My shoulders hunched, shame and embarrassment filling me. He lifted a hand, and I was proud I didn’t flinch this time. Almost.
Canavar pointed at me. “I do not like you. I think you are wild. You might be too wild. But … I also was wild once.” He smiled wistfully. “If Nerissa could tame me, perhaps there is hope for you yet.”
I stared at him.
He exhaled and it was a long, heavy sound. “Veskor … I don’t blame you for Anar’s death.”
My heart stuttered.
“Why?” My voice cracked. “Why not? He died because he left your island. Because?—”
“Because he chose it,” Canavar said. “While unfortunate,you didn’t mean to set the vampires on him. The attack was unfortunate, but not your fault.”
The words stunned me.
He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked tired.
“My son was unhappy,” he admitted. “He was restless, volatile, struggling. He had no females his age who weren’t his nest mates. No place to put his instincts. No balance. Nerissa and I should have seen the signs long before we made a fortress out of an island with no mates for him to bond with. He did not wish to bond with a witch. He wanted other drakens. With only our family and Kaida and Nasi, he felt trapped. We were afraid from our own experiences with the outside world.”
I swallowed hard. That sounded achingly familiar.
He continued, voice low, “He didn’t leave because someone manipulated him. He left because he couldn’t breathe in that tiny enclave anymore.”
My pulse thundered in my ears.
Canavar rested his elbows on his knees. “He was broken long before he met a vampyre. And that is on us. Not you. We have been isolated for too long.”
My anger deflated.
The weight of all of my decisions was heavy; it was like being suffocated.
If I hadn’t been so afraid, Anar might still be alive. Maybe they wouldn’t have attacked Lyoness.
My voice barely carried the word. My jaw ached with how foreign it felt.
“I’m s-sorry,” I whispered.
Canavar blinked.
I swallowed and forced it out again, louder. “I’m sorry. For the vampyres. For the danger. For the part I played that made your loss worse. I never meant—” My throat cut off, raw with emotion I had no name for.
Silence stretched. Slowly, Canavar nodded.
“You don’t owe that to me,” he said. “The only person who gets to accept that apology is Nerissa.”
“What will she do?” I whispered.
Canavar huffed a humorless laugh. “You’ll find out.”
Then he stood and walked toward the door, pausing just long enough to look back.
“She mourns hard,” he said, “but she is fair. If you truly protected that child, she will know.”
He left me alone in the firelight, shaking.
Was redemption a thing that existed in the world? Did I, of all creatures, deserve it?
Chapter Twenty-Three
