Page 36 of The Sins of Silas (The Otacian Chronicles #2)

Chapter Thirty-Six

LENA

W aylon. My father.

He was just as Mother described: green eyes that matched mine, wavy brown hair cropped close on the sides and longer on top. His skin was a few shades tanner than mine but still lighter than an Otacian-born's skin. And his face…he was clean-shaven, and I could see the very beginning of wrinkles forming—the exhaustion that lay behind an intimidating front.

I was frozen, completely stunned by this revelation, astonished to be standing before a man I had never believed I'd meet.

“Waylon…”

“Waylon Daelyra.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Silas’s head spin to me. Josie had stepped away, back in Tobias's embrace.

My lip trembled as I looked into my father’s eyes. “She loved you very much,” I whispered.

His eyes flared. “Is she—”

“She’s alive,” I said softly. “She’s told me a lot about you.” I frowned, observing his Faltrunian armor. “Why are you here? Mother said your family has always resided in Renrell.”

His jaw clicked. “I couldn’t stand being there anymore without her.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “It was all a horrible reminder of what could have been. What should have been.” He lifted his head. “And you…you’re my…we had…”

I nodded slowly, then gestured to my pointed ears. “She didn’t know if I would be like you…or like her.” I lowered my hand back to my side. “People didn’t take kindly to Mages even back then, and she knew how much you loved your home and your family. Out of fear for what it all could entail, what it would put you through…she left.”

He shook his head in disbelief. Mother didn’t know how Waylon would take to her being a Mage. Most of the humans living in Tovagoth hated us.

I found myself bracing for the worst. For his disgust. His rage.

But tears only slid down his face as Waylon said, “Nothing would have ever kept me away. I would have loved her regardless.” His voice shook. “And you, regardless.”

My lip wobbled, and my vision became blurred at his words. The closest thing to a father I had was Igon, but I was already an adult when I met him. Having a father was a dream I never thought attainable. It was easier to imagine that he'd hate me than to consider the possibility he might not.

“I would have followed her anywhere,” he breathed. “Renrell was never my home. Minerva was my home. ”

I brushed away a stray tear that had fallen down my cheek.

Waylon’s fingertips danced nervously at his side. “Did she…did she find love again?”

I shook my head, noting Waylon’s sagging shoulders. “Did you?”

His lip quivered. “I tried,” he said quietly. “But no one ever could compare. Not to what she and I had. I have been alone ever since.”

I felt Silas’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t meet his stare, not as I said gently, “I have a feeling she has felt the same.”

He smiled sadly, and then his gaze flitted around the cell for a few moments. “I will get you out of here,” he whispered. “All of you.”

I shot my eyes up to my father, loosening a shaky breath. “You wish to free hundreds of slaves?” My voice was barely above a whisper. “Why?”

“You’re my daughter,” his voice broke. “And these are your people. Your mother’s people.” He inhaled slowly before nodding to himself, his eyes sweeping across the prison cell yet again. His voice was grave when he said, “I have done my best to help those in here, but my efforts have been pitiful. I've been too fearful of the repercussions. I…I have stood beside injustice for far too long.” His eyes slid behind us, to Torrin’s mother, and then he settled his sight on Silas. “I suppose you felt the same, Prince? To join their cause.”

Silas studied my father. I expected him to reject that idea, to say, as he had told me before, that he had his own agenda.

But instead, he said, “I didn’t just stand beside injustice.” His regretful eyes met mine, but he schooled his expression into neutrality before meeting Waylon’s stare again. “I was a major part of it. Hunting, killing… slaughtering —” Silas exhaled sharply through his nose. “Many of us must rise up if there is any hope of stopping what my father has put into place. If there is any hope of a better world.” Silas stepped closer, his voice just above a whisper. “If you mean what you say, act alone. Do not risk someone turning on you.”

Waylon crossed his strong arms. “That’s what I planned on. Not many trustworthy people in the royal guard.” His eyes shifted to the silver cuffs on my wrists—the bright red gem glowing on each band. “It will take a lot of time to unlink everyone. And I usually am not down here alone—”

As if Valor himself was listening, the door above creaked open. Waylon tilted his head, detecting another soldier initiating his descent into the prison. Considering the other soldiers had been injured, he must be taking over the next shift.

“It has to be tomorrow morning,” Waylon spoke calmly. “Before the sun rises.”

“What?” I hissed, eyes darting to the soldier who kept walking, still too far away to overhear any conversation.

“My next shift is tomorrow morning. By evening, your heads will be shaved, and the Prince will be tortured for information…potentially even before then.” Silas recoiled at the words, clenching his fists as Waylon continued, “You as well, Lena…or worse. I won’t allow it.” He quickly glanced at the soldier striding down the steps, then settled his eyes on me. “Torrin will be back this evening. When I come in the morning, I’ll unlock your group first. He’ll need healing.”

My stomach sank at the thought of Torrin being harmed at this moment, but I nodded. Waylon's eyes lingered on mine for an extra moment before he strode away, giving a curt nod to the soldier replacing him .

I studied him as his figure disappeared.

My father.

Tears welled in my eyes, taken aback by his kindness. Sure, I may be his blood, but he didn't know me. All he knew was I was a Mage and the political nature of what I was trying to accomplish.

That I was a witch…and at the thought of that term, I found the word not bothering me as much as it once did.

Silas sighed as he retreated, but instead of going by our friends, he left to sit against a wall by himself. Era watched him, crossing her arms in worry. He wouldn't meet her stare, or anyone's, for that matter.

I met Roland’s furrowed brows but gave him my index finger, telling him ‘one moment' as I strode toward the Prince. I'm sure Merrick and El were curious about my conversation with a supposed enemy, but I'd fill them in later.

I glimpsed down at Silas's tense expression. “I know we have a lot to discuss,” I said in a low voice as I approached him.

Silas scoffed, eyes locked on the ground, elbows resting on his knees. “Indeed.”

I slid down beside him on the cold ground, resting my own head against the wall.

He picked at the skin around his nails. “Your father…you said he had died.”

“It was easier to explain it that way without outing my secret.” I sighed, tilting my head to look at him, noting his bloody knuckles. I wished I could heal them. “I’ve lied about so much, and for that, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Silas was quiet for a moment. “It appears he cares for you…that’s good.” He inhaled, then exhaled. “I have always believed Faltrun should remain independent,” he continued, changing the subject. “But I had no idea their leader was doing this…enslaving so many.” He shook his head and sighed, resting his head against the stone wall as well. “Tovagoth isn’t short on shitty men ruling its territories, though I suppose I’m not better,” he mumbled, then ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck me.”

“You are much better. We are all so grateful for your help. I hope you know that.” I studied his handsome profile, and a small smile crept on my face. “And there’s no privacy here, but since you asked nicely…”

He quickly leaned his head toward me, eyebrows raised, his mouth hanging open. “What did you say?”

I tried and failed at holding in my laughter. I snorted. “Sorry, I was just teasing.” Damn, Roland really must be rubbing off on me. Then again, attempting to make light out of hard situations wasn’t completely off-brand for me. I feared concentrating on how perilous the morning would be would send me into a full-blown panic attack.

He blinked, over and over, until the corners of his mouth began to rise. “You’re awfully bold, Flower.”

Flower.

My smile slipped, my eyes dilating. Silas’s smirk only grew. “Ah, but I still am able to unnerve you and have the upper hand,” he whispered, his eyes falling to my lips.

His golden eyes flicked up to mine. In this lighting, they seemed to glow against his tan skin.

Silas confused me. One minute, he would be looking at me with heat in his honey gaze, offering timid smiles and calming me when I was in my own head. Then, the next, he would be cold. Callous. Distant. His constant shifts in mood gave me whiplash…though I supposed I could be the same way myself. I certainly was in my younger days.

There were times he looked at me, and I could swear I saw hatred. Resentment. And in using my nickname, I truly couldn't decipher the meaning.

“Do you use that name with malice?” I asked quietly.

His smile vanished, his brows furrowing.

My voice shook, just above a whisper, as I pressed, “Do you use it to punish me?”

His frown deepened as he stared at me, chest rising and falling, unsure of what to say.

My eyes flitted away as I stood, ultimately walking away, leaving him to sit alone.

Perhaps he didn't know, either.