He inhales deeply, then breathes out slowly as he holds me to him. Finally, he speaks, chin resting on my head. “The formula is yours to give. But the method—how you made it—remains here.”
He pulls back and gives me a warning look—the one that tells me his mind is made up. He expects an argument from me.
“I agree,” I say, leaning back against his chest. He’s not wrong.
His eyebrows rise.
I explain. “If we give the process away, they’ll just engineer a new venom. Or they’ll use it against us. Or they’ll find a counter-countermeasure.”
One corner of his mouth turns up. “You think like a warlord.”
I hate how much that flatters me. “It’s common sense. I want peace, but I’m not naïve.” Water drips from my hair onto the fur between us.
“You may work,” he says. “But understand this, Elena—every cure you make changes Xytheos. And I will not let Xytheos take you for it.”
I understand him. Now that change has started, I can’t escape the threat of war. All I can do is choose, and let Xytheos answer.
CHAPTER 36
SUSPECTS
ELENA – RYTHAR’S FORTRESS IN THE GREEN REACH
The antivenom productionsection of the laboratory needs an overhaul. First, I need to perfect the antivenom. Then, I need mass replication.
I already stripped out parts and recombined them in new ways, the way I used to do with scavenged parts during New Terra’s war. It feels good to destroy something and rebuild it better, even if it brings up bad memories.
Drenz delivered Vorak’s shield weapon to the fortress. It sits sealed on the far bench. I’ll take it apart once the antivenom is finished.
I finish the new antivenom run, snap the fiber couplings in place, and watch the readout spike as the system purges itself. I run diagnostics again, then a third time, even though I know it’s solid.
I don’t even have to look up to know Rythar is standing silently near the doorway as I work. He lets no one enter. Not even Drenz.
“This is making some of your warriors nervous,” I say without turning. “I think they’re scared I’ll turn the fortress into a bioweapon factory and start a war.”
He grunts, but doesn’t move. “Let them be afraid. It will keep them disciplined.”
I roll my eyes, knowing he can see the motion reflected in the display glass. “You want them afraid of me?”
His footsteps cross the lab. He stops just behind my shoulder, close enough to touch.
“I don’t mind it,” he says. “But I would prefer they respect my wife more than fear her.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I feel the tension there ease.
“I don’t want war. I don’t want to be the reason this world goes to war,” I whisper.
His hand tightens, then slides up to the back of my neck, thumb massaging the tendon where it knots with stress. “I do not want war, either,” Rythar says. “I want you here. I want us. I want a hundred children with you.”
I snort. “Not ambitious at all, are you?”
He leans in, breath close enough that it fogs the display glass. “I want us to see every sunrise in this Reach. I want to watch you grow old.” He pauses. “If you age at all.”
If I age at all. The Concord Stone marked me. The mate bond rewired me. My body is changed, and my mind answers to this world now in ways I don’t understand. Children are a distant possibility. What if we never find out what we could have made together?
The future fractures into possibilities I can’t control.
“We still can’t be certain we can genetically reproduce together…” I start to say, but I trail off as he brushes my hair behind my ear, fingertips lingering at the curve of my jaw.
“We will find out. And if not, then I will be happy with just the two of us.”
