“When I was enslaved to Irdelron, there were many moments I fought his control, despite knowing I couldn’t break the blood oath. When the possibility came to break his power over me, when I found you, the time still didn’t feel right. But then, it wasn’t because of certain failure; it was for fear of failure. Because then I had someone to lose.”
After the dungeon, I thought I’d lost just about everything that mattered. Not true. And despite my legitimate concerns of the rebellion’s readiness, maybe Tyrrik was right. Was this weight on my chest fear? The heaviness grew as I thought of losing those I had left—Dyter, Lani . . . my mate.
I searched Tyrrik’s face, my heart in my throat, and asked, “Do you think we can do it?”
“I think,” he said, and his brows furrowed as he stared up at the sky, “the stronger we get, the stronger Draedyn will become. Waiting five, ten, or twenty years will make no difference; it won’t give us the certainty of success we all crave.” He pursed his lips, and his jaw set. He scooted back just enough so when he tilted his head, he met my gaze. “But to win, we must fight while the people of Draeconia can look at their bodies and see the evidence of how he starved them while the dirt is still soft on the graves of their husbands and fathers, and while the land is yellow and dead, leached of life by its diseased and evil ruler. He might hold Draeconia by the throat now, but if we rise together, we will disembowel his reign and then execute him for his abuse.”
As he spoke, my breath quickened, and I rose onto my knees. I’d missed exactly when I’d tightened my grip on his forearms, but I was ready to leap into action. “Wow,” I said, easing my grip, exhaling my energy. “You need to write that down.”
He snorted.
“No, seriously,” I said, nodding. “I could actually do battle right now and win.”
His lips quirked, and he wrapped an arm around my neck, bending down to press a kiss against our mate mark on my neck. I shivered, and my thoughts of battle derailed. I scooted closer. That kiss was fine, good even, but Tyrrik’s tongue was for more than just talking. I wet my lips as I glanced up at him through my lashes. “Mate,” I said plainly, my lips lifting into a smile at the sound of the title. “Mate.”
Tyrrik shook as he chuckled low in his throat. “Getting practice in?”
My eyes narrowed.
“You were practicing the real name for Phaetynville in exactly the same tone.”
“Kanahele o keola,” I said then smiled sheepishly. “Okay, I might be practicing a little. It just . . . still feels strange. Good strange though.”
Whatever you need, my love.
I snuggled into his chest, and our bodies swayed gently underneath the elm tree and black sky.
“Hey, Tyrrik?”
He hummed in the back of his throat as he ran his hand up and down my back.
I opened my eyes, remaining pressed against him. “You know the attack wasn’t your fault, right?”
He only froze for a second, but the brief reaction was all I needed to confirm my theory.
“You think it was,” I accused, pulling back. “Why? How was Draedyn taking over my mind possibly your fault?”
He pulled the darkness to him, shadowing his face above the neckline of his black aketon. “How is it you blame yourself for how easily your father was able to penetrate your mind?”
“Nuh-uh,” I said, standing as I blinked away his cloaking power. “Don’t turn this interrogation around. I’m asking you, Tyrrik. Don’t deflect, and don’t you dare try and hide.”
He rose, taking a step back into the inky shadows, his eyes flooding black as he took me in. His nostrils flared, and he tore his gaze from me and began to pace in jerky strides.
“Tell me,” I said quietly, staying right where I was. “It wasn’t your fault, Tyrrik.”
“It was,” he said, halting before me. “I went against my instincts.”
What?
He continued, “My every instinct said I should not allow you to leave alone; I should be by your side to fight with you, for you. To protect you as I should. I overrode those instincts, and you were attacked. I didn’t make it to your side in time, and you were hurt.”
I blinked at him, struggling to understand the emotions assailing me through our bond. But this made no sense, the guilt he felt. “I asked you to remain behind.”
“And I knew better,” he growled, clenching his hands. “I should have followed you.”
I took a step closer, needing to soothe him. I shook my head, protesting his supposition. “Then you would have gone against my wishes.”
“Then so be it,” he snarled, tilting his face to the night sky. “I would rather you hated me again than to feel your helplessness when Draedyn controlled you.”
My mouth opened. And closed. My mind stuttering as it processed his words. “I . . . I thought we were getting better at this.”
He shuddered and hunched away from me, scales climbing the sides of his neck. His emotional turmoil wracked him, and I ached to make it go away, but what could I say? I kept still as he controlled the instinct to shift.
Tyrrik stopped shaking but didn’t turn back. When he spoke, his voice was weary. “Ryn, you know I have tried. And I don’t plan to stop trying.”
I waited. There was a definite but on the end of his sentence.
He blurred forward and took my hands. “Please, my love. Promise me you will never ask me to be parted from you again. You know I would move the world itself to make you happy. But please, please do not ask me to leave you unprotected again.”
My heart lodged in my throat. My Drae, my mate, was begging. A man who had held strong through one hundred years of enslavement was now pleading. And yet, though my heart ached as his heart ached, and my soul burned as his soul burned, could I lie to both of us and grant his request?
We were immortal. To promise such a thing for one year, for two, seemed honest. To promise to never be out of reach of my mate for eternity didn’t seem possible.
I understood his fear was raw. I understood he’d been terrified. Hadn’t we both been clinging to each other for strength a moment before?
But I couldn’t lie. Not to him, and not to myself.
“Tyrrik,” I whispered. “I promise to never leave your side . . . unless I believe I have to. Unless it’s life or death.”
His harsh exhales were accusations in the silky darkness. “But you would leave my side again?” he asked, his condemning gaze drilling into mine. “After I have begged you not to, you still would go?”
I swallowed. Did he think I wanted to? “You can’t protect me from everything, Tyrrik. That is not a burden I want you to carry. No one should have to.”
“It is who I am!” he roared. “I am a Drae. You are mine to protect. It is my privilege and my purpose.”
“I am yours,” I said, drawing myself up. “Just as you are mine.” I reached for him, waving him to come back to me, and my voice dropped to an earnest whisper. “But I will not lie to you, and I will not let you take responsibility for my actions. I’m not going to abandon you, but I—”
Tyrrik brushed away my reaching hands.
“Tyrrik,” I said. “Please understand.” My heart ached to make this right, but I had no idea how. I couldn’t compromise on what I knew was right. “I won’t ask permission for everything I do.”
He’d turned to leave but stopped, looking over his shoulder. His profile showed his fangs had lengthened, and scales covered his arms and neck. “I understand you will do what you believe to be right.”
I sighed in relief.
“Just as I will do what I believe to be right,” he finished.
I stayed rooted to the spot, as Tyrrik stalked away from the elm without another backward glance.
I awoke early. Even curled against Tyrrik, my sleep had been restless. Not just because our argument hung heavy between us, but today the Phaetyn would start their march toward Gemond.
“Khosana,” Tyrrik murmured, pulling my back against the length of his body.
The warmth of his presence only made my heart hurt more. I rested my head against his arm, reviewing the words I’d rehearsed in the dark. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings last night.”
I held my breath, waiting for his answer.
“And I am sorry to have hurt yours.” He pressed his lips on top of my hair.