CHAPTER 69
The Return
By morning, they have returned. The courtyard fills around him, the movement carrying a different weight than it had before, quieter, more considered, the kind that follows something endured, not won. Men pass through the gates in uneven lines, their armor marked, their steps measured in a way that speaks more of survival than strength.
My eyes move through them until they find him. Colsar stands near the front beside Arabar, speaking in low tones. He turns before I reach him, as though he had been aware of me the moment I stepped into the courtyard, and he simply looks at me, taking in what is there.
Then he steps forward.
"They made it," I say.
"Some of them," he replies.
The words sit between us without resistance. "They held longer than they should have had to," he adds, his voice low. "They were cut off from everything that would have made it survivable."
His jaw clenches just slightly, though the rest of him remains controlled.
"They are here now," I say.
His hand finds mine briefly, the contact grounding, before he releases it again. "Yes."
Movement shifts behind him and I follow his line of sight.
General Rorin approaches. He looks thinner than I remember, worn down in ways that have nothing to do with time, the edges of him marked by something harsher than battle alone. He sees me immediately and something in his expression eases, just slightly, as though a tension he had been carrying has finally found somewhere to go.
"Your Majesty," he says, lowering himself to one knee.
"You do not kneel to me for surviving," I reply, stepping forward.
He lifts his head, something warmer moving through his expression. "Then I will kneel to you for what you gave us reason to survive for."
I hold his eyes. "You brought them back," I say. "That is enough."
His attention moves past me without meaning to. "They told us," he says quietly. "That you escaped. That somehow Prince Colsar made it through Alarna's wards to find you." Something moves through his expression. "We did not know if we believed it. But we held on to it anyway."
"It is true," I reply.
His eyes find the children then, and whatever he had been about to say next does not come. He simply looks at them.
“Bring them closer," I say.
Saurin steps forward carefully, and I take Kiss from her arms as Colsar takes Ari. Both children are alert in the way of those who have not yet learned to be wary of the world they have entered. Kiss shifts slightly in my arms, her small hand curling against my skin. Ari makes a soft sound against Colsar's chest, content and entirely unaware of what his presence is doing to the room.
The courtyard goes still.
It happens without command. The movement slows, conversations fall away, and attention gathers in a way that feels more instinctive than directed. Rorin looks at them the way men look at things they were not sure they would live to see. The soldiers behind him do the same, expressions opening, the wariness of the road dropping away as understanding moves through them one by one.
Someone exhales. It is almost a laugh.
"They are—" Rorin begins, then stops, the words leaving him.
I feel the question before it is asked. So I answer it.
“They are twins, Fiorakis and Arakis. Fiorakis is our firstborn. She is the rightful heir to the Rathmor throne,” I say, my voice carrying just enough to reach those nearest. “And she is a feeder.”
The understanding comes not all at once but in pieces, each man arriving at it in his own time. Rorin's expression changes first, something shifting in him that goes deeper than recognition. The men behind him follow, some slower than others, and what moves through the courtyard is the particular hush of peoplewho have just understood that what they fought toward was real, and here, and breathing.
Colsar lifts his head. "Soon," he says, his voice carrying across the courtyard, "they will not be hidden. We will ride home to Veynar with them.”
