Page 10 of Aryn

Sovran folds his arms over his chest. “As I explained, I was weak after using so much power and had to retreat. My body isn’t meant for this world, and my magic doesn’t recharge here the way it would at home. It took me months just to regain enough strength to do more than survive.”

Ronan shakes his head, clearly not satisfied. “And since then? You’ve had an entire human lifetime to bring this forward.”

“Who exactly would I have brought it to?” Sovran snaps, voice rising as he loses his composure. “Zadeus made quick work of my plans. By the time I was strong enough to try, the world believed my prophecy to be a hoax. Anyone who might have proven otherwise was locked in a cell, dead, or loyal to him. The world needed time to be ready. It had to be this way. I have seen it.”

Ronan and Cameron share a long look before Ronan’s gaze returns to Sovran. The anger has dimmed, replaced by caution. “What does that mean?” Cameron asks from Ronan’s lap. “What exactly are you saying?”

Sovran wilts, shoulders slumping as the fight drains out of him. “I have only seen it in fragments. Flashes of a future worth fighting for, and the steps that must be taken to reach it.”

“My father is dead,” Xeni says, tapping his foot restlessly against the ground. “He was their greatest weapon. They’re weaker without him.”

“Zadeus’s death has been kept quiet,” Sovran answers. “Everyone who witnessed it has been dealt with—”

“Killed, you mean,” Cameron cuts in.

Sovran nods. “The dead cannot tell secrets. Zadeus may be gone and his power no longer a threat, but there are still five others upholding his legacy. Most of the humans are beaten down. They are complacent, with no willpower or reason to fight.”

Cameron scoffs and gestures around the group. “So we tell them the truth.”

“And they will believe you?” Sovran challenges. “A band of deserters and rebels coming out of hiding to announce the death of the most powerful leader in our history? To spread the word that our worlds are dying? At best, they would never believe you. At worst, you would be captured and killed before you ever reached the cities.”

“So what do you propose, then?” Ronan demands.

“I cannot tell you more than I have seen,” Sovran says. He closes his eyes and tilts his head toward the sky again. “But I will share everything I know.”

Bash shifts restlessly beside me, fidgeting the way he always does when his brain is racing ahead. “You said we’d already figured out how to open the portals.”

Sovran smiles toward the sunlight. “When I closed the passageways, it was never meant to be permanent. They were supposed to remain open to mated pairs—to let them travel between the worlds and build the alliances both sides needed to survive.”

“We’ve been to the portals, though,” Aryn argues. My eyes slide over to him, tracing the stubborn line of his jaw and the way those copper eyes lock onto Sovran. “Hundreds of times, with hundreds of mated pairs.”

Sovran finally turns his attention to Aryn. “They did not want them open.”

Bash scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m gonna have to disagree with you there. They were desperate for those portals to open.”

“Let me rephrase,” Sovran says. “They wanted them open, but not for the right reasons. Everything about my magic comes down to intention. If the key was simply willing them open, any mated pair could do whatever they pleased. There is no rule that fated mates must be pure of heart or soul. Not every mated pair will have good intentions.”

“Why not?” Ronan challenges. “Couldn’t you have made it so only the deserving receive a mate?”

Sovran glares at him, flashing a row of teeth with canines sharp as blades. “Are you so arrogant you would assume yourself deserving?” he demands. “It is not some line drawn in the sand. Good or bad—those are infantile labels you are so desperate to apply. Do not presume your soul is untarnished. You are far from innocent.”

Ronan bares his fangs in return, and for a moment the air grows thick. Awareness prickles up my spine, instinct kicking in as the alpha predators in the circle bristle. Phantom pain licks across my scars, tingling over the old wounds on my arm and neck.

Sovran purses his lips, hiding his fangs. “The prophecy seeks intention,” he explains. “Only those with the desire to help are allowed to pass. It was a failsafe to keep those who meant to attack from crossing.”

Bash gets that wide-eyed look on his face like he does every time he has a new epiphany… which, honestly, is way too often. He lives his life a dozen steps ahead while the rest of the class is trying to catch up.

It’s me. I’m the rest of the class, and I’m confused as fuck.

“That’s why the subjects from Ljómur couldn’t do it,” Bash says, nodding like his theory is already truth. “They wanted to open them to protect themselves, not to actually help. Their intentions still would’ve hurt Elyra.”

Ah. Okay. Caught up now.

Sort of.

“Correct,” Sovran confirms. “They wanted to create a path for those who sought destruction.”

Bash preens with his imaginary gold sticker on his chest, but Ronan gestures toward a log, where Nyx is perched, knees up by his sides like a frog waiting to jump. “Then why was Nyx able to do it?”