Page 18

ARATON

I slam 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 here except 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.

For now, I'll walk. I'll breathe. I'll try to make sense of the chaos Ronnie Wynn has once again introduced into my carefully ordered life.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow I'll see her again, if only to watch those gray eyes flash with anger. To remind myself that some fires are worth getting burned by.

I walk deeper into the forest, letting instinct guide me through the maze of ancient trees.

The canopy above thickens, dappling the forest floor with shifting patterns of light and shadow.

My thoughts circle like hungry predators—always returning to Ronnie, to the life she's built without me, to the sharp sting of being discarded so completely.

The trees begin to thin, and I slow my pace as the unmistakable sound of children's laughter filters through the branches. I approach cautiously, my footsteps silent on the moss-covered ground. The forest opens into a small clearing bathed in golden afternoon light.

And there they are.

The xaphan from earlier sits cross-legged in the center of the clearing, his massive gray wings folded loosely against his back.

Sunlight catches in his white-blond hair, creating an almost-halo effect that does nothing to soften his sharp features.

He's watching the children with an intensity that seems at odds with the gentle smile playing at his lips.

The little girl with the downy silver wings darts around him, her black curls bouncing with each exuberant step. She's holding something tight in her small fist—a cluster of wildflowers, their purple blooms crushed in her enthusiastic grip.

"Uncle Ady! Look what I found!" She thrusts the mangled bouquet toward him, beaming with pride.

Uncle.

The word hits me like a physical blow. Not father. Uncle.

The tall xaphan—Adellum, or Uncle Ady apparently—takes the flowers with exaggerated reverence. "These are magnificent. The finest blooms in all the forest." His voice is deep, almost musical, with an accent I can't quite place.

I shift my position slightly, trying to get a better look at her face without revealing my presence. As she turns, laughing at something the other child has said, I see her profile clearly for the first time.

The breath freezes in my lungs.

She has my eyes. Not the brilliant silver of the other xaphan, not Ronnie's stormy gray, but my own burnished gold. And that's not all—the shape of her chin, the high arch of her cheekbrows, the distinctive curve of her ears that's unique to high-born xaphan lines...

My mind races, calculating dates, possibilities, implications.

Three years. The child looks to be around three years old.

Three years ago, I was visiting Ronnie monthly. Three years ago, she vanished without a trace.

The other child—older, perhaps seven or eight—has no wings, but shares the same pale blond hair as the xaphan. She's crouched by a fallen log, apparently inspecting something beneath it.

"Brooke, don't put your hands in there," the xaphan warns, his tone firm but kind. "We don't know what might bite."

"It won't bite me," the girl responds with absolute certainty. "I can feel it. It's just scared."

The xaphan sighs, a sound of fond exasperation. "At least let me see what 'it' is before you adopt it and bring it home to your mother."

Each new piece of information reorganizes the picture in my mind, fitting together in a pattern I should have seen immediately. The older girl looks like the xaphan in many ways. And the younger one...

She calls him uncle, not father.

The implications hit me with the force of a physical blow. If Ronnie became pregnant before she disappeared, if she ran because of that pregnancy, if the timing aligns with my visits...

My gaze fixes on the little girl again. She's spinning now, arms outstretched, her tiny wings fluttering with the motion. Joy radiates from her like physical light. Something fierce and protective surges through me, an emotion so foreign and overwhelming I have to brace myself against a tree trunk.

"Uncle Ady, watch me fly!" The little girl leaps from a small rock, her downy wings spread wide but utterly incapable of actual flight. The xaphan moves with startling speed, catching her before she hits the ground.

"Not yet, little spark," he says, settling her on his shoulders. "Soon enough those wings will carry you to the clouds, but for now, this is as high as you go."

She giggles, patting his head with proprietary affection. "Higher! I want to touch the sky!"

The fondness in his expression is unmistakable as he rises to his full height, extending his arms so she can reach toward the patches of blue visible through the canopy. There's nothing sinister in his manner, nothing possessive beyond the natural protectiveness one would show to a beloved child.

Not her father. Her uncle.

Which means Ronnie must have been lying to me.