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Chapter Fifty-Five

Jasce

I push aside the flap and step inside my tent, where Annora sits perched on the edge of my bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

My arms ache to hold her, to erase the distance that has crept between us. “Annora.”

She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink.

I sit next to her and reach out to take her cold hands in mine. “Talk to me.”

Her lips part, but no words come.

I search her face, seeing the shadows under her eyes and the tightness near her mouth. “What is it?”

She pulls her hands free and laces them together. “You left during the night, and you didn’t tell me anything. Then, you returned covered in blood.”

Frustration grips me, but I try to quell it. “We had to try to stop Asha.”

Annora’s eyes flick to mine. “I saw the blood.”

“It’s war. There’s no avoiding it.”

She stands abruptly, moving past me to a small table. “Do you enjoy it?”

Until last night, battle was always a necessity—a burden I carried as chieftain to protect my people. I’ve never reveled in it like my father, never sought the thrill of combat for its own sake.

But last night was different.

When I led the charge through the Whispering Woods, revenge burned hot in my veins.

Though, I will not apologize for what I am—a man who will wade through rivers of blood to keep Annora safe.

“I fight to protect our people,” I say after a while. “To protect you.”

“It’s not about protection anymore.” Annora’s voice quivers as she continues. “The way you looked when you returned. There was something else in your eyes, something dark.”

“What do you want me to say? That I didn’t feel satisfaction taking down some of the people who hurt you? That I didn’t revel in their deaths? Because I did, and I will not shy from that truth.”

Tears glisten in her eyes as she wraps her arms around herself. “Please stop.”

“No. You need to understand.” I swallow through the grit in my throat. “Every time I think about what they made you do—”

“—made me do?” She shakes her head. “I did it. My magic. My flames.”

“Because Aleksander controlled you.”

“And now you want to control everything through violence.” She turns away from me, her shoulders rigid. “Just like Aleksander and my grandfather.”

“I am nothing like them,” I say, not bothering to hide the disgust from my voice—the disgust that she would think I am anything like them.

“Truly?” Her hem lashes against her legs as she whirls back to face me. “Then, why did you look so alive covered in blood?”

I press my palms flat against my thighs. “Because they hurt you. Because every death meant you were one step closer to being free.”

“Free?” Her voice cracks. “I’ll never be free of what I did. And watching you embrace the same darkness...”

“Annora.” My throat tightens on her name as I shake my head, not knowing how to reach her.

She closes her eyes and exhales. “I need time,” she says, her words so soft they take a moment to register.

“We’ve been apart for too long already.”

She looks away and sniffs. “I cannot be around you right now.”

After everything—the distance, the battles, finally getting her back—and now she looks at me like I’m a stranger. Like I’m the enemy.

“Do you think I’m like them?” The words taste like poison. “That I enjoy death for death’s sake?”

She doesn’t answer.

My fingers tingle with the urge to break something, burn something, prove to her just how much control I still have by choosing not to.

But that’s exactly what she fears, isn’t it? This violence coursing through my blood.

I force my fingers to uncurl, one by one, then draw in a breath that scorches my lungs. “I killed those men because they serve the people who hurt you. Because every time I close my eyes, I see you trapped by Aleksander’s magic.”

She wraps her arms tighter around herself, and the gods help me, I’ve never felt more useless. All my power, all my strength, and I can’t protect her from these wounds. Can’t even touch her without making it worse.

“Don’t push me away.”

“I need to be alone,” she says in a brittle whisper.

“Fuck!” I whirl around and clench my hands into fists. “Don’t do this, Annora. Do not ask me to leave you right now.”

“ Please, Jasce.”

The plea in her voice shatters something deep inside me. Not just my heart—my very soul fractures, splintering into jagged pieces that tear at my insides with every breath.

“If that’s what you need.” My voice comes out rough, unfamiliar.

She doesn’t respond.

I turn away, each movement mechanical, wrong. Near the tent flap, I pause and wrap my fingers around the fabric until my knuckles burn.

“I love you.” The words scrape my throat, but I say them anyway. “Even if you can’t bear to look at me right now.”

Still no response.

I push through the opening and step into the crisp morning air. The camp bustles around me—soldiers cleaning weapons, tending wounds, preparing meals. Life continues as if my world hasn’t just crumbled to ash.

One step. Another. Each one drives those shards deeper.

Not even watching my mother walk away when I was eight left this pain in my chest. Not the countless times my father’s fist connected with my jaw. Not leading men to their deaths in senseless battles he orchestrated.

I make it twenty paces before I have to stop, bracing my hand against a tree trunk. The rough bark bites into my palm, but I welcome the physical pain. It’s easier to bear than the emptiness spreading through my body.

She asked for space, and I’ll give it to her. Even if every instinct screams to go back, to make her understand that everything I’ve done has been to protect her.

But I can’t protect her from the scars Aleksander created inside her.

The tent flap rustles, and Reeve steps into my command tent. He holds out a clay jar, and the sweet scent of honey mixed with volcanic fire blossoms hits my nose.

I take the Vohlcom Elixir as Reeve settles on the ground next to me, his back against a wooden chest. Neither of us speaks as I lift the jar to my lips. The liquid burns down my throat, igniting every nerve ending.

My magic roars back to life. The exhaustion from the battle melts away. My muscles unknot. My thoughts sharpen.

But the pain in my chest remains.

I pass the jar back to Reeve. He drinks, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His gray eyes catch the torchlight, those silver veins in his irises gleaming.

We sit in comfortable silence, passing the jar back and forth until it’s empty.

Reeve’s shoulder presses against mine, solid and steady. Like when we were children, hiding from our father’s rage in the castle’s secret passages.

As I finish the last of the elixir, my magic pulses strong and sure, but what good is all this power when I can’t fix what matters most?

Reeve takes the jar from my hand and stands. He squeezes my shoulder once, then slips out of the tent as silently as he entered.