“I found a letter from Arla,” Vana says with icy calm—but his heart still flinches when Daromir stops short at his words. “Is that who you saw today?”
Pain crosses Daromir’s face. A horrible mix of guilt and pity. “Yes.”
Calm. Control. No assumptions. “Why?” Vana asks. “How long have you been talking with Arla? Why did you keep it from me?”
“I’m sorry,” Daromir says, too quiet and gentle. Vana wants to scream at him. “I should have explained earlier. I’ll explain now, all right? I’ve only met Arla today. Before that, I’ve been keeping in touch with the messengers. You wanted to step back after the incident with Rakos, but they were… they’re damned useful, Vana. You organized them well.”
That would be one thing. Information. But Vana senses that isn’t everything. “What have you been using them for? Why is Arla involved?” Vana pauses, settling his brother’s new pronoun in his mind. “Why is he here in Draskora?”
Daromir takes a deep breath. “For you. All of it, everything, for my part at least, is for you. Arla’s here because he got in touch with the messengers in Kaiskara. I think he might have taken them over, actually. I’m lucky they listened to a mere bloodguard as long as they did. Fortunately, Arla seems to want the same thing as I do.”
“Which is?” Vana asks.
“Freedom.” Daromir’s eyes are still so soft. “Escape. Give the word at any moment, and you have safe passage back to Kaiskara. Shelter, secrecy, and a ship home.”
Shock pins Vana in place. The wordhomeis a lightning strike. Electric. Sudden.
It hurts.
“You didn’t,” Vana says, struggling to maintain his veneer of calm. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“Vana.” Daromir steps forward. His presence is so large, so overwhelming, Vana can hardly think. “I’m sworn to protect you. Binding to you is the best choice I ever made. You hate it here. You aren’t safe here, body or soul.”
Leaving Draskora never occurred to Vana. He never permitted himself such a foolish fantasy. Focusing on reality is all that allows Vana to do what he needs to do. He never could have survived, never could have become the man he needed to become, if he thought there might be a way out.
“You went behind my back,” Vana says, because that’s the easier problem to confront.
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” Daromir starts.
“That’s a lie,” Vana snaps. “You didn’t tell me because you thought I would refuse. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Daromir’s eyes go wary, guilty, and Vana hates himself for making Daromir unhappy. But Vana is betraying both of them if he doesn’t speak his mind now. Things need to be clear between them, because look where secrets lead.
Vana isn’t sure when his hands started shaking.
“I thought you would refuse,” Daromir confirms. “But you need this too much anyway. You hate it here. You don’t love this country, and you don’t want to rule it.”
Vana has always needed Daromir to take care of him—to tell him when to stop. To hold him down until everything feels right again. But this is a step too far. Vana can’t do this again. He can’t let someone ship him across borders without his input or consent. Vana has carved out a place here in Draskora where he controls himself, at least. Where he takes care of himself and his people. It’s imperfect and frustrating and soul-crushing, but it’s survivable—for one reason and one reason only.
“You’re right, of course,” Vana says. “I hate this place. But I thought you understood that it doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters, Vana,” Daromir says. “You matter. This place is killing you. You shouldn’t have to try so hard every fucking day.”
Daromir doesn’t get it. He really doesn’t get it.
And that isn’t Daromir’s fault.
Vana’s anger floods away, replaced with a realization that washes his heart clean. Daromir kept this from him—but Vana’s been hiding something even more important. Far worse, far more terrifying, if the next few minutes go poorly.
“You fucking idiot,” Vana says softly. “I thought you knew me better than this. Or maybe I’m the idiot.”
Daromir protests the latter insult, not the former. “You’re not an idiot.”
Vana should have said this long ago. “Kaiskara isn’t my home.You are.”
Daromir’s lips part. Every particle of air seems charged.
“All I need is you, all right?” Vana says. “Draskora isn’t killing me. Draskora killed that sad, weak boy you bound yourself to.” Vana closes the distance and grabs Daromir’s neck. Winds his fingers into Daromir’s short hair and holds him fast in place. “Look at me.”
