“Yes,” he agrees, his voice thick with the shared pain. “Like humans. I took pity on her. Fed her and nursed her back to health. She asked me to teach her how to fight so she’d never feel helpless again, and I did. Then she never left. It’s surprising how quickly you can get attached to someone over a century.” His voice softens, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “When I was recalled to Baev’kalath, I took her with me, and she trained as a Blade.”
“You can do that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Become a Blade even if you're from a lower caste?”
“Yes,” Arax replies. “The only skill needed to be a Blade is to kill better than you die, and she mastered warfare like she was born to it.”
“She sounds like a good student,” I say, trying to imagine the warrior she must’ve been.
“She was more than that,” Arax says quickly, his voice dropping to a hushed reverence. “She was brave and vicious, but also kind and curious, and she made me laugh. No one makes me laugh.”
“I’ve managed to pull a few out of you,” I tease. “When you’re not too busy practicing the world’s greatest scowl.”
He glances at me, a smile softening his worn face. “Yes. You have, haven’t you?”
The moment feels too personal, too raw, and I glance down at my feet, chuckling lightly to diffuse the intensity. “Where is she now? I’m almost offended I haven’t met this amazing woman.”
Arax’s smile fades, his fingers twisting the red ribbon tighter around his hand. “She died on the battlefield, on the last day of the Betrayer’s Battle,” he says, his voice hollow. “I couldn’t bring her body back. We won, but we were few. No ships, no way back across the Untold Sea except by flight. Half of those who survived the battle fell from the sky—wounded, exhausted, or both—drowning before they could reach Baev’kalath.” His chin drops, and his voice grows quieter. “I should’ve carried her. I should’ve tried.”
I can hear the tremor in his voice as he continues, the pain of his loss as sharp now as it must have been on that day. “I heard they burned all the bodies. I just pray it was at night, so the Pale Mother could lift her into her arms.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I feel a lump rise in my throat.
Arax’s fingers twist the ribbon again, and only now do I see the stains.
Not dirt, not time—blood.Her blood.
“It’s why I hated you,” Arax says, his voice raw. “Why I hated your kind. You killed her. She was good, and brave, and beautiful, and your kind killed her.” His jaw tightens, the words heavy with old anger. “But I’ve realized it wasn’t humans, not really. It was this world that took her from me. This cursed world, where we’re born, we fight, we die—over and over. And somewhere in between, if we are lucky, we are gifted small glimpses of happiness.”
He breathes deeply, his eyes unfocused as he speaks, as if lost in those fleeting moments. “Those are what I hold on to.Not the hatred, but the love I had for her. For Estra.” His eyes meet mine, softer now. “That’s why I hold no ill will toward you, Amara Tyne. For healing me on that ship. That’s not where I wanted to meet my end. I’ll die on the battlefield, or not at all. In her honor.”
His last words hang in the air, a vow as unbreakable as the love he still carries for Estra. And as I sit beside him, I realize that even in all this darkness, Arax’s heart clings to love and loyalty, just as mine clings to the pieces of a life shattered by betrayal. Despite everything, neither of us has let the cruelty of this world strip away what we hold dear. We may be scarred, but we are not broken.
Not yet.
Chapter 31
The next morning, the village awakens to the rhythmic thud of Blades marching through the village, their boots pressing into the soft soil, sending children scattering like startled birds into the safety of the trees. Once, I might have been frozen with fear, but after all I've seen, their presence no longer holds the same sway over me.
“What is the meaning of this?” Keeper Tovar’s voice booms as he descends from the council hall, his robes trailing behind him like the forest itself made flesh. His gaze sharpens on the gathering of Blades, irritation flickering across his features.
Arax steps forward, his posture one of quiet command as he faces the warriors. “Why are you here? What is happening?”
The Blade captain steps forward, his face tense. “We scouted the valley before dawn,” he begins, each word measured, heavy. “There was no smoke from the Legion’s camp. The first time in weeks.” He hesitates before continuing. “We investigated. The camp was empty. They’re on the march, Reaper Arax. They’ll be here within days.”
Tovar’s face pales, his disbelief tangible. “No,” he whispers, the word almost lost in the morning air. “Not now. Not when they’re at full strength…” He lifts his head, his panic palpable. “They’ll tear through our defenses like we’re nothing, burn us to the ground for not siding with them.” His eyes lock onto mine, wild with accusation. “We should have bent the knee. We made a bargain with the wrong enemy.”
The words lash through me like a whip, but before I can speak, Tovar turns, his cloak swirling as he rushes back up the stairs, his retreat betraying the fear curling inside him.
I follow, my heart pounding as Solena and Arax fall into step beside me. Zyphoro trails behind, a silent specter in her own right. When we pass through the vine curtain into the hall, Tovar spins to face us, his face twisted in outrage.
“How dare you bring their kind into this sacred place?” His voice cracks like thunder, and the tension in the room swells, suffocating.
Erania rises from her place at the table, her brow furrowed. “Tovar, what’s happening? Explain yourself.”
“We are doomed,” Tovar snaps, pacing like a caged animal. “The Legion of Saints marches toward us as we speak, and now, because of Amara’s selfish choices, we stand defenseless. The Mordorin will not protect us.”
I stiffen, the accusation hitting harder than any physical blow. “You’re fortunate to even have the Blades,” I bite back, my voice steady, though inside I feel myself unraveling. “The Mordorin’s forces are thin, stretched to their limit. Before I left, my husband—” my voice falters on the word “—Prince Daedalus, was forced into negotiations to rally enough warriors to stand against even half the Legion.”
Tovar’s eyes narrow, and I can see the disappointment etched deep in his expression. “I have raised you as my own, Amara. You were taught to understand duty. You knew what it meant tobe the Jewel of the Tenders. Yours was a life ofsacrifice, and yet when we need you most,you betray us.”
