Chapter Twenty-Two #2
I unfurled one without thinking.
She squealed in delight.
Ronan watched me closely, eyes troubled but steadier now like he finally understood something I hadn’t meant for anyone to see.
“We leave when the storm breaks,” he said.
I nodded slowly. Ronan pried Perri gently from where she had curled up against my ribs.
“Come on, little star,” he murmured, brushing her curls. “Dinner time. Real food. Georg has soup and mutton waiting.”
“I want Veskor to come too,” she said, then paused, “but he doesn’t like soup.”
My throat tightened. I looked away. I didn’t deserve to eat with the others. Not after what I’d done. I wasn’t like them. I was too wild. Too untamed.
Ronan’s eyes softened—damn him—and he crouched to her level. “Veskor will eat here. He needs rest.” His gaze flicked to me quickly, then away. “We will bring meat, and make sure there is no soup.”
He doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t want me around her.
The familiar pang of loneliness and betrayal hit me. It was just like the fighting pits all over again: trust no one. No one will help you.
But they did help you. They carried you here and healed you. The others from the pit would have left you in the snow. Even the overseer would have left you if you weren’t strong enough to save yourself. That was how it worked there. Is that not how it works here?
Perri pouted but let herself be carried out, cuddled in Ronan’s arms as he left with Nasi and Georg, their laughter echoing down the stone hallway. The moment their footsteps faded, Canavar turned to me and glared.
I tensed. This draken reminded me of the fighting pits. He looked and smelled like a warrior. He moved like one. I took a breath and tried to reassure myself.
You aren’t there anymore.
The room shrank as he stepped up to my face, bending down so he was level with where I sat on the bed, his wings casting half the chamber in shadow. His presence pressed like a mountain on my chest. He didn’t move; he didn’t need to. He just stood there, staring at me with quiet, murderous intent.
“What do you want?” I rasped, lifting my chin even as my knees threatened to buckle. “If you’re planning to kill me, do it. She’s safe now. I’m sure no one would be mad.”
His eyes narrowed. “Ronan wants you to face Anar’s mother. What about his father?”
I eyed him warily. “I—”
“I am his father.”
Panic flared in my chest, then died. If I died now, that was fine. Something in his face flickered—pain old enough to have left scars. I braced for claws, a fight, or the inevitable end in some capacity. He moved suddenly and I flinched. His head tilted to the side, considering.
“You think I blame you,” he continued, “for the vampyre attacks. For the chaos. For the note that sent my son running into the forest.”
A knot formed in my gut. “I didn’t—”
He leaned forward slightly, claws glinting in the firelight. “Did you send my son that note, luring him off our island?”
“I …” My throat tightened.
Canavar’s expression didn’t change. “Why?”
I swallowed.
“I couldn’t get past your wards. I had no way to contact you.
I thought—I thought … If I could get him out, I could talk to him, maybe get him to join me, or have him let me on your island, but he went straight toward Lyoness.
I caught up, but I didn’t know how to approach him.
He was the first draken I’d met, and I was …
I was nervous,” I admitted wryly, licking my lips.
“I stayed away and we went to sleep a few miles apart in the trees. The vampyres attacked in the night. I heard his cries and flew to him, but … I was too late. I should have been with him. I shouldn’t have been afraid to approach him.
Canavar stared long enough that the silence clawed at the back of my skull.
“And rallying the vampyres to attack Lyoness?” he accused.
I put a hand behind my head. “I didn’t do that. They followed me to Lyoness.”
Canavar glared.
His gaze felt like judgement all on its own.
My shoulders hunched, shame and embarrassment filling me. He lifted a hand, and I was proud I didn’t flinch this time. Almost.
Canavar pointed at me. “I do not like you. I think you are wild. You might be too wild. But … I also was wild once.” He smiled wistfully. “If Nerissa could tame me, perhaps there is hope for you yet.”
I stared at him.
He exhaled and it was a long, heavy sound. “Veskor … I don’t blame you for Anar’s death.”
My heart stuttered.
“Why?” My voice cracked. “Why not? He died because he left your island. Because—”
“Because he chose it,” Canavar said. “While unfortunate, you didn’t mean to set the vampires on him. The attack was unfortunate, but not your fault.”
The words stunned me.
He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked tired.
“My son was unhappy,” he admitted. “He was restless, volatile, struggling. He had no females his age who weren’t his nest mates.
No place to put his instincts. No balance.
Nerissa and I should have seen the signs long before we made a fortress out of an island with no mates for him to bond with.
He did not wish to bond with a witch. He wanted other drakens.
With only our family and Kaida and Nasi, he felt trapped.
We were afraid from our own experiences with the outside world. ”
I swallowed hard. That sounded achingly familiar.
He continued, voice low, “He didn’t leave because someone manipulated him. He left because he couldn’t breathe in that tiny enclave anymore.”
My pulse thundered in my ears.
Canavar rested his elbows on his knees. “He was broken long before he met a vampyre. And that is on us. Not you. We have been isolated for too long.”
My anger deflated.
The weight of all of my decisions was heavy; it was like being suffocated.
If I hadn’t been so afraid, Anar might still be alive. Maybe they wouldn’t have attacked Lyoness.
My voice barely carried the word. My jaw ached with how foreign it felt.
“I’m s-sorry,” I whispered.
Canavar blinked.
I swallowed and forced it out again, louder. “I’m sorry. For the vampyres. For the danger. For the part I played that made your loss worse. I never meant—” My throat cut off, raw with emotion I had no name for.
Silence stretched. Slowly, Canavar nodded.
“You don’t owe that to me,” he said. “The only person who gets to accept that apology is Nerissa.”
“What will she do?” I whispered.
Canavar huffed a humorless laugh. “You’ll find out.”
Then he stood and walked toward the door, pausing just long enough to look back.
“She mourns hard,” he said, “but she is fair. If you truly protected that child, she will know.”
He left me alone in the firelight, shaking.
Was redemption a thing that existed in the world? Did I, of all creatures, deserve it?