Page 7 of The Last One Standing (Rogue X Ara #4)

DELPHIA

“ N o,” I said again through clenched teeth.

The tavern was too loud, too crowded, and each little thing hammered at my splitting headache.

I pushed off the bar, wincing as pain raced up my wrist, and leapt down from the stool. The fifth knuckle and hand bone were broken; they had to be, if the swelling and dark bruises were any indication.

It was because of this fucking hindrance that I hadn’t been able to fight. Without the release, I spiraled.

Nothing entered my system other than alcohol and the occasional bread. My skin, already as pale as Doran’s, had become nearly translucent. The sun hadn’t touched it in months.

I hadn’t looked in a mirror since that night either, but I didn’t need to. I didn’t need to see the monster in my reflection to know I was one. My hair had been sheared to a blunt bob at my shoulders, and I could feel the hollowness in my face—a reflection of my insides.

“Why not?” The blacksmith’s voice grated on my nerves.

I glared at her. “Because I don’t want to.”

“Why. Not?” she asked again, slower, angrier.

Terran stood to her side, along with the unsettling tavern owner. My eyes found his ears, cut into points, and my stomach roiled.

“Because. I don’t. Want to.” I enunciated the words in that same infuriating tone, clenching and unclenching my fists at my sides. Each movement sent another wave of agony through my hand.

“Stop being such a fucking coward, Delphia,” Terran bit out, his voice low.

My face whipped to him so fast, my white hair swung in my vision, and I reared back before I could think better. My left hand, my weak but unbroken one, connected with his cheek.

His head snapped to the side, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t move or react. He simply stared back at me. The woman at his side, however, flared with flames along her forearms. She stepped toe to toe with me, invading my space, but I didn’t shy away.

I wanted the fight. I wanted to feel pain, to hit and break. Hell, I’d burn if she’d do that.

Without a second thought, I grabbed her arm in a vise grip with my shattered hand and screamed. Her head drew back, eyes widening, her fire disappearing with her shock. She jerked her hand, and Terran shoved me by the shoulder.

My palm blistered, bright red and burning.

Terran held me against the wooden bar with an arm at my throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I released a bark of laughter, but there was no humor in it. “So many things. Haven’t you realized? You don’t need me.”

The bar owner stepped forward then, and when my glare flashed to his, I stilled. He met my gaze not with anger or disgust or contempt, but with sadness, with pain and…understanding.

My throat clogged, a confusing blurriness settling over my vision. It wasn’t until wetness hit my cheek and Terran’s arm removed from my throat that I realized it was a tear— my tear.

The man took my injured hand, and I let him. I didn’t pull away or wince when he flipped it over to inspect the damage. We’d never spoken outside of drink orders, but he held my hand like he knew me, like he cared.

“How old are you?” he asked. I didn’t answer, but he nodded faintly, anyway. “You remind me of my daughters.”

“Where are they?” I didn’t know why I asked, what possessed me to care this time, but his pain called to mine. Perhaps if I heard his, mine wouldn’t be so loud.

He dropped my hand. “One is dead. One is…somewhere.”

“Why are you not with her, then?”

“Because I, too, am a coward and have been for quite some time.” His throat bobbed before he stood straighter. “But I’m not going to be one anymore. My granddaughter needs help, and we”—he placed a hand on my shoulder—“are going to find her and bring her home.”

My blood ran cold, my head tilting to the side. His ears, cut to resemble a Fae, were human.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“My name is Godrick, and Elora is my daughter. You’re Delphia, Ara’s friend, are you not?”

I opened my mouth to speak, my head on the verge of nodding, but I stopped. I couldn’t answer in the affirmative, because I wasn’t her friend, was I?

When I didn’t answer, he tightened his grip on my shoulder and dipped his head closer. “Are you not?”

“I…” My eyes found the others, watching, waiting, expecting, and the words stuck in my throat.

They didn’t know I was the cause of their pain. It was my fault, every agonizing event, and when they found out, they would hate me, too, just like I did. Maybe if they did hate me, they’d leave me alone, and let me drown myself in alcohol until it didn’t hurt anymore.

That wasn’t what happened, though. Instead, at my lack of words, the blacksmith stepped forward. “My name is Edana of Blackburn, and Rogue is my son.”

My mouth fell so far open, my jaw ached. I studied her face for a moment and pulled back, shaking my head. She looked nothing like Rogue.

Rage bubbled in my chest, and my mouth twisted into a scowl. “No, she died. Thana saw her die, gave her a King’s Burial herself. How dare you?”

She turned to reveal the tattoo between her shoulder blades—a flaming bird—like that would be answer enough.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” I shoved Godrick and strode away from them. Liars, a bunch of manipulating, pushy liars.

“Do not take another step.” A female voice cut over the tavern at the same moment vines sprouted from the ground and wrapped around my ankles. Thorns dug into my skin with the promise of spilling blood, Canyon oath be damned.

My heart thundered, adrenaline burning through my liquor-soaked blood. Only one person in this realm could control these vines. I lifted my eyes slowly, cautiously, to find Iaso standing in the doorway, flanked by Commander Lee and… “Thana?”

My heart beat in my throat at the sight of her.

I hadn’t seen her in… How many weeks? A month?

Not since the last time she tried to dig me out of my own grave, and she looked different—stronger.

Her amethyst eyes had been lined in black, her violet hair braided into a crown, and I knew without having to see it that the mark on the back of her neck would be visible—one that very few had seen.

She’d kept it hidden for a lifetime, understandably so, and I’d only seen it within the confines of a bed.

Only one person in each lifetime carried it: the soul weaver. Two delicate black threads started at the base of her neck and spiraled upwards into one where it disappeared into her hair.

Whispers whirled behind her as she passed, heads swiveling, eyes squinting, fingers pointing, yet she held her chin high and expression blank.

She’d always hated the speculation that surrounded her power. Soul weavers were not always good people; more often than not, they were vile. Several had attempted to raise an army of the dead. It only took one success, and the title of soul weaver had been a societal curse ever since.

Yet here she was, bravely displaying herself to the world as she should, because Thana was a good person. She was kind and loyal and fucking stunning, and she didn’t have to prove that to anyone.

I didn’t deserve to be her friend—to be her anything. I never had.

A mixture of pride for Thana and shame for myself roared to life in my gut, and I was torn between crying, hiding, or vomiting.

Then, a shadow materialized behind her, deeper than any natural darkness. A creature the size of a large dog with two sharp fangs and empty eye sockets took form. When people noticed him, they gasped or screamed, falling over each other to get away.

Vulture, our baby. My eyes stung, and I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to fall to my knees when the vines around my legs tightened. I didn’t move an inch. If I did, Iaso’s unbreakable vines would shred my ankles.

Iaso didn’t take her eyes off me as she strode through the crowded tavern, and people parted for her like she was royalty.

Essentially, she was— unofficial yet nearly as powerful.

In name and reputation, Iaso was a queen in her own right, gentle now but once fearsome.

A fact that was not to be forgotten, and certainly not underestimated.

She still wore her green silk, but it’d been topped with a golden armored corset and breast plate. Metal vines sprouted from the top to cover her shoulders and throat, revealed by her plaited hair, shimmering with more gold cord.

I hadn’t seen her adorn her battle armor since the Ten Year War—and she wore it to greet me, to stop me, to punish me.

Her vines continued their climb, wrapping my calves, my thighs, razor-sharp thorns armed and ready. They didn’t stop until she stood directly in front of me, her eyes as cold and hard as true gold. Thana’s eyes seemed to have turned to stone as well, and that cut deeper than any blade.

When Iaso spoke, her voice was replaced by that of a warrior’s, the threat of death as imminent as my next draw of breath. “You cost my son his wings. His wings !”

My chin quivered, but not in fear. A sense of resignation, of relief rang through me down to my very core. Finally, someone had come to hold me accountable. Someone had finally come to put me out of misery, and who more worthy than Iaso?

I closed my eyes, preparing for the worst, but she gripped my jaw with enough force to bruise, and they snapped open again.

“And his mate,” she hissed. “Now, you will help us get her back. You will help Rogue win this war, and you will do so happily. Do you understand me, Delphia?” Her irises glowed, and the vines tightened but didn’t pierce my skin yet. “This is not a choice nor a request.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, but not simply to Iaso.

To Rogue and Ara. Thana. Doran. Alden—Goddess bless his bones.

To everyone surrounding us who just learned I was the reason they were ambushed, or maybe they’d already known, and that was only one of their many sources of anger.

To Ravaryn itself because I’d cost them their king and queen.

An apology wasn’t enough. Nothing I could say would ever be enough, but those were the only words I could manage.

She released me, taking a step back as her vines receded. “It’s not me who deserves an apology, nor is it you who needs to apologize.”

She nodded to the rest of the group, who dipped their chins in return. Had Iaso arranged this…this group of misfits?

“Rogue is not okay.” She released a deep sigh, and my heart sank impossibly low, painful and breath-stealing, but I couldn’t look away as she spoke.

“He searches relentlessly but won’t accept help where it’s needed.

He won’t sleep. He won’t heal or come home.

He won’t even speak with me or Ewan. No one but his wyverns.

” She lifted her chin and gripped the sword’s hilt at her side.

“So, we’re going to rescue Ara without him. ”

My gaze darted to the rest of the group and stopped on Terran, who stared back at me.

“We’ve all been cowards in our own way—all except you, Iaso—but we’re willing to do something about it, and it’s time you did too, Delphia.

No more hiding. No more running. They need our help, and we are going to help. ”

Edana, or so she said, stepped forward and nodded once, followed by Godrick. Each of their expressions held a certain conviction about them that had me torn between rolling my eyes and willfully joining them.

When I finally looked back at Iaso, she waited expectantly, feigning patience while I came to terms with what we were about to attempt.

Wariness still clung to my wavering resolve, the demon in my skull insisting on more alcohol, more fighting pits, more dreamless sleeps.

But for the first time in Goddess knew how long, I felt a spark of purpose, so my heart chose the latter.

“What do you need me to do?”