruption, the rot crawling toward your heart while she screamed.”
It wasn’t the same.
“It felt the same. She would have died if it weren’t for Quinton. But that only fueled her rage.”
“She went to Darann. Asked him for help.”
I know.
“Seventeen people, Eris. She killed seventeen people before I finally got through to her. I was terrified that this was what would finally take her from me. I’ve lost you to that wretched magic. I almost lost her to her own darkness. I thought she wouldn’t come back from it.”
I know it’s been difficult.
“I found her in the forest, beating a bounty half to death. I said everything I should have said four years ago. That she was proving them right. That softness wasn’t weakness. That I couldn’t watch her walk into the dark looking for death to bring her peace.”
I felt it when she broke.
“She broke. Right there in the mud. Sobbed in my arms and said your name like it was the first time she’d let it past her teeth since you died. She said she was sorry—for you, for what she took from me. My chance to grieve.”
You never blamed her for that.
“She blames herself. Every single day.”
I sat with that for a while. Let the waterfall say what I couldn’t.
“I miss you.”
The words felt small and insufficient.
“I miss the stupid things.”
A breath left me.
“I miss the stupid nights.”
The corner of my mouth tugged despite myself.
“You remember when Rylen practically ordered the three of us to attend that insufferable palace party? Said it would be ’good for morale.’”
I remember it very well.
A quiet huff.
“We lasted ten minutes before retreating to the corner with a tray of stolen pastries and too much wine.”
The waterfall roared steadily behind me.
“Azaria was leaning against the column, pretending she wasn’t people-watching. Then you pointed at some broad-shouldered man and said, ’He’s handsome.’”
I shook my head faintly.
“Azaria took one look and said, ’Gods no, he’s one of Veshar’s.’”
A breath of quiet laughter.
“I told you both I preferred my clothes unsigned.”
The wind tugged at my coat.
“And then Azaria nearly choked on her drink because some woman in emerald silk walked past and she just muttered, ’Gods above, look at her.’”
A pause.
“The three of us stood there for an hour. Didn’t dance. Didn’t mingle. Just made up elaborate backstories for strangers and took turns deciding which one of them I was apparently destined to charm.”
I stared at the carved name.
“You kept insisting I needed someone ’dangerous but kind.’ Azaria said I’d fold in a week. You two used to take turns pointing out potential wives for me. As if I had time for that.”
You never did.
“Maybe I would have,” I muttered. “If you’d stayed.”
The wind shifted through the grass.
“I miss not being the only steady one.”
That one came out quieter.
“You understood her in a way I never could. You could reach her without pushing. You made it look easy.”
I swallowed.
“When you were there, I didn’t have to hold all of it.”
Silence.
“I miss having someone who knew me before all of this. Before the council. Before Dravareth turned everything hard.”
My hand rested against the damp earth.
“You weren’t just my friend.”
The words thickened.
“You were the brother I chose.”
A long pause.
“I don’t say that out loud. It sounds weak.”
It does not.
My jaw tightened.
“I’m tired, Eris.”
There. That was the most honest thing yet.
“I’m tired of being the one who catches her when she falls. I will keep doing it. I’ll do it until my body gives out. But sometimes I wish I didn’t have to do it alone.”
The waterfall roared steadily.
“She’s changing.”
A softer note crept into my voice.
“She’s stronger. Harder. But there’s something gentler under it now, too. Quinton sees it. Kalias sees it. Even the wolf won’t leave her side.”
A pause.
“I think you would have liked them.”
A faint smirk tugged at my mouth.
“You would have made some ridiculous speech about found family and destiny and balance.”
Probably.
“And then Azaria would have rolled her eyes.”
A breath of quiet laughter.
“I miss laughing without it feeling like I’m betraying you.”
The words settled between us.
“I don’t know how to move forward without leaving you behind.”
The wind pressed against my coat.
“But I can’t keep standing still either.”
A long silence.
“I hope wherever you are, you’re not alone.”
Never.
I heard the horse before I saw her. The soft thud of hooves on damp earth, the creak of leather. I didn’t turn. I knew the sound of her approach the way I knew my own heartbeat.
She dismounted, tethered her horse beside mine, and walked the last stretch in silence. When she kneeled beside the gravestone, she went through the same ritual—water poured over the top, a stone placed at the base, fingers brushing the carved letters clean.
She sat back. Drew a breath.
“Hey, Eris.”
Hi, Sweetheart.
I watched her from the corner of my eye. She looked better than she had a month ago—color returning, the hollows under her eyes less pronounced. But the stillness was still there. That careful, controlled stillness she wore like armor.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” she said quietly. “It’s been a difficult couple of months.”
I know, Love. I watched all of it.
Silence stretched between us. She pulled at a strand of grass, eyes fixed on the stone.
“I assume Dain told you what happened. What I’ve done.”
He didn’t have to. I know.
She inhaled carefully, then looked me in the eye.
“I stole something from you.”
The wind moved through the grass.
“When Eris died, I showed up at your door half gone already. I didn’t give you a choice. You had to keep me breathing. You had to hold everything together.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I never asked if you were drowning too.”
Silence.
“He wasn’t just mine.”
Her voice roughened on that.
“He was yours. And I never said that out loud. Not properly.”
Her hand curled in the grass.
“I made you the strong one because I didn’t know how to be strong without him.”
A pause.
“I hate that you didn’t get time to grieve him the way you deserved. I hate that every memory of him in those first months is tangled with me bleeding on your floor. And I can’t fix that.”
Her voice steadied.
“But I see it now. And I am sorry.”
She turned slightly toward the stone.
“I’m sorry to you too, Eris.”
A breath.
“I kept saying your name like it was a wound. Like it belonged to me alone.”
Her voice dropped.
“You would have hated what I became for a while. I chased death because it felt easier than sitting still with the silence you left behind.”
I would never hate you.
She took a breath.
“I’m trying to be someone you would recognize. I don’t want to stand here one day and feel ashamed to meet you again.”
“You deserved to see what we’re building. The squad. The stubborn idiots we keep collecting. The way Dain still pretends he doesn’t enjoy people-watching.”
A small breath of humor.
“I wish you were here for it.”
I’ve been here for all of it.
She stared at the stone for a long time. Her fingers hovered over the carved letters like they might burn her.
“I haven’t said your name in four years.”
The words came out barely above a whisper. I didn’t move.
“I told myself it was because it hurt too much, but that wasn’t the whole truth.”
Her throat tightened.
“If I didn’t say it, I didn’t have to feel the space you left.”
I know, Love.
The breeze ruffled some strands that had escaped her braid.
“Elias asked me something.”
Her jaw clenched.
“He said… do you think he deserves to be forgotten?”
Silence pressed in. Her fingers finally traced the carved letters.
“Eris.”
She swallowed.
“You were powerful. You were respected. People listened when you spoke. You steadied rooms without raising your voice.”
Her voice wavered.
“And I reduced you to a wound.”
You did what you had to survive.
I tried to swallow the hot lump that formed in my throat. Azaria kept talking.
“I made your name something sharp. Something I couldn’t touch.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
“You deserved better than that.”
Wind moved through the grass.
“I was so afraid that if I spoke about you, I would fall apart again.”
A breath.
“But maybe… maybe I was also afraid that if I let people remember you, they’d realize what they had lost.”
“I didn’t want them to look at me and see what I failed to protect. But silence isn’t protection.”
You have never failed me. I was the one who left you behind to deal with it all.
Her voice steadied.
“It’s erasure. And I’m done erasing you.”
She pressed her palm flat against the stone.
“Eris. You were extraordinary. And I loved you with all my heart. I still do.”
I love you too, Azaria.
Neither of us moved for a long time. The waterfall filled the space where words had run out. I sat with my arms resting on my knees, watching the mountains. She sat with her hand on the stone, eyes closed, breathing slow and even. Eventually she opened them, looking at me.
“Thank you,” she said. “For coming here first. For talking to him without me.”
“He needed to hear it from both of us. Separately.”
She nodded once. The wind pressed through the grass, and she pulled her coat tighter. The color in her cheeks was better than it had been in weeks—the fresh air, maybe. Or something heavier finally loosened.
“We should go,” she said quietly. “The squad will worry.”
“They’ll survive.”
“Dain.”
“Fine.”
She almost smiled. Almost.
I stood and brushed the dirt off my knees. Then she kneeled one last time, bowing her head, clasping her hands, and whispered the prayer I’d heard every time we came here. The words fell like stones into still water.
“The mountains watched you wander.
The water guides you home.
The earth receives you, dust to dust.
Unshakable as stone, you stood.
Now rest, traveler. Rest.
And when my journey ends, may I find you waiting.”
I will. Always.
She opened her eyes. Took one last look at the stone, at his name carved into permanence. Then she stood.
I looked at her. She looked at me. Neither of us said anything. We didn’t need to. Whatever had been pressing between us—the guilt, the grief, the things we’d carried separately for too long—it wasn’t gone. But it was lighter. Shared. The way it should have been from the start.
We walked back to the horses in silence. I took one more look at the hill—the wildflowers, the stone, the waterfall catching the late light.
Take care of each other.
We mounted and rode south toward Tempest. Toward the squad. Toward whatever came next. Azaria didn’t look back. She never did.
And I’d learned, a long time ago, to follow her lead.