Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
REIYANA
T he wagon was quiet now, save for Kaelen’s laboured breathing. Reiya knelt beside him, smoothing salve over the cauterized wound with careful fingers.
“Apply generously,” Su Lian instructed, her voice gentle now that the worst had passed. “The bleeding’s stopped, but we need to keep infection away.”
Reiya nodded, focusing on Kaelen’s chest as it rose and fell in a stuttered rhythm. He was alive, but the venom and blood loss had drained him, leaving only a pale, unsettling stillness.
Outside, the clash of steel had faded, replaced by scattered cheers.
“The thugs are retreating,” Ru Rong said quietly.
Kaelen stirred beside her, a low groan escaping his lips.
She leaned in, brushing a damp curl from his brow. “Kai,” she whispered, her voice barely above the hush of the room. “You’re safe. It’s alright.”
His lashes fluttered, golden eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment—hazy, unfocused—before closing again.
Then, a knock broke the quiet.
She stilled. Her limbs felt heavier than they had all day. She rose, crossing to the door, her fingers trembling as she lifted the bar .
The door opened, and Reiya’s breath caught.
Alarik stood there, streaked with ash and dirt, hair damp with sweat. Relief surged through her, sharp and immediate. He was alive.
For a heartbeat, that was all that mattered.
Her eyes drank in the sight of him—worn, grim, and whole. The storm inside her stilled, just enough to take in air again. Her throat tightened, but she held it back. Not now. There’d be time later for emotions.
“The camp is secure,” he said, voice rough with exhaustion, but she heard the relief beneath it. “The Talharen guards drove off the mercenaries.”
She nodded, though the tension in her shoulders refused to ease. “And Jodhar?”
His jaw flexed, his expression darkening. “Alive, unfortunately. But gone—for now.”
His gaze lingered on her, as if searching for any sign that she was hurt. She reached for his hand without thinking, needing the reassurance of his touch. He squeezed hers in return, solid and steady.
“How’s Kai?” he asked, voice low.
Su Lian rose from where she’d been crouching beside the cot. “He needs rest. His body’s been through more than it should have. We won’t know the full extent of the venom’s effects until he wakes, but we’ll do what we can.”
“I’ll brew a remedy to slow its progression,” Ru Rong added.
Reiya exhaled, steadying herself before turning to them both. “Thank you,” she said, voice trembling. “For saving him. For everything.”
Alarik nodded, jaw tight, but the gratitude in his eyes was unmistakable. “We owe you a great debt.”
Su Lian waved a hand, lips curving in the faintest smile. “No debts between family. Just keep an eye on him.”
Ru Rong huffed. “And don’t thank us yet. He still has to wake up.” But her eyes softened, betraying the quiet hope they all carried.
Reiya looked down at Kaelen. “He will,” she murmured. “He has to.”
Su Lian squeezed her shoulder gently before gathering Mei Mei, who had dozed off in the corner, small limbs curled tightly from the fear and fatigue of the night. The child stirred, rubbing at her eyes as she was carried from the wagon.
Alarik stepped inside fully, the door clicking shut behind him, and silence settled over the small space.
Before he could speak, Reiya moved.
She crossed the space between them in a heartbeat and wrapped her arms around him—tightly, as if her body could make sense of the fear her mind hadn’t yet processed.
He stiffened beneath her hold, startled—but then she felt it: the slow, grounding exhale that loosened his frame, the tentative press of his palms against her back, then firmer. Steady.
She pressed her face into the curve of his shoulder, breathing in the scent of ash and sweat and something unmistakably him. The tension she’d worn like armour cracked. Her knees almost buckled from the relief of it.
He was warm. Solid. Alive.
“You’re safe,” she whispered. “You’re safe .”
And only then, with her face tucked against his collar and her fingers curled into his tunic, did she finally let the fear fall away. His fingers drifted through her hair, brushing out the tangles with a tenderness that made her pulse falter.
“You shouldn’t have worried about me,” he murmured, voice rough at the edges. “Kaelen needed you more.”
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “How could I not worry?” Her hands remained against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath her palms. The emotions swirling in his golden gaze—relief, exhaustion—clogged her throat. “You were out there for so long. I thought . . .”
She shook her head, swallowing the rest.
“I’m here,” he murmured, steady despite the weight in his eyes. “I promised you, didn’t I?”
A tremulous smile flickered across her lips.
He turned toward the cot, his boots scuffing softly against the wooden floor. He crouched beside Kaelen, scanning his brother’s too-pale face, lingering on the faint glow of the Sunborn tattoo .
“How is he, truly?”
She hesitated, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “We purged as much venom as we could, but some has spread. He’s lost so much blood.” She glanced down at Kaelen, tone softening. “But I know he’ll make it. He’s strong.”
Alarik gave a faint nod, though his eyes never left Kaelen’s face. “Sandshrike venom kills within minutes. If Kaelen wasn’t a Sunborn Alpha . . .”
He trailed off, the unspoken truth settling between them.
She saw the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists against his thighs. His focus had turned inward, distant, as though he were trapped in a memory he didn’t want to revisit.
“I should’ve gone with him,” he murmured, his palm rubbing his forehead. “Protected him better. If I’d been there, I might’ve sensed Jodhar. I might’ve pushed him out of the way.”
She touched his arm. “He was shot because he protected me. What happened is more my fault than it is yours. If I hadn’t followed him, if I hadn’t distracted him?—”
“No.” His voice was firm, his eyes lifting to hers. “Protecting you is his pride. You can’t blame yourself for this.”
“Yet you blame yourself?” she asked, gentle but pointed. “You forgive me, but can’t do the same for yourself?”
Something in him shifted. Just for a moment, his composure cracked—subtle, but enough for her to see it. In the low flicker of lamplight, the mask he always wore slipped, revealing something raw beneath. Not just guilt. Not just weariness. It was a quiet kind of anguish, old and deeply buried.
“It’s not the first time he’s nearly died from an arrow,” he said, his voice low, almost hollow.
The words hit with a quiet force. Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he dragged a hand through his hair, the movement sharp, almost agitated.
His eyes shifted to Kaelen—still and pale beneath the blankets—and softened in a way that tugged at her chest. It seemed easier for him to speak to his unconscious brother than to her, the truth loosening only when it wasn’t met with watching eyes.
“Kaelen,” he murmured, not looking at her, “I know you can hear me. Perhaps, this way, it’s better, because then you can’t interrupt. There’s . . . something I need to say. Something I should’ve told you years ago. ”
She stilled. Her hands curled in her lap. “Would you like me to give you privacy?”
He shook his head slowly, gaze still locked on Kaelen. “No. You should hear it, too.” He paused. “So you know what kind of a man I really am.”
Reiya pulled up a small chair beside the cot and sat down, her hands folding tightly in her lap.
The quiet creak of the wood beneath her barely cut through the hush.
Alarik lowered himself onto a cushion nearby, just within arm’s reach of his brother, yet his posture remained taut.
The flickering lantern cast shifting shadows over his face, throwing his jaw into sharper relief.
His fingers laced together, knuckles whitening, as though bracing himself against something long buried and finally rising.
“Do you remember,” Alarik began, his throat bobbing, “when we were boys—just after the Sunborn Trial—Father took us to Tremore? It was supposed to be diplomatic, but for me, it was an escape. The forests there . . . they were wild. Untamed. I loved them.”
Reiya listened closely, sensing this wasn’t idle memory. It was a confession .
“You were too young to hunt, but that never stopped you,” he went on, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint echo of a smile. “You followed me everywhere, no matter how many times I told you not to.”
She could picture it—a younger Kaelen, all reckless eagerness, trailing after his older brother like a shadow. A memory so simple, so harmless—and yet . . .
“That day, I tracked a doe. Lean, quick-footed, with a coat the colour of dry grass. I was hidden in the brush, my bow drawn, arrow notched.” He inhaled slowly. “And then you stepped into my line of sight. ”
Reiya tensed. Her stomach turned. She already knew where this was going, could feel the weight of it closing in.
“I froze.” His voice dropped. “And in that instant—a single heartbeat—I had a thought. So quick, so fleeting . . . but it was there.” He clenched his fists on his thighs, knuckles whitening.
“If I let the arrow fly, it would’ve been an accident.
No one would’ve questioned it. And if you were gone . . .”
His shoulders stiffened, the shame crackling off him like static. “If you were gone, I would’ve been Tazahrin again. Maybe then, she would’ve . . . loved me.”
Silence swallowed the room. Reiya barely moved, her pulse thrumming hard in her ears.
“I came so close to firing, Kaelen,” he rasped. “So close.” His voice broke. “It haunts me every day.”
The lantern hissed as oil licked the flame. Shadows rippled against the walls.
At ten years old, Alarik had believed—if only for a second—that killing his younger brother would’ve made his mother love him.