Chapter 38
GRAESON
Graeson shivered as a breeze swept over him.
He was cold. Freezing, actually. He attempted to move, to grab hold of a blanket or anything for some semblance of warmth, but every inch of his body cried out in protest. His bones hurt more than when Fynn had dared him to jump off a cliff into the Red Sea.
Even the tips of fingers threatened to disintegrate the moment he dug his hands into the hard earth.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the frigid air and…smoke?
His eyes flung open. The early moments of dawn colored the tips of the trees. Or was the fire still hanging on?
His head spun. He wiggled his fingers, and blades of sharp grass poked his hand. When he lifted his hand, he didn’t see a paw with sharp claws but his hand.
He was himself, in his own body. Not some monster.
Was it another nightmare, then?
Slowly and carefully, he pushed himself up, his body heavy and arms shaking from the pain. He looked down at his chest, his bare chest. Where the fuck were his clothes?
He barely had time to register his nakedness, though, when he noticed the ground around him. The surrounding field was either burned to ash or dried up. Had he done that?
Varying images crashed into him, one after another, wave after wave. It was like waking from a nightmare, but everything Graeson saw, everything he remembered, was real.
The flames spreading across the trees.
The wings tearing through the flesh between his shoulder blades.
The arrows flying at him—at Kalisandre and Ellie as he held them in his paws.
The thunderous roar that spilled from his mouth, and the blazing heat that followed.
The piercing, gut-wrenching screams of terror that sounded when Graeson had taken to the skies.
But most importantly, his mother’s life blinking out in front of him, her very soul slipping between his hands.
Graeson spun, panic making his movements frantic as he searched the area. He had carried her here, hadn’t he?
Graeson spotted Moris knocked out on the ground and his mother beside him. Anger spurred inside him at the sight of the traitor, but Graeson held it back. When he exhaled, he could have sworn he saw smoke rise from his mouth. His mother needed him. His mother—
Was dead.
He had killed her.
He knelt beside her and tried not to look at the stain covering her top. With a trembling hand, he swiped away the limp hair that had fallen in front of her face. Her wan skin was cold to the touch.
They were supposed to save her. They were supposed to free her.
Graeson pressed the heel of his palm against his eye and screamed. He let his anger, frustration, and grief pour out of him, unrelenting.
"You were a seer. You were supposed to know! You were supposed to—" Graeson choked on his words as his mother’s final words came tumbling back to him.
"My son, I never stopped loving you. Know that there was nothing you could have done differently. I sealed my fate a long time ago. This was the only way."
She did know. She had known all along. That was why she didn’t fight him or cry out. That is why she helped him push the blade when he struggled to fight off Domitius' commands. She had known she was going to die.
"And to think, all it took was a little push," Barinthian’s voice slipped through the trees like a python and wrapped around Graeson’s neck.
"Now is not the time," Graeson bit out. He swiped at the tears, but it was useless.
"Oh, but it is the perfect time," Barinthian said. "I told you this would happen."
"You did not tell me I would turn into some savage creature! You did not tell me I would kill her!" Heat rose in the back of Graeson’s throat, the ice melting away.
A rumbling sounded in the back of Graeson’s throat.
Graeson scanned the trees, searching for his cowardly father hidden among them.
Barinthian’s voice washed over him. "You finally coming to terms with your true self is not the reason for her death."
Graeson scoffed. He had not come to terms with it by any means. He didn’t even understand how he had shifted. One minute he was holding his mother’s limp body, seeing her life slip from her eyes, and the next an icy-hot rage ripped through him, tearing at his muscles and breaking his bones.
He wasn’t sure he knew how to do it again. Would someone he cared about have to die every time?
He reached for the god that lurked within. But when he reached the cage, he found it empty. The cell was blown apart. There was a weight that existed that hadn’t been there before, a layer beneath his skin.
"Is this what you wanted, then?" Graeson asked. "For me to…to transform into a fucking dragon? And for what? What was the point?"
"The point, son, is that the humans have grown unruly. They believe they can take and give freely, that they can rise above their frivolous titles and become gods. But that is not how this world works. They have overstepped. They have created creatures that shouldn’t exist. They have given abilities to those who are undeserving. "
In Graeson’s periphery, he spotted Moris still out cold, his wings spread out beneath him. How many more people like him were there? How many more Pontians had Domitius gotten his hands on before he died?
His hands curled into fists at his sides. "And my mother had to die because of that? Is this some sick fucking joke?"
"Am I laughing?" Barinthian asked.
For once, Graeson did not hear a single laugh slip from the god’s mouth. The chilling sound had been absent during their entire conversation, a fact Graeson should have noticed immediately.
"Then why?" Graeson demanded. "You could have stopped this!"
"No, I could’t have. The Fates made it so."
"The Fates?" Graeson was so fucking sick of hearing about the Fates. "You are a fucking god!"
"And even gods are bound by the tapestry woven by the Fates," Barinthian said, his voice hollow, almost pained. "Lysanthia—"
"Do not speak her name," Graeson said, cutting him off. Barinthian didn’t deserve to. He was a coward and a fraud. He was a god, yet he did nothing to stop Graeson’s mother from dying.
There was no warning. No guidance. Even now, he remained hidden, not even giving Graeson the courtesy of showing himself.
"Your mother knew what the Fates had in store for her. She accepted it long ago. If you crumble now, if you refuse to accept the truth, her death will only be in vain. She never wanted you to fear yourself."
Graeson’s knuckles turned white as he stared at his mother’s lifeless body. "You do not know what she wanted."
"And you do not know everything," his father retorted.
A breeze swept through the woods and ruffled his clothes. Iron and smoke tinged the air. Fallen leaves skirted across the forest floor, rustling. When his mother’s hair swept across her face, Graeson brushed it away.
"You are just like her," Barinthian said, his voice quieter than before. "Full of hope."
"Maybe before," Graeson said, struggling to hold on to the last dredge of hope that threatened to slip through his fingers.
"Before and now."
Graeson huffed. "What use is being a god, in being a dragon, if I can’t even save those I care about?"
A small child’s voice rang in his ears.
You won’t save her.
The little girl had been right. Graeson had thought she was referring to Kalisandre, but it was his mother she was warning him about. If only he had known…
"This was how the tapestry was woven," Barinthian said, pity dripping from his tongue.
"Once the stitches are made, there is no unraveling it.
Now, you must do what needs to be done. You must become the reckoning the kingdoms need.
You will remind the mortals who dare challenge the Fates, who fight against the natural order of the world. "
"The war is over. Domitius is dead."
"No," Barinthian said. "The war has only begun. Kage has ignited the flame, and fire is spreading."
Graeson’s nose twitched. He did not care about any of it. Why did any of it matter if their stories were already written? If there was no way to fight the inevitable?
"If the Fates have already dictated the outcome, what is the point?"
Barinthian sighed. "We do not have much time," he warned.
To Graeson’s right, Moris stirred, his leg twitching.
"Your mother saw various versions of the future, and every time the outcome was different. The fate of the war remains to be seen."
"I need to bury her," Graeson said, grabbing her limp hand.
Leaves rustled.
"I will take her."
"You will not touch her! She deserves a proper send-off. She deserves—"
"I know what she deserves," Barinthian growled, his voice rattling the branches and sending the barely clinging leaves fluttering down.
"Did you love her?" Graeson asked, the question slipping free before he could pull it back.
He didn’t know why he had asked. Of course, Barinthian didn’t love Lysanthia. If he had, he wouldn’t have abandoned them. He wouldn’t have left Lysanthia at Domitius’ mercy.
If he did, Barinthian would have said so, but he didn’t. Instead, he whispered, "I will take her."
Graeson wanted to fight him. He wanted to refuse.
But as bright silver eyes blinked between the trees and a large black wolf came forward, its fur melting into the shadows, Graeson was rendered speechless, his body immobile.
The wolf was twice the size of a normal one, its paws nearly as large as Graeson’s head and its body half the size of Nyrri.
He should have been terrified, and he supposed a part of him was.
But the wolf prowled closer, its movements slow and calculated.
"I-I don’t understand," Graeson stammered.
The wolf arched a brow and huffed.
"Gods can take many forms. As the son of a god and a mortal, you can only take one," Barinthian said. But when he spoke, the wolf’s mouth did not move, and Graeson realized he was simply hearing Barinthian’s voice within his mind.
Yet he knew without a doubt that the wolf before him was not an ordinary creature.
This was his father. Or at least one of his forms.
The wolf nudged Lysanthia’s body with his snout, shifting her.
"That doesn’t…you can’t…"
"I will not drop her," Barinthian said as he maneuvered Lysanthia’s body onto his back. He looked at Graeson, his glowing eyes piercing into Graeson’s soul.
"You might not claim me as your father. But heed my words, son.
Lean on the one you call yours. You may feel like a monster, but running from her will only make it worse. Let her be your humanity."
Graeson didn’t respond. In silence, he watched the wolf disappear into the woods, his mother draped over its back, her long black hair blending into its fur.
He stared at the spot the pair had disappeared for a while, his thoughts spinning too quickly for him to grab.
But one thought was louder than the others: Lean on Kalisandre.
How could he do that?
He had seen the terror in her eyes. She hadn’t accepted him before, so why would she now after seeing him transform into a true monster?
His heart twisted as he thought of Kalisandre’s screams of terror. They echoed in his mind, repeating in an endless loop.
A twig snapped behind him, and Graeson spun around just as Moris swung.