Chapter 20
“Tell me everything.” Yaris leans toward me and retrieves his steaming mug from the table beside him. “Your life, who you’ve become. I want to learn it all.”
I glance about the room, scanning shelf after shelf of leather-bound tomes—the last surviving pieces of Sovereign’s histories. Singe marks lick up some of them, water stains others. The library smells like smoke-soaked parchment and lavender—warm, and safe.
A quiet fire crackles next to us, casting shadows over the silver lettering on each spine. I sigh and take a slow sip of my own tea. Elderflower and honey.
I don’t allow myself to linger on the memories its aroma wells up—my mother, seated in the back gardens, a cup resting lazily on her thigh.
The vision roots before I can pluck it. It’s one of the few memories not tarnished by the war.
This sort of softness stings like an open flame across my palm.
I place my mug on the table, recoiling from the burn.
“There isn’t anything to tell. I was only a child when Sovereign fell. I was raised in Smoke. Trained under Finnick Derald. How do you know my name?”
Raindrops patter against the sill, nearly in time with my heartbeat, as Yaris looks me over. A sad smile spreads over his bearded lips. “The astral faction was smaller than you’d think, dear girl. Of course I know who you are.”
“I don’t remember you, I’m sorry,” I reply, a bitter taste souring on my tongue.
“How could you? You were what—seven or eight when Sovereign fell?” He sips his tea.
“Six.”
Jace watches from a velvet armchair across the room. His damp tunic clings to his chest, molding over each curve like chiseled marble. Tousled, rain damp hair hangs effortlessly across his brow. My throat dries when I lock on a rain drop trailing his jaw.
Yaris sighs and braces his elbow against the settee arm rest, his brilliant eyes glazed with an aging somberness. “I hope your upbringing there wasn’t too harsh.”
My lips part, but the false reassurance adheres to my tongue. Here sits, perhaps, the last known survivor from my home faction. My closest connection to the family I lost. Yet how can I tell him of my life? The pain, the trauma, the wounds both given and endured?
He’s welcomed us into his home, offered us shelter from the blistering thunderheads. I cannot lie and say I lived well—came into womanhood without bearing witness to the horrors of this world—but how can I offer the truth instead?
“We’ve come with a rather sensitive matter, Yaris. I apologize for my bluntness, but it’s urgent we speak with you.” I watch him, gauging the weight of my words. “I have so many questions for you, just as you do for me, I’m sure, but let us discuss the topic at hand first.”
Yaris draws a heavy breath, eyes flicking to Jace. “Of course. Tell me, why have you come all this way?”
Jace stands and paces to the fireplace. “Well, firstly, Tanner Pyris—the thief that stole a good chunk of your wealth—has been…taken care of. You should be receiving your lost property in a few weeks’ time.”
“That slimy prick weaseled his way in with a business deal, and next thing I knew, he’d disappeared into the night. While I can’t say I’m glad he’s met his fate, thank you, King Ashborne,” Yaris says, leaning back in his seat.
“Please call me Jace,” Jace says. I clear my throat, interrupting the wary silence shared between the two men.
“I’ll stick with formalities if you don’t mind, My King,” Yaris replies.
Jace straightens, striding to sit beside me, his eyes sharp and voidless.
“There’s something else, Yaris,” I say, attempting to slice the wall of simmering tension. “I’m afraid I must ask you some rather dangerous questions, and I swear to you, this information will not leave these four walls.”
Yaris curls his fingers around the armrest, amber firelight glinting off the signet ring. “Alright.”
“You wear Ceti’s signet.” I nod toward his index finger.
“Yes, I do. It is no crime to honor a fallen house.”
“Of course not,” I reply. “But to have one in your possession suggests you are of noble blood. Is that true?”
Yaris’s lips thin as he glances between Jace and me. “House Ceti fell during the war. There are no surviving descendants. It is known. I simply wear this,” he slides the ring from his index finger, “in memory.”
“Yaris, please. Tell us the truth,” I whisper.
“I understand your mistrust,” Jace says, his brow etched with caution. “But I promise you, I am not the enemy you think me to be.”
“Are you not the son of Van Ashborne himself? The King of Darkness and Blood? I fear I have no answers to the questions you seek, My King. I am but a humble survivor, trying to pick up the pieces your father aided in destroying.”
Jace’s eyes darken and the room chills, even the roaring flames crackle apprehensively.
“I am not my father,” he says, his voice like vicious velvet.
“And I am not of noble blood,” Yaris spits. “Respectfully, I think it best you leave.”
He rises from his seat, palms curling into fists.
“Jace,” I blurt. His villainous eyes shoot to me, and I instantly regret the interjection. “Give us a moment?”
A protest rumbles in his throat, but the King of Shadow smoothes out his tunic, and starts for the door. When the entrance clicks shut and the room warms again, I resettle into my seat.
“He saved my life, you know,” I say, nodding toward the door. “I, too, believed him to be the creature of nightmares the continent speaks of, but there is no malice in coming here. I swear this to you.”
“My dear girl, no matter the lies he’s woven, you cannot possibly trust him. What is it King Ashborne holds over you to force your bidding?”
My mouth dries and I glance at my boots still muddied from the journey. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Is he keeping you captive? Or gods be good, blackmailing you? Tell me, please.” Yaris laces his hands together, concern etched over his features.
“No, no. Nothing like that,” I reply.
“It isn’t you I don’t trust.”
I bite my cheek. Only one slice of information can push us past this impasse, but do I risk it? Is it even my secret to spill? Yaris’s eyes simmer in the candlelight.
“He has an Astralwing, Yaris. An intact egg that hasn’t yet stoned. That’s why we’ve come.”
The old man’s jaw unhinges. “You’re looking for the guardian rider?”
“There are creatures far worse than Jace Ashborne wreaking havoc on Shadow. I’ve seen them firsthand. We need the rider. So please, if you are of Ceti blood, I have to know.”
“Why care for Shadow’s wellbeing? They stood by while Smoke’s regent slaughtered our people—your mother and father. My daughter. All gone from this world because of their inaction,” he says, the words spilling frantically from his dried lips.
“Our people?” My fingers tighten into fists. “I left Sovereign when I was six, Yaris. The faction is nothing more than a faded memory.”
“Nova, listen to me. Jace Ashborne is everything they’ve written of him. It’s in his blood and perhaps no fault of his own, but you cannot alter bloodlines no matter how hard you try.”
My eyes squeeze shut, fighting tears at the mention of my parents. “Yaris, please. Help us—help me.”
“Have you seen this egg with your own eyes? What proof of its existence do you have?”
My silence is an answer in itself.
“That’s what I thought.” He slumps into his chair, pinching the wide bridge of his nose.
“You asked me about my upbringing. Of my time in Smoke.” I suck in a breath and ready myself against the truth.
“It was not easy. Whipped. Tortured. Trained for bloodshed. I’ve been forced into a life not of my choosing.
The man standing just outside that door offered me an opportunity for freedom.
For peace. As a survivor, I’m sure you can understand that.
I swear to you, on my own mother’s memory, Jace Ashborne is not the enemy. ”
Yaris scrutinizes every word like I’ve pressed a knife to his throat. The crows of his eyes crease and he twists the signet ring off his finger again. “Your mother gave this to me. In hopes that one day I’d find you again. Where she got it, I do not know, but she wanted you to have it.”
The world stills. “You knew my mother?”
“I wasn’t sure you or I were ready to have this conversation, but here it goes…she’s my sister.” Yaris lowers his eyes with the falter of his voice. “I promised her I’d look after you when she met Morvayne, but I’ve clearly failed her. I’ve failed you, Nova.”
My stomach knots. Yaris Lightbrood is my uncle? The world tilts. Here sits a man, my closest surviving kin, pouring his truths like spilled water, and yet he’s no more than a passing stranger. “I…She never spoke of you in her final days.”
“We were somewhat estranged when I left Sovereign. I thought myself brave, running from the impending war, but in truth it was cowardice that brought me to Storm…and guilt that kept me from searching for you or your parents.” He combs his fingers through his hair.
The silver strands are almost gold in the flickering fire’s light.
My chest cracks, but it’s not sadness or grief that wells behind my eyes. It’s rage, bitter, blazing resentment.
“My mother died with me in her arms. Sick from a wound left to fester in the slave sector. I was there to hear her last words. To guide her as she walked the path to Morvayne. You sit here now, telling me what? She asked you to protect me? To raise me? To give me some silver ring stamped with a long forgotten signet? I do not need your guidance nor your protection anymore, Yaris. I guide myself. I protect myself. You feel guilty? Good. You left a six year old alone in this world.”
“I should have been there, but I wasn’t, and I’ll regret that until the day I meet Morvayne.” His voice cracks.
Rage keeps a reply lodged in my throat. I don’t look at him.
I can’t. Had he fulfilled his promise to my mother, what might life look like?
Would I be seated beside him in lavish silks, sipping tea with my nose in a book right now?
Would the scars on my back or the tracking link rippling through my veins still exist?
I want to offer empathy to the man seated opposite me.
He’s a survivor just as I am. His response to the trauma, the loss is valid and justifiable, but I dig my claws in.
Call me selfish or cruel, but all I’m able to hold space for is rage, and jealousy for a life lost to me.
My head spins. The fire is too hot, too dry.
I need an escape, before I vomit all over this goddamn rug, but we haven’t gotten anywhere closer to an answer of Yaris’s lineage.
“Please Nova, forgive me,” he whispers.
“You want my forgiveness? Give me your honesty. Are you a Ceti descendant? Is there a chance the guardian rider lives?”
He sighs and leans over his seat. “I’m not, but if the egg hasn’t turned to stone, then the guardian rider lives.
Give me a few days' time to comb through our histories or what survives of them. Stay in my guest quarters. Find comfort here. There are whispers of survivors living in the other factions, perhaps one distant from the Ceti line still lives.”
I sink into my seat. “Fine.”
He risks a glance toward me, the violet in his irises dimming. “Gods, you are so much like your mother.”
I don’t smile in return. “No, I’m not. Not anymore anyways.”