Soren slapped away Anabeth’s hand, biting back a gasp of pain, gritting out, “Stop talking about me as if I’m not in the room.”
Vane said nothing, his expression flat.
Soren scoffed at him. “Right. Tell me the worst of everything then go and leave me during an attack and expect everything to be just fine. And nowyou’rethe one acting like I did something wrong.”
Anabeth’s brows rose, but Vane bit out, “You nearly died. Do you know that? If you were mortal, you would be gone.”
“I am mortal,” she snapped. “I was born in Mise twenty-two years ago, and I had a family. I don’t need another one.”
“They are no more your family than the royals in Aren.”
“Howdareyou?—”
“She knew. Your mother in Mise.”
Soren’s breath caught. “You can’t know that.”
He laughed coldly. “Wake up. Look at what she named you. Besides, Cavell is an old surname, one I know well. I don’t know how the fuck Nyx did it, but she made sure you were brought into this world again by the granddaughter of one of her mortal spies from the old days.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Soren shot back, even as her stomach twisted.
Vane’s nostrils flared. “Regardless, you cannot go back to pretending you’re anything but what you are now.”
“What do you mean?”
Anabeth shifted, muttering, “Vane, not now.”
But he ignored the demi-god. “We crushed the rebel attack despite the fact that they overran us. Do you know why?”
“No,” Soren whispered hoarsely, remembering the screams that had surrounded her when she let her magic loose. “I wouldn’t have killed them all. I would have at least protected the rebels.”
“You didn’t protect anyone, Soren. Magic doesn’t have morals, and yours took enough on both sides. But it gave those in the camp the edge they needed.”
She felt faint. The torches flickering in the tent were too warm and bright, the air cloistered and stale. She had to go, had to get away from this.
“Vane,” Anabeth cut in sternly. “You need to calm down or shut up. She needs rest.”
The demi-god lifted her hand and gently put pressure on Soren’s torso, blood seeping through the bandages.
“I’m sorry, Sora,” she said softly. “For pretending all those years and watching what they did to you in silence. I don’t expect forgiveness, but this might be my last chance to say that to you.”
“Not my name,” Soren slurred.
Her vision crossed and blurred, but she swore she saw Vane in the corner, head on his knees. Anabeth said something softly to him, but the words sounded slow and echoed to Soren. The torches in the tent flared just before Soren lost consciousness again.
When she came to again, the pain was gone. A soreness remained in her torso as she sat up in the dark, but she could move without feeling faint. Anabeth was gone, but in the dark, she saw someone curled on the ground next to her under what appeared to be a few overcoats.
“Vane?” she rasped, her voice hoarse and wobbly.
He stirred, and the torches flared to life around them. Now fully awake, she glanced around. The tent was large but nearly empty besides the sleeping cot she rested on, a basin for washing, and a menagerie of weapons on a small rack near the entrance.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting up and knotting back his hair, his brow creased.
She shrugged, swinging her legs over the side of the cot, but he stopped her with a hand to her knee.
“Take it slow,” he ordered.
She ignored the heat from even his subtle touch and muttered, “Says the man who reopened all my stitches with just an argument.”
