Page 123 of She Who Was Severed

“You mean your father’s name.”

He doesn’t flinch. But he doesn’t agree either.

“You could use it.”

“I know.”

He says it like it tastes wrong in his mouth. Like it’s ash he’s held behind his teeth for too long.

I wait. Let the silence build around the truth he’s trying not to name.

“It’s not pride,” he says finally. “I know the weight it carries. I just—”

He stops. Exhales. Starts again.

“Using it means walking into his game. On his terms. And I don’t know if I can do that without becoming something I already had to crawl my way out of.”

“You think it’ll change you?”

“No.” His voice drops low. “I’m afraid it’ll turn me back into who I was when he still had control over me.”

That lands. I don’t press right away.

“Then use it differently,” I say. “Use it for something he’d never see coming.”

“Like you?”

I nod. “Exactly like me.”

He looks away. Not angry. Just quiet in that way people get when something hits too close.

“I know it would help,” he says. “But every time I even think about pulling his name into this, it feels like I’m letting him back in. Like I’m putting on a mask I spent years trying to rip off.”

“You’re not him, Kellen.”

“I know. But when I use his name, people don’t see me. They see him. And I can’t carry that right now. Not yet.”

“Kier didn’t just come for me,” I say. “Or Ashmere. He made Solenn a target too. You think your father’s fortress matters when the Council decides the heir is a traitor?”

Kellen doesn’t respond. But his hands shift—off the ledge, into his lap. Small motion. Tells me more than a speech.

“If Solenn falls,” I continue, “it won’t be your father who burns first. It’ll be the unbonded. The apprentices. The kids still waiting to be seen. The ones like I used to be.”

His jaw tightens, but he stays quiet. I don’t let up.

“You’ll let them fall,” I say, flat. “Just to keep from using the name that raised you.”

He turns to me. Slow. Controlled. “You think it’s that simple?”

“No,” I snap. “I think it’s that cowardly.”

That cracks something. Not big. Just a shift behind his eyes. But I press.

“You’re not him. But you’re still giving him power. Every time you hesitate. Every time you pretend walking away is the same as breaking the chain.”

We lock eyes. My voice drops, sharp and low.

“I’m not asking you to forgive the man. I’m telling you to weaponize him.”