Syphra’s voice booms again, her people respond with primal cries and cheers, feet, staphs and drums reverberating and mingling in agreement.
“They bow to you, serve you, honor you as the leader of the Vaythari,” Seren translates.
The Vaythari ball their fists into a ball then, and hold it across their chests, beating it three times, and no matter what language you speak or where you come from, this is a sign of a warrior’s allegiance.
Syphra is the only one to move then, moving closer to Elyssara, before reaching to a golden chained belt around her own waist, that, until now, has been obscured by the heavy furs she wears.
The belt is intricate, ancient, its center adorned with a single black opal that seems to devour the firelight, and a single rune carved into its center.
“Sovereign,” Seren breathes, awe-inspired again. “It is a warrior’s belt that denotes the ruler of the tribe.”
Syphra unclasps the belt and holds it out to Elyssara.
She looks momentarily stunned. Not uncertain, just... still.
Like she is feeling the weight of this moment press into her bones.Into her blood.
She exhales, slow and steady, like she’s letting go of the girl she was.
Then, she straightens, like she’s stepping into the woman she’s becoming.
As if deciding sheisa ruler, a leader,a queen.Her bare shoulders gleam in the firelight, the golden ink shimmering across her collarbones and down her arms.
She takes the belt and secures it around her waist, the opal sitting in the center. She lifts her eyes to the tribe of Vaythari staring back at her, and with more conviction than I’ve ever heard from her, she casts her voice far and strong, forging it with power, meaning and acceptance of her role.
“Zhari!” She bellows, emotion cracking through her voice.
They erupt in acknowledgement, chants and screams and hollers of joyous acceptance written through the camp, and the ashdrum and skyflutes pick back up with vigor.
She is one of them now.
A Queen.
And I can’t stop staring.
She is stunning, standing beneath the Stars, wild and untamed in a way that makes something tighten low in my gut. Her hair whipping in the night air, bare skin with the glint of golden paint and belt adorning it, dirt marring her face from the journey here—she is a vision.
Ronyn lets out a low whistle. “Well, your majesty. May I have this dance?” bowing low with mock formality and gesturing towards the uninhibited Vaythari dancing around the fire.
Elyssara laughs, throws her arms around his neck, “Oh shut it, Ronyn. Let’s fucking dance!” Ronyn’s movements are exaggerated and ridiculous, making Elyssara shriek with laughter that makes me tip my head back for the beauty of the sound.Gods, I’m so fucked.
Therion is still as stone at first, watching, but Seren grabs his wrist and tugs him into the circle and pulls him into a spinning dance, ignoring his grumbling. He lets her, and just like that, the tension breaks into joy.
And then there’s me. Watching these people who were meant to be an alliance that I could bend to my own will. To be manipulated for the gain of my own people. To be used in the war again King Maldrak and the curse on The Shadow Wastes. But the further we go into this, the more I realize they have become something more, and I find myself in a war of my own—my people or my conscience. My sister, or whatever this is between Elyssara and me.
Elyssara turns, smiling, her face flushed from the heat of the fire and the Silverwake. She approaches me, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling with the effort from dancing and laughing with her friends, and I can’t bring myself to do anything to interrupt her feeling this way.
“You look like the entire realms are on your shoulders, Kael,” she says between breaths.
I huff a laugh, “Sometimes it feels like it.”Sometimes, it is.I exhale, “But tonight, we celebrate—regardless of everything.”
“That sounds like an expert way to evade a real conversation, but I suppose you’re pretty good at that by now,” she quips. Then, she holds out a hand. “If you’re not going to give me your honesty and trust, Kael, the least you can do is give me a dance.”
I arch a brow. “No.”
She huffs. “Come on, Kael. Give me a night to forget.”
I take a slow sip from the Silverwake flask, watching her wait with obvious anticipation.At least I’m not the only one riddled with desire and tension.
