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The door slams behind him, rattling the bottles on my shelves. I sink to the floor behind my counter, legs no longer able to support me, harsh breaths tearing from my lungs.
I've bought time, but at what cost? The lie sits heavy in my stomach. Sooner or later, he'll learn the truth—and when he does, I'll lose everything.
17
ARATON
Islam the door of the apothecary shop so hard the hinges rattle. Fury pulses through my veins like liquid fire, every muscle in my body coiled tight. The morning sun feels like a mockery, too bright and cheerful for the tempest raging inside me.
Villagers glance my way, then quickly avert their eyes—the wise reaction when a xaphan looks ready to tear something apart with his bare hands. My wings flare slightly behind me, the feathers bristling with agitation I can't control.
What the fuck am I doing here?
Three years of wondering where she went, why she disappeared. Three years of trying to convince myself it didn't matter, that she was just a human woman with a sharp tongue and sharper wit who made my monthly diplomatic travels more interesting.
And now I find her playing house with another xaphan? A child with silver wings?
My stomach twists with an emotion I refuse to name. It isn't jealousy—it can't be jealousy. Ronnie was never mine to lose. We fucked. We argued. Sometimes we laughed. That was all.
I stride through the village, my boots hitting the packed dirt with unnecessary force. The faces around me blur—humans mostly, with a handful of other beings mixed in. No one seems particularly alarmed by my presence. Unlike the northern villages, where my arrival would cause shuttered windows and hushed whispers, these people barely register me.
Because of him. The gray-winged xaphan she's chosen.
My hands clench into fists, nails digging crescents into my palms. The child's face flashes in my mind—round cheeks, those downy silver wings, unruly black curls. She looked happy, holding his massive hand, chattering away as they walked.
Something shifts in my chest, an uncomfortable pressure I can't identify. Why should I care? Ronnie made her choice. She ran from me, built this quaint little life in this village, found another xaphan to warm her bed and?—
I stop abruptly, a snarl building in my throat. A nearby merchant flinches, dropping the basket he was arranging.
"Sorry," I mutter, the word unfamiliar on my tongue.
I force myself to keep moving, weaving through the morning market until I reach the modest inn at the edge of the village. The innkeeper barely glances up as I enter, too busy tallying her accounts to pay me any mind. The privacy costs extra, but gold speaks just as clearly in Saufort as it does in Soimur.
My room is spartan but clean—a single bed, a washstand, a small table beneath a window that faces the forest. I pace the confined space, my wings brushing the walls with each turn. The room suddenly feels like a cage, too small to contain the restless energy surging through my body.
"Damn her," I mutter, yanking open the window. The scent of wild herbs floods the room, but it does nothing to calm the storm inside me.
I should leave. Pack my meager belongings, get on my zarryn, and continue south as I planned. There's nothing for me hereexcept memories I never wanted and a woman who clearly moved on without a backward glance.
Instead, I find myself back outside, striding toward the dense forest that borders the village. The trees grow tall here, ancient sentinels with sprawling branches perfect for a xaphan's wings. I break into a run as I hit the tree line, the physical exertion a welcome distraction from the thoughts plaguing me.
The forest embraces me with cool shadows and the whisper of leaves. I dodge between trunks, leap over fallen logs, push myself harder until my lungs burn and sweat slicks my skin. When I finally stop, I'm deep enough that the sounds of the village have faded entirely, replaced by birdsong and the gentle rustle of wind through branches.
My breathing gradually slows as I tilt my face toward patches of sky visible through the canopy. Here, among the ancient trees, I can finally admit the truth to myself.
With Ronnie, for the first time in my life, I felt something real with her. Not the calculated charm I use as a diplomatic tool, not the casual connections that fade when convenient. She challenged me, infuriated me, saw through my practiced smiles to the calculating mind beneath.
And I let her go without a fight. I tried to move on.
And couldn't.
The realization leaves me hollow. I sink down against the broad trunk of a tree, spreading my wings slightly against the rough bark. The forest around me teems with life—a contrast to the emptiness expanding inside my chest.
Why am I still here? What do I hope to accomplish by taunting her, by disrupting the life she's built without me?
The answer comes unbidden: because when I'm near her, even fighting, even wounded by her rejection, I feel alive again. The numbness that's been my constant companion since she disappeared recedes, replaced by the sharp edge of emotion—anger, desire, frustration. Anything is better than the hollow existence I've been drifting through.
I stand abruptly, brushing dirt from my clothes. The forest stretches before me, inviting further exploration, promising temporary escape from decisions I'm not ready to make.