My face is already crumbling, heart breaking as Arkyn recites straight from the page: “‘He said that if I left the next rise to prepare for the binding ceremony, he’d offer Slátra safe passage back to Arithia. Alternatively, he’d leave her hutch unguarded as I’m dragged across the plains, and I’d be forced to watch her kill herself trying to follow me home. Then he got real close and looked at me like he could see straight through my skull. Told me he’d been informed that my bleeding is late—something I hadn’t considered until that very moment.’”
Kaan makes a dense sound, like he just got punched in the gut.
“‘He said this is the only way my youngling will have a chance at life. That if Tyroth believes he sired the small seed apparently growing in my belly, all will be well. Otherwise, there will be nowhere Kaan and I can hide where they won’t find us. They’ll hunt us down for this filthy dishonor we’ve bestowed upon our families.’”
Kaan finally meets my gaze as twin tears slip down his cheeks. As my own loosen.
He stares at me with eyes that bear a crushing amount of pain, the pile already sitting on my chest now growing too heavy to breathe beneath. Because I already know the outcome. Already know how this ends.
With Kaan not knowing he had a daughter now caged in the same cellI lived in for phases. Abeautifuldaughter—raised by his younger brother in The Shade’s decorated capital—whom I hugged and cradled moments ago without knowing she was mine.
Ours.
A daughter … born of our undying love, into a world that’s left her beaten, broken, barely clinging to life. Into a world that’sfailed her.
Just likeI’vefailed her, by not listening to Kaan. Not letting him tell me the “important truths” I so desperately wanted to avoid.
Bycowering from my past—
“In the next entry, Elluin leaves a note in her lover’s sleep space, telling himTyrothis the more gifted Sire. A better fit for her to breed strong young.” Arkyn huffs out a laugh, glancing at Kaan. “Can’t argue that.”
I feel the cold spill of my Other shifting.
Rising.
Listening.
“I have Kyzari in Raeve’s old cell,” he continues, lifting his hand to flex his fingers into a ball, “and she broke like atwigbeneath my fist—no doubt because she’s got your weak blood diluting my Fire Lark’s. As we speak, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s pulling her final breaths.”
Kaan’s muffled roar shakes the air. Gnashing like a caged beast, he thrashes against his chains, more blood painting his skin in slow, dribbling strokes.
I don’t roar. Don’t speak a single word.
Instead, I go deathly silent—a river that just cut a path into The Shade and solidified. A quiet ferocity injecting through my veins … or perhaps it was always there. Waiting.
Knowing.
My essence shifts around it, sharpens. Forges me into something that should frighten me, given the urges now wrestling with my heartstrings, stretching them long and tight enough to anchor the thumping organ.
I’m not frightened. All I feel is cold-bloodedrage.
“Then Elluin leaves for Arithia, destined to perish on her birthing pallet moments after she pushes Kyzari from her womb, spouting words about her undying love for you.” Arkyn looks up from the page, straight at Kaan still battling himself bloody against chains so tight they’re creating deep grooves in his flesh, making his veins look like they’re about to burst. “Don’t worry, brother. She tried to run from me, too.” Hetsks. “I’m sensing a pattern here.”
Though the words hit, they’re blunt. Impervious to the sheets of armor shifting over my heart, my own pain becoming a small, silent thing in the wake of Kaan’s agony and the knowledge that our daughter is suffering in my cell. Perhaps moving through her final moments without us there to hold her tight.
Tocomforther.
“Final entry—and it’s a good one.” Arkyn lifts the book, waving it before dropping his gaze to read straight off the page. “‘I’ve heard from one of his loyal aides that a Bloodlace has arrived on dragonback this rise. If she’shere to test my youngling’s blood once I give birth, the paternal line won’t draw in Tyroth’s direction. It’ll draw north—to Kaan.’”
Another muffled roar.
Another screech as Kaan’s chair grinds against the ground.
“Interesting,” Arkyn muses. “Makes me think Tyroth’s not as blind as you both thought he was. Now shut up for this last bit. It’s good.” Another dramatic clear of his throat before he continues: “‘I want to curl up with Slátra—to be with her while I labor—but I struggle to move on my own anymore. All but stuck on this pallet where Mah and Pah died. Where I pretended to conceive a youngling that was already seeded inside me—’”
Kaan’s sounds grow so thunderous he almost drowns out Arkyn’s voice.
Arkyn sighs, his head ticking to the side as he looks at Kaan through eyes lit with the fire of a thousand flames. “Why do you have to ruineverything?”
