Empire of Night

Chapter Fifty-Four

The Duality of Fate

Inerys had made Rhydian a promise and she intended to keep it.

While she couldn't change what had happened, she'd be damned if she didn't try to be there for him the way he always had been for her. Circumventing the lake on foot, rather than accepting Ephaxus' offer to fly, gave her time to think. To find the right words to say. However, in the end, none of them felt right. He didn't need some inspiring speech or someone to make excuses on his behalf, what he needed was a friend.

So that was what she'd be.

She made no secret of their approach or their intention, for she knew Tanuzet's attention had been upon them ever since the others had returned to camp. She lay partially submerged in the water, wrapped around her bondmate with her body taut and poised to defend him from the world at large, if it came to it. Her yellow eyes verged on luminescent in the dark, keen and bright with the lingering vestiges of her fury. Yet, as her attention fell to Inerys, they softened. She gave a slow, deliberate blink at her approach and dropped her head in silent greeting.

Can I see him? Inerys asked, pressing a tentative hand to the soft scales of Tanuzet's snout.

Her dorsal crests rustled at her touch, but she did not balk nor bare her fangs. Though she said nothing, she raised her protective wing, tail hissing along the banks of the lake as she withdrew it into the water. She gave a single, approving whistle, then arched her neck to allow Inerys passage.

Rhydian sat in the shallows with his back to the shore, appearing more stone than man in his stillness. His end of their bond was still cold and distant, and she did not need to see his face to know his stare was vacant. Leaving someone to their thoughts, while sometimes for the best, could be a dangerous thing. Right now, she knew what he needed wasn't space, but support.

Biting her lip, Inerys waded into the lake and did her best to ignore the crispness of the water along her skin as she sat beside him. For a time, neither one of them said a word. He didn't flinch, nor spare her so much as a glance. He simply stared at his reflection with glassy grey eyes.

Eventually, she settled one of her hands over his.

"I won't pretend to know what you're going through," she found herself saying, "But I once ruined a man's hand during a tavern brawl. It's far from the same thing, I know, but I felt awful for it."

Rhydian stirred, gaze slowly sliding in her direction, "You were in a tavern brawl?"

His voice was low and hoarse, but he'd acknowledged her and that was enough.

"More or less," she admitted as her cheeks warmed, "I tried to play mediator."

His chuckle was so soft, she may have imagined it, "I'm hardly surprised."

She smiled a little despite her sigh, "Turns out I wasn't nearly as persuasive as I'd hoped I'd be."

"I've never known drunk men to listen to reason. How did you end up in the fighting? I never took you for the type."

"You could say it wasn't your ordinary brawl. Back home, Hounds would occasionally rough one another up, but there were purebloods there that night. The two rarely mix well and with tensions running higher than usual, things escalated. I managed to stay out of the thick of it, but then one of the purebloods tried to stab my friend in the back with a broken bottle while he was distracted," she said, shuddering at the memory, "I grabbed the nearest thing I could and brought it down on his hand with everything I had. I think it was a mug, actually. A wooden one, not glass. Not that it really mattered. The bottle he was holding shattered as surely as the bones in his fingers."

He shifted in the water and though he hadn't returned her touch, he didn't pull his hand away.

"It sounds like he deserved it," he said.

"He did," she agreed, "But it took me a while to reconcile the fact. Had I not acted, there's a chance he may have killed Alaric. Guilty as I felt for crippling the man, escalating matters was his choice, not mine."

Rhydian's brow knit as if he was considering something. He grew quiet, contemplative. She didn't press, merely sat and listened for when he was ready, thumb brushing idly over the back of his palm.

Eventually he asked, "How long ago did it happen?"

"Believe it or not, it was the night before my little incident in the woods. The same man who tried to attack Alaric took a few swipes at me before I managed to smash his hand. He lanced the back of my arm open at some point and my old mentor had to sew me back together," she said, resisting the urge to trace the scar she'd earned that night, "Looking back, I'm fairly certain my torn stitches were part of what gave me away, in the end. The details are still fuzzy, but I remember hearing this sharp inhale. The next thing I knew, I was at that woman's mercy."

Straightening where he sat, he laced his fingers properly through hers and gave a reassuring squeeze. She returned it and leaned her head against his shoulder. A hint of light returned that strange, shared space between them and she held to it.

"We've both done things we regret," she murmured, "But we've done some good too. Remember that."

He kissed the top of her head with a soft sigh, "I'll try."

"That's all I ask. Doing better doesn't always mean taking leaps and bounds. Sometimes a single step is enough."

"Even if we fall on our face from time to time?"

"So long as we get back up," she said, drawing back enough to face him, "I'll drag you up myself, if I have to. Give you a little nip of encouragement."

"Try not to leave a scar next time, would you?" He chortled.

The sound warmed her heart as well as their bond, "I'll do my best, but my Nan always told me never to make promises I can't keep."

"Wise woman," he said.

"She was," she sighed, wondering how she and Soren were faring in her absence.

After so many months, they would have had no choice but to accept her death, never knowing she was somewhere beyond the deepwoods. There would be no closure for them, not really. They would wonder after her final moments the way Inerys had her mother's. The thought of Soren waiting for a sister who never returned brought a sharp sting to her eyes. She swiped at the onslaught of tears with her free hand, stifling her emotions before they could well and truly get the better of her.

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"There's still a chance you'll see them again," he murmured.

"A slim one, maybe."

"Have a little hope," he said, "You've beaten the odds before."

"Thanks to you."

He gave her a small smile, "You can only help a person so much before the rest is up to them."

The irony of his statement certainly wasn't lost to her.

"I suppose we make a good team, in that regard."

"After all we've been through, I'm inclined to agree," he said, voice light as he brushed the tip of his nose along her jawline.

Inerys closed her eyes and angled her lips to catch his. He brought his free hand to her cheek, then her hair as he leaned close. She untangled their fingers and might have tugged him closer, had his chest not been bare beneath her touch. Were the circumstances different, she might have found her way into his lap, but not tonight. Not like this.

Not with a secret left between them.

She debated whether or not to wait, to give him time to recover from one crisis before moving to the next, but the truth was, there was no perfect time for a confession like this. For better or worse, the sooner he knew, the better. She'd placed he and the others in enough danger already and after her stunt with Vesryn, it was only a matter of time before he started asking questions himself. She wouldn't risk his trust for her own self interest.

"There's something I have to tell you," she said.

Rhydian drew back with a certain reluctance, but met her eyes all the same, "What is it?"

She drew in a steadying breath, "I know I should have said something in the beginning, but the truth is, I was terrified. Of you, of it. To some degree, I still am. Moreso of it, but . . ." she knew she was rambling, "This is going to sound mad, but there's something in my head, Rhydian. There has been ever since I woke up in Mistwatch."

His brow furrowed as he searched her face, "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. For the longest time, I thought it was some new survival mechanism I'd developed when I changed. Instinct, maybe? I'd feel it rise up whenever I was hungry or in danger, but it would always disappear as suddenly as it arose. I'd even forgotten about it a time or two because with everything else going on, it was easy to explain away. But then I started to advance and as I did, it changed."

Rather than appear angry or mortified, Rhydian looked as though he were going to be sick.

"Changed how, exactly?"

"It's grown stronger, more aware. Instead of trying to act through me, it started communicating. It started with impressions, hints of emotion, but after I drank that woman's blood, it. . . it started talking to me."

Inerys could feel it stirring even now, studying Rhydian with a certain apprehension she didn't quite understand. He pressed a hand to his chest as if there were an ache behind his ribs, fingers flexing, then relaxing as he grimaced. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but hesitated.

"You're sure it's been there from the start?" He asked.

She gave a single, reluctant nod, "I'm fairly certain it's why I broke the bed the way I did when I first woke up."

He sucked in a shaky breath, suddenly looking anywhere but at her. He raked a hand through his hair, face draining of what little color he'd regained since she arrived. Of all the reactions she'd anticipated, this wasn't one of them. She expected anger, hurt or even some sense of betrayal, not . . .panic?

"Do the others know?" He asked.

"After what happened with Vesryn, I told them everything," she said, the words stumbling out faster than she'd intended.

The wariness in which he studied her had the blood roaring in her ears. She'd always feared this moment, how he might react, but now that it was out in the open, she couldn't say she regretted it. She'd carried the weight of her secret alone for months.

"You told all of them? Even Ayduin?"

"Of course."

His attention darted up the shore as if questioning why they were alone, why she had been permitted so close, if she'd truly told them the extent of her passenger and its influence.

Peace, Tanuzet rumbled, They are safe.

Inerys did not need a bond with him to know he'd come to the same conclusion not half a heartbeat before Tanuzet's assurance. Some of his tension had eased from his body, his shoulders, yet his nostrils remained lightly flared and he eyed the space between them as if more were needed. A mounting dread rose not in her chest, she realized, but in the connection they shared.

"There was a moment where I felt Vesryn's grip go slack," he said quietly, "Was that your doing? Or the will of the thing in your head?"

She did nothing to thwart the tears that spilled over her cheeks, "Both."

"Both," he whispered.

"I didn't think there was another way," she said, "I couldn't let him kill you, I–"

"How many times has it taken control?" He asked.

"Only once," she promised, "In your annex when it forced me to drink the woman's blood."

A low growl issued from Tanuzet's throat as her hackles rose and Inerys stiffened. She felt Ephaxus' crests rise as keenly as if they were her own, his warning hiss skittering along her back and rustling her hair. Before she knew it, she was being lifted, not dragged, by the back of her half-soaked shirt. Her eyes went wide as the fabric tightened along her chest.

For his part, Rhydian appeared just as alarmed and staggered as he found his footing. She dangled from Ephaxus' jaws like a limp doll, water trickling down from her wet clothes and back into the lake several meters below. How he'd managed not to tear the fabric was beyond her.

"Ephaxus, what are you–"

She yelped when the ground began to move.

He backed several paces and gently plopped her back on her feet once they were back on solid ground. She wavered, clawed toes digging deep into the grass in an effort to keep her upright. Her bondmate gave nothing in the way of explanation, merely shielded her behind his massive, horned head. She saw Rhydian raise his hands in placation from around one of his jaw spikes. Tanuzet rumbled something of an apology and even went so far as to back further into the lake to prove she wasn't the threat.

Inerys glanced between them all in confusion.

Spirits' breath, what was going on?

"Forgive me," Rhydian said, "None of that was directed at Inerys. You have my word."

He bared his fangs, I am not blind, firstrider.

Though he kept his hands raised, his jaw flexed and his face set with a certain resignation, "No. You're not."

"Not blind to what?" Inerys demanded.

She tried to step around Ephaxus' head, but it moved with her.

"The echo. Tanuzet's reaction was not hers, but mine," Rhydian said.

"Yours?" She asked, voice nearly failing her.

His silence was all the confirmation she needed.

Inerys couldn't help but wrap her arms around herself, one hand reaching for her throat as her claws flexed. Was it because of what she'd said? That she'd lost control? She was fine now, surely he could see that?

"I know how it must sound, but I've always been able to keep it in check. It didn't even take control when I accepted its help. It backed off the moment you– the moment it felt the threat had passed," she said, catching herself.

The flight has chosen to trust her, Ephaxus rumbled.

"I'd never let it hurt anyone, I swear it."

She tried to step around Ephaxus' head a second time, but paused when Rhydian met her eyes in earnest. Her breath hitched, for his expression was more pained than she'd ever seen it. There was no fury, no accusation, but she sensed the underlying terror. An icy fear crept in along the edges of her heart.

"I know," he said shakily, "It isn't you, but me."