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HRAKAN

“W hat’s coming can’t be prevented,” the druid tells me, hardly listening as he scatters seed to the birds. A raccoon washes his face on a nearby tree, and I throw it a disgusted look as it watches us.

Watches me, more specifically, request aid from Dyrda’s followers.

“It may not be preventable, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be ready. We are in this together. It is the few of us who remain against the force of chaos.”

The druid clucks his tongue sympathetically, and a wave of sudden sadness hits me, nearly taking my breath away.

My hand goes reflexively to the pommel of my sword, as if I’ve sensed a threat in the black cloud of depression tugging at my awareness.

"Dyrda and her followers do not seek to disrupt the ebb and flow of fate.” He spreads his hands wide, a sympathetic look on his face that rubs me the wrong way. “We are believers in there being a time for all things, in the necessity of a winter to bring the warmth of spring.”

“That’s the most fucking stupid excuse I’ve ever heard for nonaction.” It comes out in a harsh rasp, and the druid blanches slightly when I take a step towards him.

“Dyrda is the goddess of these lands, not you,” he manages, voice tremulous.

Another wave of thick sadness hits me, and I blink at the sudden sting of tears in my eyes.

What the fuck is going on?

I rake a hand through my hair, frustrated at the depression sinking through me like a stone.

Depression isn’t normal for me, not like this. Cynicism I’m used to, disgust at the world is nothing unusual—but this darkness pressing at my awareness?

That is new, so staggeringly new and strong that it takes me a while to untangle the feeling to realize where it’s coming from.

Dyrda’s feckless druid blinks at me as I swear under my breath.

“While I wish things were different?—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I tell him, and to his credit, he listens, backing away.

It’s not my sadness at all.

It’s my mate bond with Kyrie.

Being tethered to her is still so new I didn’t recognize it for what it was at first. That dark, ominous cloud of depression is hers, so thick it threatens to take me to my knees, making me sick with it.

If I feel it this strongly, Kyrie must be absolutely devastated.

I need to get back to her.

Everything else dissolves in the face of her absolute despair, and I wheel around, intent on heading back to my castle and Kyrie as fast as I can.

A lovely waif of a Fae stands in my path and I blink, trying to clear my thoughts of Kyrie’s sorrow.

“Dyrda,” I croak, doing my best to stay upright under the weight of my mate’s emotions. My fault. It’s my fault.

“Why are you terrorizing my chosen?”

“Hardly terrorizing,” I manage.

Dyrda steps closer, a green light emanating from her skin, as if she’s lit from within. “What ails you, Hrakan?” A soft palm against my cheek, Dyrda shudders.

“You’ve found your fated one,” she says softly, a tear dripping down the curve of her cheek. “So much pain.”

A breath shudders out of her, and I shake myself free of her touch.

Dyrda’s the goddess of nature, yes, a relatively new development, the powers given to her by many worshippers manifesting in strange ways—but her ability to read emotions isn’t nearly as new.

She’s been able to do so since we were merely Fae.

“Is she dying?” Dyrda’s ethereal face is the very picture of confusion. “Is that why you’re here?”

“She’s not dying.” I clench my teeth, my eyes squeezing shut, only to be confronted with the flash of memory of Kyrie bleeding out under my hands.

I did this to her.

I can surely bear the weight of consequence of what I’ve forced on the one I should have protected. I made her bear it.

“Sola’s forces march across Heska,” I grind out.

“Do they?” Dyrda frowns, and several flowers nearby wither. “What does she want now?”

“The same as she always has. Power. Complete rule over what little our people have left.”

“Perhaps it is time to cede it to her,” Dyrda says, so softly I have to strain to hear it.

“You would trade order for chaos? What of your people?”

Dyrda flinches away from my anger, made worse by the world-weary sadness flooding my veins.

“If it is a question of chaos or death, then I know which me and mine will choose.”

I can’t stay here any longer.

This was a fool’s errand, anyway.

“We’re not through,” I say through clenched teeth, stalking out of the dappled grove. A butterfly flits past my face, and I spare no time for the flowery goodbyes Dyrda prefers in favor of mounting my horse and heading back to the one I never should have left in the first place.

Kyrie needs me, whether or not she knows it.

It will take an act of nature to rip me from her side again.