Page 103 of Aryn

He laughs, lighter than I’ve ever heard him. Seeing him so playful after everything we’ve been through takes a weight off my shoulders. He turns toward the door, tail swaying behind him like an invitation, then glances back at me. “It’s not teasing if I plan to back it up later.”

I mutter a curse and follow, adjusting myself as discreetly as possible, and we head toward the building where Brihn is waiting. We step into a room that’s more of a comfortable common area than a formal meeting space. Rows of hide chairs are draped with fur throws, and two large fireplaces crackle on opposite ends.

Brihn chose it so Aryn could sit without looking like he needed special treatment. He’s already there with three of his most trusted advisors, and shortly after we arrive, the rest of our group files in.

They’ve all checked on Aryn over the past couple of days, but seeing him on his feet again visibly lifts everyone’s spirits. They look better than they have since we arrived. Everyone is well-fed, rested, and now that we’re behind these walls, the constant edge of being in survival mode is gone.

Brihn gestures everyone toward the table of food. Aryn glares at me when I force him to sit, but he doesn’t argue as I make his plate. We eat while we talk and spend hours in that room laying everything out. Their expressions shift from shock to outright fury as we describe Sovran’s fall from grace, how he passed some of his power to Zadeus, and everything that happened afterward. We cover the dying worlds, the prophecy, and the way the veil was destroyed.

Brihn listens without interrupting at first, his golden-copper eyes growing wider with every revelation. When Aryn gets to the marks, Brihn’s gaze flicks to me, then back to his father.

“So these marks were a blessing from the Fates themselves,” Brihn says, sounding awed.

“Well, one Fate in particular, really,” Cameron drawls.

Brihn glances over at him with a quick grin. Every time Cameron opens his mouth and lets his thick accent loose, Brihn gets that same smile. He always looks for a way to keep him talking, and Cameron, of course, takes any excuse to share his opinions.

Our side of the conversation stretches well into the afternoon. Ronan fills in the military details with occasional input from Lillith, and Aryn covers their research into reopening the portals. Taryn, Cameron, and I add everything we know from the human perspective, which, admittedly, isn’t much beyond oppression.

Once we’ve finished with our story, Brihn and his advisors tell us what happened on this side after Zadeus fled. When he disappeared, the world assumed he crossed, and the theory was all but confirmed when the military was given orders to cross as well. It left this place without an active leader, and the one they call the Rebel Queen overthrew what remained of the regime.

“When the passageways closed, many thought she was responsible,” Brihn explains. “People had family and loved ones on the other side. There was a lot of blame tossed around in those early days, because we had no idea what happened to your world. Most believed it was destroyed. A decade passed, and then it started getting colder. She was blamed for that, too.”

“Let me guess,” Ronan interjects. “That’s where the Viskari came from?”

Brihn nods. “Indeed. At first, they were mostly the soldiers who stayed behind, or those still loyal to the old ways. But desperate times breed fanatics.” He gestures toward the window, where fresh snow falls. “And these are desperate times. People lost their homes when the crops failed. Looting became common, and many small villages couldn’t protect themselves. We opened our gates as a safe haven, but even with our resources, there were months we didn’t know how we’d feed everyone.”

Aryn looks at his son with clear pride. “You’ve done amazing things here.”

Brihn dips his chin, a little embarrassed. “Had a lot to live up to.”

Aryn waves the comment off with a shake of his head. “If we’re talking about my father, I agree. I wasn’t in charge long enough to do much of anything except chase around a troublesome little boy.”

Brihn chuckles, running a hand along his braid. “Be that as it may, this troublesome little boy runs the show now, and I say you’ve had enough for one day.” Aryn looks ready to argue, but Brihn silences him with a firm look. “We can’t do anything more with this information. It needs to reach the Vaelor. I’ll send word to my contacts at the palace and arrange a private audience.”

“You have those kinds of contacts?” Ronan asks, eyebrows raised.

“I do,” Brihn assures him coolly. “It may take time for an answer to come back, but I’ll send riders at first light. The delay will also give you time to recover,” he adds, nodding toward his father.

Aryn’s lips press together, but it’s obvious he’s hurting again. His eyes are tight, his face pale, and his tail twitches restlessly against the chair.

Brihn notices too. “We can continue this tomorrow,” he says, standing. “I’ll send for more draughts to help with the pain.”

We say our goodbyes and head back to our room. The healers arrive shortly after with another dose of medicine that leaves Aryn loose and a little sleepy.

Finally, we’re alone.

My nerves flare, suddenly unsure of myself. Being in a relationship is new territory. I might be a little self-absorbed, but I’ve always taken care of my partners. I make sure they’re comfortable, expectations are clear, and they have a good time. Despite my size, I’m careful not to pressure anyone.

But once the night is over, so am I.

I’ve never stuck around. Never wanted to, and now I don’t know how to act.

“Here, lay down and rest,” I say, guiding Aryn to the bed and helping him strip his shirt. I’m a godsdamned mother hen—adjusting the pillows behind his back, pulling the blankets higher, checking the bandages on his ribs and shoulder. “You need more rest. You’re healing, and we did too much today. Those assholes nearly killed you and you’re already up trying to save the world. The worlds, actually.”

Aryn watches me with soft, tired eyes. “Cato.”

“I’m serious. You lost too much blood. If you push it again—”