Chapter Twenty-One
RONAN
In a twist of irony, the storm quieted the moment the fighting stopped.
Veskor lay where he’d fallen, half-buried already as the snow around him was stained dark blue with his blood.
“NO! NO!” Perri shrieked.
I struggled to contain Perri and Canavar stepped forward, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and turning to me.
“Leave him or take him. At least he won’t fight either way,” Canavar said, disappearing into the tunnel with Perri punching her fists at his broad back.
Nasi gave me a look.
I lingered at the entrance, turning at the last moment to look at him lying unconscious in the snow.
He was dangerous. He was unknown. I knew what Benedict would do, and what Kieran would suggest, even if he wouldn’t be happy about it.
I stood over Veskor, the cold cutting through my lungs, and for a moment, I did nothing.
Nasi paused, waiting for me.
“Ronan,” he called. “We’re leaving.”
I didn’t answer. My gaze stayed on Veskor.
Snow gathered along his shoulders, settling into the dark fabric of the rough rags around his hips, and the poor excuse for a cloak around his shoulders. He had made mistakes, surely. But all of us had, as well. We’d done what we needed to survive.
He was trying to survive, too.
I clenched my jaw.
And for a moment—just a moment—I saw it too, clearly: another body in the snow.
Another choice.
What would Wren do?
My chest tightened, something sharp and unwelcome digging in beneath my ribs.
That’s when I noticed it—something stuck in his scales between his shoulder and his crude leather belt.
Reaching forward, I plucked it out, holding a pale-blue flower so crumpled there wasn’t much left to it except a few crushed petals.
My fingers tingled where it touched, giving off a dull silver shimmer.
My bloodmagick runes spiked and glowed gold for a brief moment before settling.
The flower.
I recognized it immediately as the same one I’d seen on the shores of Lyoness before the vampyre attack–the magickal one that had caused me to neglect my duties to Wren.
Why was it here, jammed between Veskor’s scales like a bad reminder? Did it matter?
I’d hate to be defined by all my past mistakes. Was it fair to judge Veskor by them?
I knew immediately in my heart what I would do.
“Nasi,” I called out.
He poked his head out of the tunnel, confused.
“Nasi,” I repeated, more firmly this time. “Help me.”
There was a beat—just one—where I thought he might refuse. Then he nodded and moved toward me swiftly. He only said one thing to me. “Why?”
“Because I know what it’s like,” I said, my voice quieter than the storm, but no less steady, “to need a second chance.”
The words sat heavy between us. After a moment, Nasi smiled, the expression bitter sweet and full of his own private pain.
“True enough.” Nasi gazed down at him. He brushed snow from Veskor’s face. “He’s still breathing.”
“Good,” I replied.
We moved in tandem without needing to speak further.
Nasi took his shoulders, I took his legs, lifting him carefully from the snow.
Dead weight again, but manageable between us.
Veskor’s head lolled to the side, snow falling away from his hair as we raised him.
For someone who had fought like a cornered animal moments ago, he was frighteningly still now.
“Let’s go,” I said.
We carried him toward the tunnel which stretched before us, dark and narrow, a sharp contrast to the blinding white of the storm. Nasi tensed, and I knew the draken sense of claustrophobia was squeezing him, the walls of snow pressing down on us.
I tried to ignore it. This was the safest, shielded from the wind and the snow. Varun would not lead us astray.
Benedict will not like this. He’ll be even more mad at you.
Oh well. Wren wouldn’t be and in our mateship, Wren could hold the final say. If I could just explain my side, I felt confident Veskor would stand a chance.
Every step into the tunnel felt like crossing a line I couldn’t go back from.
That was fine.
Cold snow walls eventually sloped upwards, giving way to damp earth. It was quiet down here as the storm raged above us. My muscles ached and my body hurt–probably too much exposure to the cold. The sound of digging still echoed faintly ahead: Varun’s pack finishing the passage through to Hoveria.
Ahead, there was only darkness and whatever waited on the other side.
We carried Veskor forward anyway. Whatever happened, we were all in it together.
I realized, as we carried him through the tunnels, what I’d actually learned from Benedict through everything we’d been through: survival wasn’t about who deserved to live.
It was about who you refused to leave behind.
And I had left enough people in the snow already.
The stone fortress should have been a ruin by now, but it wasn’t. The Mountain Men had rebuilt it.
Walls once shattered by the Overlord’s wrath were repaired with dark basalt.
Bridges once collapsed now stretched strong and seamless. Torches burned gold in the windows where once there had been nothing but darkness.
A lump lodged in my throat.
Hoveria—once our cage, once our prison—now looked like a home restored. Canavar descended first, bearing Veskor over his shoulders. Nasi followed, landing with fluid grace. I hit the ground last with Perri, legs buckling before I steadied myself.
Mountain Men soldiers rushed forward, spearpoints flashing.
Then the line broke.
King Georg stepped through, no traces of the gangly youth that I remembered present. He was a man now: tall, broad, and cloaked in fur and glacial-crystal armor, his dark brown hair trimmed neatly, equally dark eyes sharp and knowing.
He greeted us immediately with a slow, warm smile.
“Stand down,” Georg said quietly to his guards.
The soldiers immediately lowered their weapons. He approached with calm authority and unexpected warmth.
“Ronan of Lyoness,” he said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Your queen said you might one day return. I did not expect it under such circumstances.”
My breath hitched.
“You … rebuilt all this quickly,” I managed, still not convinced we weren’t about to get skewered.
He turned, taking in Hoveria with a wistful, proud expression.
“We inherited ruins. Blackened stone. Shattered walls. Scorch marks from your battles, but it was still a home for my people, then yours, then mine again.” He touched the repaired wall with reverence.
“When the curse fell upon you, the fortress fell with you. Cracked by grief, by wild magick, by the Overlord’s first assaults. When your queen freed you and led you south, Hoveria was left wounded.” His voice softened. “We could not let it die.”
A thick swallow worked down my throat.
He wasn’t doing this for thanks or glory.
He did it because Hoveria belonged to both our peoples. He was simply trying to make everything better, while forgiving the past.
“Come,” Georg said. “You all need warmth.”
“And food!” Perri piped up.
George laughed, and even a few of the guards tittered. He led us through the archway, and everything inside felt impossibly alive.
Firelight flickered along the stone. Mountaineers bustled with steaming bowls of broth. Children chased each other down the long corridors. Herbs hung drying in the rafters.
This had once been a tomb, but now it felt like a heartbeat.
Wren had freed the drakens from this place only a year ago. When they left, Hoveria was still broken, smoke blackened, blood still drying on broken stone.
And yet, now it was whole.
Perri reached out a tiny hand toward a hanging lantern. Georg smiled and tickled her cheek.
“She is safe here,” he said. “All your people are.”
He guided us into the warmest chamber, clearly an infirmary. A matronly woman with a face like wrinkled leather clicked her tongue when she saw Veskor, simply pointing to a long, open bed.
Canavar set him down on his side, careful of his wings.
With his blue lips and claws stiff with frostbite, he looked half-dead. Snow still clung to his lashes, refusing to melt.
And even though he was the cause of all of this, he had carried Perri and sheltered her the best he could. He had nearly died doing it.
I didn’t know what to do with the knot that formed in my chest at that truth.
Canavar, however, was less conflicted. His voice was flat stone.
“If he is responsible for the vampyres,” he said slowly, “then he is responsible for Anar’s death.”
Nasi’s jaw tightened. “We wait for him to wake. And get better. Then we judge and beat his ass.”
Georg listened without flinching. He approached Perri gently.
“Little one,” he said, bowing his head in respect, “you will have a story to tell someday.”
She blinked at him, then placed her hand on his beard.
Georg laughed softly. “She approves.”
He straightened and signaled to an air witch passing by. I stared at her. Since when were there witches hanging out in Hoveria? The world was getting bigger all around me, whether I noticed it or not.
“Send word to Lyoness,” he instructed. “Tell them all are safe. And that we will return their kin when they are well enough to fly.”
The witch vanished in a swirl of wind.
Georg turned back to us.
“The gods do not often offer second chances,” he said. “And yet here we are. Hoveria has become ours again.”
His gaze settled on me with quiet gravity.
“You drakens left this fortress broken. Cut off. Without leaders to guide them. Many here suffered for it,” he paused, “but they also healed. Hoveria will rise again with the drakens.”
A long breath left my lungs.
Georg clasped my shoulder again. “Welcome home, Ronan, for however long you need.”
I bowed my head.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
For the first time in days, I felt warmth in my bones again.
And hope.