“I was the only survivor.”
The silence that followed wasn’t simply quiet, it remembered.
I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? That I was sorry? That I’d seen it, felt it, and that it had nearly shattered me even as a mere memory?
Darian’s hand curled into a fist against the window ledge.
“How did you survive?” I didn’t know if he wanted to say more, but asking seemed better than false comforts.
“Luck.” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “And Eilrys.”
Darian rolled his shoulders slowly. “I thought I was dead. Half-dead among my own warriors, bleeding out on the ground. I remember the smell of it. The blood and dirt, the bodies around me.”
He moved back to the lounge, sitting back down to face me, though he held himself differently now.
“But Eilrys,” he said, glancing at the door she’d walked out earlier. “She found me. Pulled me out. Dragged my sorry ass halfway across the valley and got me to a healer.”
His hand moved absently to the centre of his chest, fingers splaying against his sternum. The motion drew my attention tothe savage scar that carved apart his intricate tattoos.
It wasdeep, jagged, a brutal contrast against the vines inked into his skin.
Darian exhaled hard, a sound that was almost a laugh but lacked any real amusement. “That blow should’ve killed me.” His mouthtwisted into a wry smile, but his eyes remained distant. “But the funny thing about mating bonds? They’re stubborn.”
I couldn’t look away from the scar, from the way his fingers lingered against it.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like... the bond itself fights for you. Keeps your heart beating when it should stop. Draws on your mate’s strength when yours fails.” His fingers traced absently along his chest where the sword had pierced him. “Eilrys wouldn’t let me go. And the bond... it listened to her.”
He shook his head, a touch of wonder in his voice despite the darkness of the memory. “By the time she found me, I shouldn’t have had enough blood left in my body to keep breathing. But I did.”
I absorbed his words, trying to wrap my mind around the connection he was describing—magic that defied death itself.
“The mating bond… It’s really that powerful?”
Darian looked at me, and for once, there was no trace of mischief on his face. “It’s the most powerful magic we have. More ancient than any court. More binding than any oath.”
For a moment, we sat in silence.
“What happened after?” I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to know.
Darian’s gaze dimmed, the light retreating behind a wall of exhaustion and ice. “Varyth was... furious, which doesn’t begin to cover it. I’d never seen him like that before.” He paused, swallowing hard. “He wanted to attack immediately. March on Nyxaria and burn it to the ground.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Because it would have been suicide.” Darian spoke the answer like he’d rehearsed it. “They were hoping for that reaction. Wanted us to charge in, blinded by rage, so they could finish what they started.”
His mouth twisted into a grim smile. “Varyth may be many things, but he’s not stupid. He knew we’d be playing right into their hands.”
“What did he do instead?”
“He waited. Planned. Then, when they least expected it, he struck back.”
“How?” I leaned forward, unable to help myself.
Darian’s eyes glinted, dark and satisfied. “He infiltrated their court during their winter solstice celebration. Got past their wards, their guards. Everything.” He paused, as though savouring the memory. “And then he killed forty-five of their highest-ranking officials. One for each warrior Stormborn, who you saw in the memory, had slaughtered.”
My breath caught. “Varyth did that himself?”
