Their deaths will not be forgotten. The memory of their sacrifices burns within each flame.
I tighten my grip on Noël’s hand.
“Theron, Your Majesty,” Aeson calls out. I turn to see him approaching with Kaël and Zephyr. Both bow to my mate.
Noël looks up at me with a sad smile that tugs at my chest. “I’ll go to Mina and Elder Aïna. We need to oversee the preparations for the first trial tomorrow. You should have a moment with them.”
I nod, but bring her hand to my snout before I let her go. As she walks away, I feel the ache of her absence immediately.
Zephyr crosses his arms, his expression grim. “It’s been a difficult day.”
Kaël rubs his face, ruffling his fur. “I want to run until my legs give out. Thinking about Mother and Father has always been hard enough, but now... knowing the truth...” His voice trails off.
Aeson remains quiet, his gaze hollow.
A low, snarling voice cuts through the air behind us. “I’m going to destroy the tsar. I’m not waiting for trials or your little ritual with your mate.”
I turn to see Orïon standing there, muscles flexed.
Orïon is much older than the rest of us, at least two hundred and thirty years. He remembers his parents, having been raised by them for far longer than any of us. That memory, I know, fuels his rage.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I growl. This isn’t the time for rebellion.
“The barrier is gone, and we know the truth now. What are we waiting for?” His fur bristles as his shoulders tense. His eyes are wild with anger.
Baring my fangs, I stride toward him, grip his mane, and force him to look at me. “You willnotcause trouble, Orïon,” I say. “You will behave as your leader commands. We will complete the trials, bolster our forces, and then we will attack. That is the plan. That isherword.”
Orïon huffs and grabs my wrist, his claws digging in.
“Alright, mighty warriors, let’s not tear each other apart.” Kaël steps between us.
I straighten my back and lift my chin as I look down at Orïon. “If you wish to defy your leader, then you have no place here.”
“You can wait, but I can’t,” Orïon snarls. “I see their faces every time I close my eyes. I hear their screams. You didn’t live with their voices haunting you for centuries.” His claws flex, digging into the dirt.
I understand his rage, I feel it too. The craving for revenge burns deep. But we cannot afford recklessness. We are the last of our kind. Only a few hundred vólkins remain in the world. If we fall, there will be no one to remember, no one to restore balance.
“You want to charge in by yourself and die for nothing?” I ask, my voice cold.
Orïon’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer.
Aeson finally speaks, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles pale. “Rage blinds us all. Let’s hope it doesn’t cost us more than it already has.”
I turn my attention back to Orïon. “The tsar and his warriors were able to cage even the goddesses. Do not underestimate what they are capable of now. You are older, Orïon, but not wiser.”
He growls low in his throat.
I step closer, invading his space. “Hold yourself together. No one will go against my mate’s order.”
He doesn’t reply, but his claws retract, and his shoulders relax just slightly. For now, the fire in him is quelled. But I know it will take more than words to keep it contained.
I walk through the forest. Alone.
The air is cool, but it does little to settle the heat in my chest. I need to breathe, to calm myself, before my anger mirrors Orïon’s. His dreams have turned into nightmares, but at least he has them.
Orïon knows the sound of his mother’s voice. He remembers the habits of his father, their values ingrained in him over years of shared life. He knows them.
I do not.
