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CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

I FOUND RIVEN AT THE EDGE of the battlefield. Hundreds of Elverin were laid out, some already wrapped in linen for burial and some merely covered by their bloodstained cloaks.

“It hurts to breathe,” Uldrath whispered to Riven, who had his arm wrapped around the boy. His tiny hand held the limp wrist of his father, who was covered by a brown cloak.

Riven’s eyes were misted, but he cleared his throat to answer him. “It will feel like that for a while. Your lungs need time to learn to breathe in air that your father has never touched.”

Uldrath looked up at Riven, thin rivers dripping down his face. “But what if it stops and I forget him?”

Riven pulled out the diizra from his neck. “Your mother and you will make one of these for your father. And you’ll carry it for a year. That’s how long it will take for your lungs to adjust and for your sadness to lessen.” Riven glanced at me, relief flooding his face, but he kept speaking. “Then you will plant his diizra back home, and Vrail will help you see him again.”

Uldrath wiped his nose. “So he’s not gone?”

“None of them is.” Riven squeezed the boy and knelt to face him eye to eye. “Your father never wanted to leave you, Drath. But he fought today so you had a life larger than two small cities. And now you do because of him and all the others who fought too.”

Uldrath’s nose wrinkled. “I would have lived with him at home forever.” He looked around at the burnt forest and the blood-soaked earth. “I don’t like it here anyway.” His lower lip trembled, and Riven pulled him into an embrace, holding him until his sobs tired.

There were no words to cure a pain like that.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It just was .

The price of freedom was paid for in blood and grief. It tore at my heart to know that some as young as Uldrath would pay it too. Noemdra came and scooped up her son. Her tears had dried to flaky lines on her face.

Riven laced his fingers through mine but didn’t say a word as we walked through the rows and rows of dead. Nikolai and Vrail stood at the end of the row closest to the tent. Their hands were tied together as they stared down at Syrra and Fyrel.

“Where’s Gwyn?” I asked. I’d lost track of her when we returned.

Nikolai nodded in the direction of Rheih’s tent. “She’s helping the wounded. I don’t think she can handle seeing this just yet.”

I grasped Nikolai’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around me. Finally, the reality of what we’d done came crashing down. There was so much to do, so much to rebuild, but it was ours to do it. But Syrra was gone. And Pirmiith. And Fyrel. And so many pieces of myself I didn’t know if I was truly alive. Perhaps I had died on the battlefield when I tore into the second sun, only to wake up in an identical body made of grief. A sob burst through my chest and didn’t stop. My knees gave out and Riven was there to catch me. He cradled me against his chest and just started walking.

He walked for what felt like hours and all the way I cried. Tears for everyone we had lost, everyone who was in pain. But for the first time I cried for myself. The weight of my promise no longer tugged at my shoulders, and despite the grief, I was lighter than I had ever been. Finally ready to leave my life as Blade behind and discover who Keera was.

Riven sat us down along the beach and I leaned against his chest, letting the rhythm of the waves count my breaths.

“Was it harder than you thought?” Riven whispered into my ear.

I turned my head to face him. “What part?”

“All of it.” He wiped his eyes. “Killing Damien. I got your message and thought the worst.”

I stilled. I wasn’t going to keep what Gwyn had done a secret. I’d learned too well how fast a secret could spoil, but I didn’t want to tell that story yet. It was too fresh, that pain too sharp to live through it again so quickly.

I cleared my throat. “I fulfilled my promise.”

The words tasted only of the truth. I had pierced my dagger through Damien’s heart just as I’d imagined a thousand times over. Just as he’d made me do to Brenna. I had never thought of what would come after. Now my entire body felt raw. Like I could break out into a fit of sobs or laughter at any moment. A rage bubbled low in my belly ready to boil at the slightest provocation.

Riven slipped the gold chain from his neck and handed the diizra to me. “Then this is yours again.”

I clasped the pouch and let it dangle from my hand, not ready to put it on just yet.

“Did you mean it when you said you would follow me to whatever end?”

Riven’s breathing stilled along my back. “Yes, that’s as true now as it was then.”

“And when we promised to do our best to try ?” I pushed. “Did you mean that too?”

Riven lifted me off his chest and turned me around so I sat between his legs, folding my thighs over his. “ Diizra , what do you mean to ask me?”

I took a deep breath. Somehow it felt like a betrayal to ask Riven something so big, so selfish. But I knew it was what I needed. What we both needed.

I lifted the diizra . “I want to do this right. I want a year.” I cleared my throat. “I need a year. I never got the chance to mourn her, not truly, or really grieve what I’ve done. A year to let that settle without the threat of execution or war over my head—”

“You want to be alone.” Riven’s brow furrowed. “For a year?”

My shoulders fell. “Not entirely alone.” I bit my lip, trying to find the words. “I just think I need time to discover who I am without the titles or the war room meetings … and I’m not going to find that if I trade one vice for another.”

“Are you saying I’m bad for you?” Riven leaned back. “That I’m wine you cannot drink?”

“No, rovaa .” I cupped his cheek. “But you could be. After so much darkness, I won’t lie. I feel the need to bury myself in anything I can, anyone I can, to keep from feeling all this pain. But I don’t want to do that.” I brushed Brenna’s diizra with my thumb. “I want to do what all Elverin before me have done. Spend the year healing and grieving and then come together ready and healed.”

Riven leaned into my touch. “I will wait a century if you need it. We have the time.”

I laughed and shook my head. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” I grabbed his hand. “You need time too, Riven. Your regrets still trail behind you.”

His face fell. “That will take a century.” His voice was full of spite.

“You see all my faults and failures yet you don’t stack them up against my character. Why do you do that with your own?”

Riven swallowed. “It is not the same.”

I tilted my head. “You told me that you saw me as a builder. But why can’t you see that same skill in yourself?”

“Everything I’ve built has rotted away.”

I turned back to the city we had freed. “You sparked the rebellion that did this. You imagined the future we now have.”

Riven’s mouth sat in a hard line.

I grazed my thumb along his bottom lip. “You told me of another dream. Maybe you should take the year to make it true.”

Riven blinked. “What dream?”

“Vellinth,” I answered. “You put too much faith in me. But that city is not my home, Riventh, it is yours. Take Darythir and all the Halflings that will join you and make it the home of your dreams.”

Riven’s mouth parted as if he could taste the laughter in the air. “Our dreams,” he whispered. It was half hope, half question.

I leaned forward so my forehead pressed against his chin. “Build us a home, Riven, and I will join you in a year.”