Page 139 of Aryn

Ailynor purses her lips and glances away. “It had to be that way. I’d been building my supporters for years. Operating under Zadeus’s nose was dangerous, we all knew that. On the surface, I looked like an obedient soldier, but we were in the midst of a rebellion. We spent the better part of a decade uncovering his truths, and we knew he was taking the best minds… knew he had secret bases. We just didn’t know what he was planning.”

“And Father?” Ronan asks.

“He knew what he needed to know and nothing more. The secrecy was for his safety. He understood that.” She meets Ronan’s eyes with a sad smile. “And then you were born, and you were his greatest joy. He begged me to leave… wanted me to abandon my plans and run off with him. He’d even found a village, far away from the military’s eyes where he swore we’d be safe.”

Ronan’s jaw works as he tries to read her face. “But you didn’t leave.”

“No,” she agrees quietly. “I didn’t. Zadeus was a threat to our entire world. It was so much bigger than one family. Surely you understand that.”

Ronan glances over at Cameron before he sighs. “It is a peculiar thing, choosing between the one you love the most and the greater good.” Ailynor follows his gaze, eying Cameron curiously before Ronan steals her attention once more. “That doesn’t answer my question, though. Why did Father tell me you were dead?”

“Because he believed I was. We were always ready to flee. Our bags were packed, our escape route mapped, and I’m not sure either of us ever slept through the night without waking at every sound. They were so quiet, though. The night they came, we didn’t hear them until it was too late. They were too close.”

“There was a wagon hidden in the woods close to our home, with the sylvaren housed beside it. We tried to get there, but we didn’t have time. There’s no way we could’ve gotten it hitched before they caught up to us, and the wagon would’ve slowed us down. I passed you to Regalis and told him to run. He understood what I was asking of him. He knew I was giving him time to get away.”

She pauses for a moment, staring blankly at the wall as she goes distant. “I could see how much he wanted to fight me, but you were in his arms. And as much as your father loved me, he loved you that much more. He took you and fled, and I held them off. The two of you had nothing but the clothes on your backs and the bag of supplies he grabbed on our way out the door, but I knew he’d make it. He would’ve done anything to keep you safe.”

“What happened to you after we ran?” Ronan asks.

Ailynor gestures at the seats, and after Ronan sits next to Cameron again, she settles in the chair beside him. “I was captured, for a while, but we’d planned for the possibility. My contacts broke me out when I was being transported to one of the secret bases. Zadeus thought it was safe to move me there. He was so arrogant that he never considered we might’ve discovered them.”

“And you never let Father know?” Ronan demands. “You knew where we were the whole time, and you didn’t bother to let him know you were alive?”

Ailynor purses her lips, but holds her chin high in that same proud stance Ronan so often takes. “It was too dangerous. The two of you were safe. The commanders were more worried about me, and I intended to keep it that way.”

Ronan taps his fingers on the tabletop, gnawing on his lip with one of those small fangs. “Only we weren’t safe. They spent years hunting us down, and they did it to punish you.”

“I had no idea,” she insists. “I thought you were safe… that they’d forgotten about you. Then I heard the village was destroyed, and I had to see it with my own eyes. By the time we got there, they were long gone. The buildings were ash, and the bodies piled at the entrance were decaying. Your…” Her voice catches as she clears her throat and takes a deep breath. “Your father was right there in front, arms wrapped around an Anunian boy that looked to be sixteen or seventeen.”

“It wasn’t me,” Ronan argues.

“How was I supposed to know that? I hadn’t seen you in thirteen years! If I’d had any idea they’d taken you, any inkling you were alive, I would’ve turned my armies on wherever they were holding you and ripped them apart. I would’ve sacrificed my entire mission to pull you from their dungeons.”

“Except I wasn’t in their dungeons,” Ronan counters bitterly. “I was in their uniform.”

Ailynor recoils, her tails going rigid behind her. “You…” She trails off, eyes searching his face as if seeing him for the first time. “They made you fight for them?”

Ronan gives a sharp, humorless laugh. “They rescued me, then told me my family was dead. They made me believe the only future I had was with them. I led their front lines when the rifts opened, and earned every godsdamned stripe they put on my chest.”

“Stripe?” Her face has gone even paler, and I know enough about the military’s ranking system to understand her pain. Stripes mean he was an officer, and multiple ones mean he held a high rank.

“Yes, stripe,” he snaps. “For ninety-five years, I served them. Officer Ronan, with his obedience and accolades, and his three stripes on his fucking chest. The whole time you were fighting, the entire lifetime you spent rebuilding what he destroyed, I was leading his armies!”

Ailynor’s hand trembles as she reaches out, hesitating just before touching his arm. When she finally makes contact, it’s gentle, like she’s afraid he might detonate. “I failed you,” she says roughly. “I thought keeping my distance would protect you.”

Ronan’s jaw works, but he doesn’t pull away. “You didn’t know. None of us did.”

“How did you realize?” she asks. “How did you break away after so long?”

Cameron shifts uncomfortably, but for once, he stays quiet. Ronan heaves a loud sigh, then turns to Cameron with a pained smile. “What happened is the entire reason we’ve come. It’s why we’ve jumped between the worlds… to tell you our story. To ask for your help.”

Ailynor straightens after a long moment, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. Her warrior’s mask slips back into place, though it’s visibly cracked. “We have much to discuss,” she says, voice steadier now. “Not just about the past, but about why you’ve come here now. Tell me everything.”

Ronan nods, and for the first time since we entered the room, the tension eases a fraction. The Vaelor—his fucking mother—leans forward, ready to listen, and then we talk.

Aryn

By the time the door to our room clicks shut, the moons are high in the sky and the fire has burned to embers. I chuck a few logs in before shrugging off my sweater, then collapse onto the bed with a heavy exhale. Cato follows, kicking off his boots before crawling on beside me.