Chapter 29 - Arvoren

The crowd in the square below churns like a dark sea, faces turned upward, hungry and hollow-eyed in the wan light of dawn. From my position on the balcony hanging above the underchamber, I can smell their fear—sharp and acrid, mixing with the wood smoke that perpetually hangs over Millrath's narrow streets.

I know it well; it is the scent of rebellion brewing.

Reflected the high windows around me, I glimpse a winged beast circling the castle's highest towers, waiting for the right moment to strike at the edifice of my power. Their numbers grow by the day, drawn to my city like moths to flame, sent by Gods who would see us burn. This one is massive, its wings casting rippling shadows across the square below. The gathered crowd shifts uneasily at the sight, their murmurs rising like wind through dead leaves.

"People of Millrath." My voice carries across the square, echoing off the slate and stone. I grip the iron railing, watching their faces twist with barely contained fury. "Our enemies gather at our borders. The Draconic Houses march against us, bearing steel and dragonfire. But we will not yield."

A woman near the front, her face gaunt with hunger, spits on the cobblestones. The gesture sends a ripple of movement through the crowd—heads turning, shoulders tensing, hands curling into fists. These are my people, and yet they look at me as though I were a stranger. As though I were the enemy.

"We have weathered worse storms," I continue. The words taste like ash. "The Fellveil holds. Our forces—"

"What of the beasts in the city?" Someone shouts from the crowd. "What of our children, torn from their beds?"

The cry ignites something in them. More voices join the chorus, their anger swelling like a wave about to break:

"The Gods have turned against us!"

"It's the Heretic Queen—"

"We're dying while you hide in your castle—"

I raise my hand for silence, but their voices only grow louder, more insistent. Behind me, posted at my shoulder, Darian shifts uneasily, his armor creaking. The guards along the square's edges tighten their grips on their spears.

"Enough." The word cuts through their clamor like a blade. I let my power seep into my voice, feel it resonate through the stone beneath our feet. "You will be protected. You will be—"

Something flies at me from the crowd. A stone arcs through the air, missing my head by inches. It strikes the wall behind me with a sharp crack that echoes like breaking bones. For a heartbeat, everything stops—the crowd frozen, the very air seeming to still.

Then chaos erupts.

The guards surge forward as the crowd breaks into a seething mass. Screams pierce the air. I hear a child crying out. Steel flashes in the pale morning light.

I watch it unfold with a cold detachment, even as something inside me trembles with fury and despair.

"Clear the square," I command, turning away from the balcony. "Use whatever force necessary."

Darian nods sharply, already barking orders to his men. I don't stay to watch. Let them see only my back as I retreat into the shadows of my castle. Let them remember that their king does not flinch from their hatred.

If they forsake me, I forsake them.

The halls of the castle seem darker than usual as I make my way to my administrative chamber, the torches guttering in some unfelt wind. I wish to see no one. The green-tinged light casts strange shadows on the walls—shadows that seem to move and twist when I'm not looking directly at them. Another sign of the Gods' displeasure, perhaps. Or simply my own mind playing tricks in the gloom.

I pause at a window, watching as another beast wheels past through the air, twisting around the West Tower, close enough that I can see the corruption eating away at its flesh, the madness gleaming in its eyes. These creatures were once noble things—eagles, wolves, bears, great cats of the mountains. Now they are twisted mockeries, driven mad by divine wrath. All because I dared to keep her. All because I couldn't—wouldn't—let her go.

The thought of Calliope sends a familiar ache through my chest. Even now, after everything, the mere thought of her name is enough to make something shift inside me, like ice cracking in spring floods.

My administrative chamber offers no comfort when I reach it. The room is cold despite the fire crackling in the hearth, air thick with the scent of old parchment and ink. Maps cover the massive oak desk, their edges curling like winter bracken, marked with the movements of enemy forces. They draw closer each day, a noose slowly tightening around Millrath's throat.

Soon, my brother and the traitors who follow him will converge upon us.

Of course, it doesn’t take her long to come find me. I don't hear her approach, but I feel her presence like a change in the air. When I turn, Calliope stands in the doorway, her face shadowed in the flickering light. She's wearing a simple dress of deep blue, bearing her long, pale throat, her dark hair falling loose around her shoulders. The chains at her ankles glint dully beneath her skirts as she steps into the room.

"Your people are afraid," she says softly. It's not an accusation, but it stings like one nonetheless. “You couldn’t have comforted them.”

"My people are weak." The words come out harsher than I intend. "They don't understand what's coming."

She moves closer. I catch the faint scent of herbs that always seems to cling to her skin. "Do you?"

I turn away, unable to bear the weight of her gaze. "The houses will show no mercy when they come. They never have."

"Like the day they killed your family?"

The question hits me like a physical blow. I whirl to face her, anger flaring hot and bright, but the look in her eyes stops me. There's no judgment there, no pity—only a deep, steady understanding that makes my chest ache.

"You knew?" My voice sounds strange, even to my own ears.

"I found their tomb," she admits quietly. "In the catacombs. I saw … I saw your parents’ and sister's grave. I put the rest together. I’ve been … reading books."

The mention of Elara sends a fresh wave of pain through me. I close my eyes, seeing again her small body crumpled on the marble floor, her blood pooling black in the torchlight. When I speak, my voice is raw.

"I was barely more than a boy. They came in the night—the houses, their soldiers. My parents had trusted them, tried to forge alliances …" I break off, the old fury rising like bile in my throat. "I found them in the throne room. My mother, my father, Elara … they didn't even spare a child."

I feel Calliope's hand on my arm, her touch light as a feather. "You were there?"

"As was my brother, though he was only a boy. I fought," I say, the words bitter on my tongue. "But I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't save them. And I learned that day that mercy …" I clench my fists, feeling my claws bite into my palms. "Mercy gets you killed. Trust gets you killed. The only thing that matters is power."

"Is that why you keep me chained?" Her voice is soft, but there's steel beneath it. "Because you're afraid of what I might do if I was free?”

I look at her then, really look at her. In the firelight, her eyes are the color of storm clouds, deep and fathomless. The scars on her face catch the light, a reminder of all she's survived.

"I keep you chained because I can't bear to lose you." The admission tears free before I can stop it. "Because everyone I've ever …" I trail off, unable to finish.

I cannot bear to face what I just admitted to her. I feel weak, a fool, cracked open by that which I have conceded. I wonder if this is how she felt when she first came to bed with me. We both keep losing to one another.

After a moment, Calliope clears her throat. "When my grandmother died, I thought I'd never trust anyone again. The villagers, they …" She touches the scars on her face, a gesture so brief I almost miss it. "They made sure I knew exactly what they thought of me. Of us. And my mother …"

"You never knew her."

Calliope shakes her head. "She died bringing me into this world. Sometimes I wonder if that's why I've always felt so … apart from everything. As if I were born owing a debt I could never repay."

Something in her words resonates deep within me, striking a chord I didn't know existed. Without thinking, I reach for her, my hand cupping her face. She doesn't pull away.

“The Fates know not what they seek to tear apart," I murmur, thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Both of us forged by such losses.”

She leans slightly into my touch, an intensity in her stare that unsettles me, and says nothing, simply watching me. I feel seen through, as if I am made of glass.

The fire pops and hisses in the grate, sending shadows dancing across her face. Outside, I can hear the distant sounds of the city—shouts, the clash of steel, the beating of monstrous wings against the sky.

"I don't know how to be anything else," I admit, the words barely more than a whisper. “They made me into this thing. It is now all I am. I am the king. It’s how I’ll die.”

Calliope's hand comes up to cover mine where it rests against her face.

"I wish life had been kinder to you,” she murmurs, pitying and yet truthful, and I should bristle, but I know she means it. “I wish you’d known another way. You could have ruled better, lived better. You could have been better to me.”

I want to strike her—but at once, I want to believe her. I want to embrace her, to kiss her, to take her. I want to cast her from this place where she can no longer rend me open. Gods help me, I want to believe that there could have been something more than this endless cycle of violence and betrayal. But the memory of my family's broken bodies rises like a ghost between us, an echo of my dreams, my terrors, my fury.

"And if it is too late?" I ask, my voice rough. “What of us then?”

She steps closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body, smell the sweet, flowery scent of her hair.

We linger close, faces near one another. I expect her to speak, but she doesn’t. When I look down at her, I see brightness in her eyes, the faint shine of tears.

I pull her closer, burying my face in her hair. She comes willingly, her arms sliding around my waist.

“I have these moments,” she says against my chest, voice muffled. “Where I feel it. I feel the ghost of it, what I could have felt for you—what I could feel. Just moments. A warmth. Like love." Her hands splay against my midriff, thumbs rubbing slow against my skin. "Like the future we could build, if we were brave enough to try."

I catch her hand in mine, pressing my lips to her palm. Her pulse flutters against my mouth like a trapped bird. "And what future is that?"

"One where I'm not your prisoner, and you're not my jailer. Where we choose each other freely."

"I don't know how," I admit, the words barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know freedom. I never have.” Perhaps all along, she has been the free one of the two of us, and I the captive.

Calliope turns her face up toward mine. “Then let me show you."

When she kisses me, it's different from before. There's no desperation, no fury, no battle for dominance. Just a soft, steady pressure, like rain on parched earth. I feel something inside me crack and splinter.

A beast screams once more somewhere in the distance, its cry echoing off the castle walls. The sound reminds me of all we face—the Gods' wrath, the approaching armies, the festering discontent in my own city. The fire burns lower still, casting us in shadows. Outside, corrupted wings beat against the gathering dark. But here, we hold each other and pretend for a shimmering moment that tomorrow will never arrive.