“Dina.”
22
XYLON
Silence.
That is the first thing I know. Not the roaring, thunderous silence of the cave, but a profound, blessedly empty quiet inside my own mind. The red haze is gone. The ceaseless, burning fire of the curse that has been my torment for so long is extinguished. The constant, screaming rage of the beast… is gone.
I am alone in my own head. The peace of it is so absolute, so overwhelming, it is a blow to my core.
My eyes flutter open. The world is not a riot of threatening shapes and overwhelming smells. It is just… the world. The cavern is a place of serene, impossible beauty, the silver-blue light of the crystals casting a soft glow on the gently flowing water. I can see it. I can truly see it, without the filter of hatred and pain.
I take a breath, and the air is just air, clean and cool. I lift my hand, and it is not a monstrous claw made for tearing and breaking. It is my hand. Olive-skinned, scarred from a life of training, but it is mine. I can feel the cool stone beneath my own fingertips, the texture of my own skin. I am myself. The relief isa tidal wave, so powerful it threatens to drown me in a way the rage never could.
And then my eyes find her.
Dina.
She is kneeling beside me, her face pale, tears tracing clean paths through the grime on her cheeks. And she is… beautiful. The word is too small, too simple for what she is. My fragmented, beast-hazed memories did her no justice. I see her now with my own eyes, the eyes of an Orc, of a man. Her eyes are not just brown; they are the color of rich, fertile earth after a rain, deep and full of a stubborn, resilient life. Her hair is not just a brown tangle; it is a cascade of waves that catches the ethereal light of the cavern.
I see the exhaustion etched onto her features, the fading bruise on her cheek, the slave’s brand on her neck. Marks of the cruelty she has endured. Marks of the strength that allowed her to endure it. She looked at a terrifying monster and saw a man. She faced death to save a soul she had no reason to believe even existed. She is the sun. She is the warrior.
A feeling so profound, so powerful it aches in my newly whole chest, rises in me. It is a thing of gratitude and awe and a fierce, possessive need to protect that has absolutely nothing to do with the beast’s instinct. It is love. Pure and absolute.
I have to tell her. I have to speak to her.
I open my mouth, and the muscles of my jaw and throat feel foreign, clumsy from disuse. I focus all of my will, all of my newfound clarity, into a single word. Her name.
“Dina.”
The sound of my own voice is a miracle. It is not the guttural roar of the Urog, but a deep, clear baritone. My voice. I had thought it was lost forever. Hearing it now is like seeing the sun after a lifetime of darkness.
Her name on my lips seems to break a spell. Her eyes, which had been wide with a stunned, fearful hope, now flood with unrestrained relief. A sob, a beautiful, broken sound, escapes her.
“Xylon,” she whispers, testing my name, the one I carved for her in the dirt. “It’s really you.”
She scrambles closer, her movements frantic, urgent. She pulls a dark, heavy cloth from a pile of wreckage—Kasian’s robe—and gently drapes it over my naked body. Her touch is a fire against my skin, a gentle, searing heat that really has nothing to do with the curse. It is the first gentle touch I have felt from another person since my mother’s hands braided my hair.
“I am here,” I say, my voice growing stronger, more certain. “You saved me.”
“I…” she starts, then stops, shaking her head as if she cannot comprehend it. “I thought the magic would kill you.”
“It almost did,” I admit, the memory of the transformation a phantom agony in my bones. “But your face… I held on to the memory of your face.”
We talk, then, our words hesitant at first, a bridge being built between two worlds. I am a man relearning the language of his soul, and she is a woman learning to speak to a miracle. I tell her everything.
“My name is Xylon of the Fire Sun Clan,” I say, the words a proud, firm declaration of my reclaimed identity. “I am the son of the chieftain, Borin.” I tell her of my rival, Grak, of the ambush that led to my capture, of the dark magics Lord Jildred used to twist my body and mind. I tell her of the long, dark years spent trapped in the beast’s rage, and of the small acts of kindness—a piece of bread, a gentle hum—that kept the flicker of my soul from being extinguished entirely.
She listens, her hand resting on my arm, her touch a constant, grounding anchor. She tells me of her decision, ofKasian’s lies, of her walk to the altar. And I see the strength in her, a courage that faced down not just monsters and sorcerers, but her own fear, her own despair.
When our stories are told, a new silence settles between us. It is not empty, but full. Full of all the things we have endured. Full of all the things we are now, together.
I look at her, at this small human woman who faced down the world for me, and the ache in my chest is a pain of pure, overwhelming love. I have taken her from one prison only to leave her a fugitive in a hostile world. It is not enough. She deserves a home. She deserves safety. She deserves honor.
I will give it to her.
I take her hand, my fingers lacing through hers and I softly place a reverent kiss on the back of her hand. Her skin is so soft. “Dina,” I say, voice a low, unbreakable vow. “I am taking you home. To the stronghold of the Fire Sun Clan. You will be a slave no longer. You will be safe. You will be honored above all others. This, I swear on my life.”
