I nod, surprised he remembers.
“It must mean something.”
“It does,” I say quietly. “It belonged to someone. A warrior. She died in the Betrayer’s Battle. Her name was Estra.”
“If the ribbon means that much… if she meant that much… why not give your daughter her name?”
Silence folds between us. I look up at him, my eyes darker now, the weight of memory rising like a tide.
“My friend, the one you killed that day in the fields. He was her father.”
Ronin stills. A beat passes. Then I hear the thick swallow, the shift of his stance as if he’s bracing against something that won’t stay down.
He straightens, ready to mask it with indifference. But this time… the regret clings to him. Lingers. Presses against his skin like sweat on a sweltering summer’s day, and unlike before, he doesn’t reach for an excuse. Doesn’t sayI did what I had to do.
He just stands there.
Haunted.
“If things had been different,” he says softly, so softly I almost miss it, like he’s confessing to the wind. “Maybe I wouldn’t have done what I did that day. Maybe you wouldn’thave either. But the past is stone, Jewel. Heavy, unmoving. It does not change, no matter how we wish it would. All we can do is carry it and hope, one day, we’re worthy of forgiveness. Even if the only one who ever grants it is ourselves.”
He drifts closer to the crib, hesitant. His eyes flick toward her, but never settle. The smile that tugs at his mouth is nervous, unsure, a far cry from the man who once wielded fear like a blade. Still, he keeps his distance.
“She looks like she’d wear the nameEstrawell,” he murmurs. “There’s a warrior spark in her already. I can see it.”
I study him in silence, drinking in every shift of his posture, every flicker of expression, wondering how much of this is truth and how much is just another mask, another trick to earn my trust before the blade comes down.
“I’ll consider it,” I say at last, my voice cool but not unkind. “But for now…”
I untie the ribbon from her crib and instead gently loop it around her wrist, finishing it in a bow.
“To keep you safe, my darling,” I say with a smile. She smiles back, and warmth swells in my chest. I notice Ronin watching over my shoulder. My eyes rake over him. “Wash up a little before you touch her.” I raise a finger, voice clipped. “And only touch her if you need to.”
Before he can open his mouth, I turn away, dragging a cloak off the wall and fastening it at my throat.
I’m halfway to the door when he speaks again.
“Jewel,” he calls. “Are you sure? You don’t know what’s waiting in that place.”
I glance back at him, fingers on the handle. “Whatever waits there,” I say, “it can’t be worse than where I’ve already been.”
Then my eyes drift to my daughter, still curled in her sleep, and back to him once more. I fix him with a slow, pointed stare.
“Remember. A limb at a time.”
He sighs, exasperated. “Yes, yes. And I’ll be wide awake for every moment. You’re very poetic when you’re threatening.”
A smile curls at the edges of my mouth, sharp, fleeting, and gone by the time the door shuts behind me.
Chapter 30
Daed
My shadow stretches across the courtyard, long, formless, more smoke than substance. It slithers into every crack and seam in the stone, a silent herald of what follows. Behind me, my brethren descend, their wings snapping in the howling wind like torn banners.
This place is darker than I remember. Colder. Hostile.
Rain lashes my face, soaking through my clothes, tangling in hair that still carries the warmth of distant, sun-scorched shores. The sting of it makes me flinch.
