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“Oh.” I press my hand over my mouth, but my face tightens together as I let out a cry. “Oh, my boy.”
Gently, Dessin lowers me to the ground near DaiSzek’s head, sitting among the piles of gray soot and ash. His snout is covered in open gashes, blood, and debris. The spears are still lodged in his back.
“He wouldn’t let us remove them,” Ruth says wetly, sniffling into the back of her hand.
Dessin assures her we’ll take him somewhere we can stop the bleeding and bandage him with clean cloth and water.
I lean down to DaiSzek’s face, brushing my hand over his head softly. His whines vibrate under his fur, humming through my fingertips. And I break apart with him, tears bursting free as we cry together for our fallen friend. For the small Ginger Wrathbull who fought so bravely. For his friend that followed him everywhere.
And the world feels it, too. The sky sheds flecks of snow and ash though it is not winter. A white blur descends around us as the war has finally come to rest.
“I loved her, too,” I tell him through a sob.
“As did I.” Dessin places a hand on DaiSzek’s paw, using his other to rub circles over my back.
The audience remains silent as we sit in Knightingale’s ashes, heavy with exhaustion. The weight of all we’ve given up, all we’ve endured crumbles around us like a gentle apocalypse.
“Dessin?” I look up to him through my gushing wall of tears.
“Yes?”
And I bow my eyes in sadness, speaking words that ultimately hold a different meaning. Words that I will never forget.
“Hell has finally frozen over.”
His brows knit together as his own gaze glitters with tears. He swallows, then nods his head. “Hell has finally frozen over.”
69. Rebuilding The Broken
Four Months Later
Skylenna
Once we returned to the Red Oaks, we slept for three days.
Medical professionals checked on us frequently, patching up DaiSzek, and ensuring we were hydrated and fed. Ruth spent time in the infirmary, undergoing reconstructive surgery and getting the medication she needed. Warrose didn’t leave that hospital room.
Marilynn and Niles moved into Aurick’s estate. She said that’s what he would have wanted for his son. We didn’t question her on how she knew the gender so early.
Once we were recovered from the war, physically anyway, we began building a house that surrounded the giant Red Oak tree closest to the lagoon. The same one Kane and I would climb as children. The one that Kane made the beacons from. Even though he still couldn’t remember our special life together, he agreed to start building anyway. Chekiss helped after I insisted he live with us.
I was too weak and detached from the void to return it all in one fell swoop. My nerves were shot. My emotions numb and broken. But Dessin and Kane were patient and understanding. Although we never touched. Never kissed. When we fell asleep at night under the stars, he would turn away from me. I thought I escaped hell when I left the prison.
I was wrong.
Sleeping so close to my soulmate, yet feeling so cold and unwanted had left a gaping hole in my heart. I tried every night to climb into the void, take him to Ambrose Oasis, and show him everything I cherished so deeply.
I fucking tried.
Most nights I’d wake sobbing hysterically. And Kane would come to the front, claiming he hated seeing me cry. The feeling confused him, although I know the truth. It’s the same words Kane has used since we were children. He always said his heart would wilt with my tears. It was the one thing he hated most in the world.
There were times when we’d eat around a fire in silence, and Kane would look up at me, and for a minuscule moment, he’d recognize me. There was a flash, a glimmer, where he would part his lips and straighten his back and say, “I thought I remembered something.”
But it would fade like the ocean pulling its water away from the shore.
And some mornings, Dessin would ask me to share a memory. I’d tell him about the time I first hugged him in the abandoned Demechnef building, or the time he pulled me out of the Isolation Tank. He was always so quiet after I finished. He’d stare blankly into the sunrise, unresponsive and deep within the walls of his own thoughts, then he’d go about building our home without another word about it.
That always broke my heart.
