Page 28 of Returned to the Vissigroth (The Vissigroths of Leander #6)

L ike the night before, I climbed up the overhang after dinner.

Mallack had wanted to protest, but Myccael offered to accompany me.

And honestly, after seeing how the Eulachs had seemed to just pass out of the mountain last night, I was glad for it.

I might have wished many times during the last days for Leander to open and pull me through a dark hole, but I'd never expected to find Eulachs on the other side.

So that wasn't something I was looking forward to.

"You like the view," Myccael observed when we reached where we had stood last night, before the Eulachs appeared. Overlooking the river.

"Zyn, it's peaceful." I agreed.

Something had been weighing on me since I met Myccael yesterday. I felt connected enough to him that I voiced my concern, like any mother would. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," he turned to me.

"Mallack said you and Thalia had been switched at birth." I began. A shadow brushed over his expression, and I put my hand on his arm. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"Ney, it's okay, ask away." He sounded resigned. He sounded like a male expecting a healer to cut him open and rebreak his bone after it hadn't healed properly.

"When you found out… when you realized you weren't Mallack's and my son… that must have hurt." I squeezed his arm, wanting him to know that I was here, that I understood.

He looked surprised. "That's what you want to know?" He asked in disbelief.

I was confused. "Zyn, of course. You were… are my son… " I laughed nervously. "Well, I suppose it's more complicated than that, but zyn, it must have felt to you like… somebody pulling a rug out from under you."

His eyes bored into mine, filled with distrust, hurt, and… vulnerability.

"You and Oksana are the only people who have ever asked me this, or even insinuated that I had feelings about that too," he said, and brushed a tired hand through his hair. The motion was weary, unguarded. He didn’t look like a ruler then. Not like a susserayn or a vissigroth. Just a male whose life had unraveled too many times and who, somehow, still kept going. My heart went out to him. Even if I didn't remember him being my son, love for him awakened inside me with an intensity that was hard to describe. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.

I just kept my hand on his arm and let him speak.

"I wanted Thalia dead," he said suddenly, voice flat.

I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him right. He turned to look at the river, his expression unreadable. “I told myself it was for Leander. That her existence was dangerous. That she would cause instability. Chaos. I looked at her and saw a threat.”

I didn't press him, I just waited, ready to listen when he was ready to speak again.

"I could say, I didn’t know she was my sister,” he added quietly. “That I thought she was a fraud. An outsider trying to steal what was rightfully mine. But that would be a lie. The moment I saw her, that I saw her scales, I knew her for the threat she was to me . And I wanted her dead."

He paused, dragging a breath into lungs that didn’t seem to want it.

“I was raised like a prince,” he said. “Spoiled. Angry. Always reaching for things I didn’t understand and resenting the ones who had them.

For the longest time, I thought power would fix that.

Being a vissigroth. Being better than my father or anyone. But it just made me hollower.”

I watched him as he spoke, his face in profile, lit by the moon. His jaw was tense with memory. There was no defense in his voice. No spin. No pride. Just truth.

The strange thing was… I understood him. I nodded at him, to make him see that I did. Because every day, someone looked at me and expected something. Expected me to remember, to be . A mother. A mate. A symbol.

But I didn’t remember who I was.

Myccael, he had remembered everything, only to learn it had all been a lie.

Two voids, side by side.

“You changed,” I said softly.

He looked over at me, surprised and skeptical.

“You did,” I repeated. “Whatever you were before, whoever you were raised to be… that’s not who you are now.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. Just looked at me like he wasn’t sure I was real.

“I’ve watched you,” I continued. “You speak like a leader. But more than that, you listen like one. You protect people, even when they don’t ask for it. Even when they don’t deserve it.”

“I tried to kill my own sister,” he repeated in a low voice.

“But you didn't,” I replied. “And now you love her. I can see that.”

He looked away again, his throat working.

“I just… some days, I don't recognize myself.” He admitted.

My smile was sad and real. “Neither do I.”

We sat in silence after that, shoulder to shoulder. Two broken pieces of different puzzles, still managing to fit beside each other.

The river flowed below, and the stars kept their counsel.

And for the first time, I felt like maybe—just maybe—not knowing who I was didn’t mean I couldn’t become someone worth remembering.

Dinner was simple but warm, and I knew instantly Mallack had insisted on it.

The food was rich with spices I didn’t remember liking, but apparently, I once had.

He made sure everything was soft enough to chew easily, checking my plate before I even noticed.

My chest ached at the care in his every move.

He didn’t crowd me, but everything about him radiated devotion.

We sat side by side on the cushioned bench in Myccael’s massive tent, the flickering lanterns casting soft gold over the walls.

Mallack’s body heat was a steady presence against my side, and it felt good.

Comfortable. Familiar in a way that my mind couldn’t recall, but my body remembered.

I found myself leaning into him more and more as the meal went on.

We didn’t talk about the magrail, or the Zuten, or the Renegades.

Instead, Mallack told me about Myccael. About how headstrong he was as a boy.

How he refused to wear shoes for an entire rotation because someone told him real warriors walked barefoot.

I laughed until my stomach ached. Myccael—the golden, proud susserayn—throwing tantrums and stomping barefoot around Hoerst.

“You must have been a good father,” I said softly, cradling the warm tea he’d made me.

Mallack shook his head, not in denial, but in quiet reflection. “I tried. But I was always waiting. Waiting for him to be old enough. Waiting for Hoerst to be safe. Waiting to finally see you again in the next life.”

The words settled between us, heavy with so many unspoken emotions.

I stared down at the tea. My hands were trembling, and I didn’t know why.

We didn't speak much after that, but when we were done with dinner, like by an unspoken command, we gravitated to the spot by the fire where I woke up this morning.

We sat next to each other, looking into the flames.

It was a companionable silence, but so much was on my mind, and I supposed on his too.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

He lifted a brow. “For?”

“For dinner. For today. For not—” I hesitated, “not expecting me to be the person I used to be.”

He leaned back on one elbow, legs crossed in front of him. His body was carved from shadow, but there was nothing distant in the way he looked at me now. “You are the person you used to be,” he said. “You're just... finding your way home.”

Something about those words made my throat tight. I looked down at my cup, swirling the dregs. “Mallack... can I ask you something?”

His head tipped slightly. “Anything.”

I didn’t look at him. “Thalia. What is she like?”

He didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his voice dropped into something softer, more reverent. “Thalia is fierce, but not reckless. She chooses her battles. She’s clever with words—too clever sometimes—but when she stands up for someone, she does it with her whole soul."

I listened, my fingers still curled loosely around my cup.

“She didn’t have an easy start. She grew up in a pleasure house, raised to clean and serve,” he said, his voice hollowing out slightly.

A sharp, strange ache tugged at something deep in my soul.

Mallack smiled, a wistful, fatherly thing. “She fought her way back. The male who recognized her—Darryck—he could have ignored it, walked away, but he didn’t. He brought her to me. And that was when I knew. In the line of her jaw. Her fire. Her eyes… she has your eyes.”

Hypnotized, I listened, drinking up each word like I hadn't had water in cycles while wandering aimlessly through a desert.

“She hated court at first,” he continued. “But she came into her own. Stood up to Kennenryn. Faced down Darryck’s enemies. Even protected his sister once by lying in front of the entire royal court.” His lips curled with pride. “She’s not just brave. She’s good.”

There was something almost devotional in the way he spoke of her. As if her existence was a miracle he’d never stopped being grateful for.

“Is she happy?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

“Zyn,” he said, his whole body relaxing with the word. “Darryck adores her. He’d tear the skies down for her. And she gave him twin boys—both with the kiss of the dragon. An unheard-of thing. They named their daughter Zara.”

A laugh bubbled up from me unexpectedly. I had grandkids! “Zara?”

“She was going to be named Daphne,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I asked them to pick another name. There’s only one Daphne.”

I looked at him then. Really looked. At the lines around his eyes. The quiet storm of devotion he still carried.

“I’m not her,” I whispered.

“Ney,” he agreed, his voice steady. “You’re you . And I love you . And you’ll love you again. Even if it takes a thousand nights beside the fire. Even if you never remember.”

Tears burned behind my eyes, but not from sadness; they came because I was starting to believe him.