part0029

Nzuri gently manipulated Nigel’s wrist, testing its mobility. After ensuring no swelling remained, he began wrapping it again.

“Your wounds have healed well,” Nzuri said. “I did what I could to set the broken bones, but some were fragmented or crushed. I removed the smaller particles and flushed the cavity with herbs before setting the bones in place. For now, keep it bound, and after a fortnight, remove the wrap daily and flex the muscle, before binding it again.”

Nigel watched intently as Nzuri wrapped his wrist. It had been much the same since he’d been healing in the citadel. Although Nzuri’s only Nazilian trait was his hair, his features reminded Nigel of his father: the shape of his face and eyes were the same.

When first Nigel learned about their relation, he wasn’t merely incensed, but disgusted as well. Nigel thought that Sidra Merrimont had attempted to belittle him and despoil his family’s name with the stinging slight. Now, he was of a different mind. Nzuri hadn’t treated him ill, or pressed him regarding their possible relation. It had been Nigel, after all, who’d mentioned it when the guards delivered him to the temple. Now he wasn’t certain how to proceed.

“What’s your father’s name?” Nigel asked.

“Yes. We haven’t spoken much regarding our families.”

“Lord Gayu Karidian,” Nzuri said, rising and tossing his long hair over his shoulder.

“Your father was highborn?”

“Yes. The same as yours. His brother, Xavion still resides in Noraa as does my grandfather.”

Nigel squinted, tilting his head. “I recall a First Captain named Karidian.”

“That’s my grandfather, Lassiter Karidian. He built a home near the banks of the Great Sword.”

“Home? If it’s the one I picture, it’s nearly as large as the citadel itself.”

Nzuri chuckled, gathering his supplies. “It’s large, indeed. However, hardly as vast as Noraa’s citadel. But my family is quite comfortable.”

Nigel regarded the pensive priest with interest, examining him from toe to head. Nzuri stood taller than he did, but he wasn’t as well muscled. His features were human, yet strangely not unattractive. The more he studied Nzuri’s face, the more he recognized small parts of his father.

Everyone in Nazil knew the name Karidian. Even Nigel’s late father had spoken well of the wealthy captain. Nigel wouldn’t have ever believed that this plain-clothed priest was the heir to such wealth or came from such a prominent family.

“If you have such a fine home and position in Noraa, why do you serve as a priest in Nazil?”

“Why? Because I’m called to do so.”

Nigel’s eyes rolled as Nzuri set a caldron over the flames, adding herbs and roots. After the liquid had warmed, he poured it in a cup, handing it to Nigel.

“So, you were called by these Guardians of yours?” Nigel asked, sipping the herbal broth.

“The Guardians belong not to me. I am in their service, helping to heal the lands through their guidance. It’s by their grace that you were healed when Molag left you to die.”

“That wasn’t Molag. Not as I knew him. That was something much worse, something with a darker purpose.”

“This much is certain. If the brothers Xaahn hadn’t asked the guards to bring you to the temple, Molag would’ve succeeded, just as he did when he killed the Cha Asham. Much as it was with Allister and Nikolina, the Nazilian healers and apothecaries could do nothing to help you.”

Nigel scoffed, but he felt there might be truth in Nzuri’s statement. When Molag had attacked him, he’d felt some darkness, some maleficence within him. Nigel had never feared any man, until now.

“Are you saying that the only reason I’m alive is due to these Guardians?” he offered condescendingly, though his voice trembled through the words.

Nzuri turned, advancing on him. “Desh t’reyUhm e’ronno k’leoneid amelyko sost dar’rassad r’aymed tr’eon. Mosh tak Nazil,” [106] he spoke evenly, taking the cup and moving across the room.

Nigel sat up in the bed, confused. “Am I supposed to understand that?”

“No. The Cha didn’t teach or even mention the divine Mehlonii language. This, they kept to themselves. However, the scrolls and codices you were sent to retrieve were written in the same.”

Nigel’s eyes darted back and forth, remembering the Cha’s order. He’d sent Nigel to Allister in hopes of retrieving the documents. Although his benefactor never revealed their content, he continually expressed their importance and value.

“What’s Mehlonii?”

“Mehlonii is the arcane language. It is divine, just like the Guardians: the only true gods.”

“I merely said, ‘their divine love cleansed you and defeated the darkness, Guard of Nazil.’”

“Divine? I serve the Four, priest, not some…some beings who’d unleash giants and demon beasts to murder and destroy.”

“Demon beasts? You’d refer to the Protectors and the Desu Beasts in such an insolent manner?”

“What manner should I speak of them? One look at the creatures and you know the truth of what they are.”

Nzuri nodded. “I see. Just like you looked at me and recognized that I was a high lord and an heir to the wealthiest family in Noraa.”

At that, Nigel opened his mouth to speak, but then shook his head instead.

“Too long have many Nazilians allowed what you see to determine value or substance. Must a person or object hold great beauty to be considered good?” he asked. “For centuries, Nazilians have done that very thing. You equate your perception of beauty to rectitude or morality. There’s no parity to be found in such an assumption.

“Indeed, the beasts are divine, just as those who command them. They possess more beauty than can be found in all Nazil. The Protectors are of the Guardians, Nigel, and have puissance you’d never be able to comprehend. Not since the battle for Nazil have they harmed anyone, yet they visit the city often. In fact, if not for the very beasts you’ve labeled ‘demons,’ could your life have been saved.”

Nigel’s head snapped up, regarding him curiously. “What’s that to mean?”

“I speak only truth,” he said, holding up the cup. “It was the nectar secreted by the beasts that healed the wounds Molag inflicted upon you.”

“Didn’t you see me warm it over the flames with your herbs? You’ve partaken in the Desu Beasts’ nectar since coming to me. It contains healing properties that can be found nowhere else. The Guardians and Desu Beasts saved your life, Nigel. Herbs and tonics couldn’t defeat the darkness that embodied Molag. Only with the nectar could you be healed.

“Think of that when next you bow down and worship your Four. The priest who sent you to that cursed isle is one of the many who’ve nourished the evil residing there. Now, that same evil has been unleashed upon the entirety of Faélondul. Molag is here, and with him, so is this darkness.”

Nigel’s vacuous expression was antithetical to the innumerable thoughts cascading through his mind. Statements from his benefactor repeated as the execrable events on Sanctium caused him to shiver. Something had changed. Something had gone horribly wrong. The Cha spoke often about the mage’s divinity, but his experience was contrariwise.

Nigel gazed down at his wrist.

He’d never again wield a sword as he had, or continue serving as a Chosen guard. That atrocity hadn’t been committed by anyone residing in the citadel. The Cha and Molag Bomgaard had caused this to be.

Nigel caressed his disfigured wrist, feeling a pang in his chest. The Cha had deceived him, but Nigel had to accept his own culpability for this outcome.

“What am I going to do?” he asked, only speaking to himself.

“That decision is yours,” Nzuri said, gathering his belongings into a satchel. “I’ve tended your wounds to the best of my ability, and now, the Zaxson is releasing you. If you’re ready, I’ll escort you from the citadel.”

Nigel’s head snapped up again. He couldn’t speak it, but the thought of leaving the citadel petrified him. Never since he’d learned to wield a sword did he fear any man. Now, he couldn’t defend himself against even a child. That vulnerability, and his fear of Molag, caused Nigel to tremble.

“Where will you go?” he asked, sounding more like a child than a man.

“My place is in the temple. I have a chamber here, but the temple is where I spend most of my time until the Zaxson has need of me.”

“May I come? To—to the temple?”

“Nigel, you’ve never been prohibited from the temple. Though you’ve spoken the opposite to many, the temple is a place for everyone to worship.”

“No. Not to worship.” He looked up with tears lining his eyes. “Can—can I stay there? In—in a chamber.”

Nzuri halted, studying his fear-covered face. “Nigel, you’re being released to your home. The Zaxson isn’t going to prosecute you for your past misdeeds. He understands how you and others were manipulated. Moreover, he appreciates the assistance you’ve provided,” he said, resting a hand on Nigel’s shoulder.

“Do you not understand the magnitude of what’s happening around you? Pentanimir and his family must defeat this evil, an evil you helped unleash upon Faélondul. Not only must Pentanimir fight to protect his family from treacherous attacks, but he also fights to protect Faélondul’s denizens.”

“I didn’t know, Lord Karidian.”

Nzuri stepped back when he addressed him formally. It was the first time anyone had called him by a title other than priest.

“No. You couldn’t have known,” he managed with a slight stammer. “Mayhaps you should remain here a while longer. I’ll inform the Zaxson and make the proper arrangements. Rest now, and I’ll see it done.”

Raithym closed the door to his room, removing his belt and boots. He arched his back, feeling the ache of his recent practice. Temian was merciless during his training, and Raithym’s fresh bruises testified to that. His uncle had never pushed him so hard. Ayrmeis had mentioned his vigorous training with Symeon, but the First Chosen was a Jasiri. Such ferocious training was expected.

As he sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his bruised shoulder, a soft knock sounded from the door. Raithym sighed, wanting nothing more than to rest and have a hot bath. He certainly wasn’t in the mood for guests.

“Come,” Raithym said, standing. When he saw Ceron rolling a cart in the room, his smile was immediate. There were more pleasurable things he could use instead of rest, and when he met Ceron’s eyes, her attraction to him couldn’t be concealed.

Many times, he’d spoken to his cousins about her. Though she was much older than the three, it didn’t matter. In fact, Raithym figured that with her age came experience, and he was ready and willing to learn.

Whereas Ayrmeis focused on training, and Tardison on his communing and study, Raithym enjoyed the beautiful sights around him. Of them, Ceron was first upon his long list.

“Allow me to assist,” he said, pushing the cart to the tub.

“Hushar said yer needin’ a hot bath and oil rub. She would’a come, but she’s tendin’ to the children.”

“I see. Well, she’s quite correct. My uncle truly tested my endurance. I fear he’s bested me again.” He grinned, taking a step forward. “Do you have any sweets for me, Ceron?”

“The cookies with the raisins and dates,” he said, gazing at her lasciviously from toe to head. “Have you anything sweet for me? I do crave your sweets, Ceron. Always.”

“No longer,” he said, removing his tunic. “I haven’t been that little boy for a long time. My name’s Raithym, and I’m a man grown.”

Ceron couldn’t avert her eyes, no matter how much she tried to. She was one of the few who knew about the three boys age progression, but in that moment, the truth of those changes began fading from her mind. She couldn’t believe that the child she’d helped to raise was now the attractive young man before her. Her heartbeat quickened as she struggled to regain herself. This was Zeta’s son, and regardless of his appearance, he was a child, a child that she loved.

“Would you like for me to remove all of my clothing?” Raithym smiled, noticing her stare.

“If—if you’re wantin’ me to tend you proper.”

“Oh…I do,” he said quickly, removing his trews and underclothing, and then turned back around to face her. “So, how do you want me?”

“Wh—what?” she stammered, trying to break the mesmerizing hold.

Raithym chuckled. “Where would you like me to lay? Is the bed more comfortable, or is the divan more to your liking?” he asked, flexing the muscles in his chest.

She licked the sudden dryness from her lips, swallowing hard. Ceron had seen many naked men during her service to the citadel, perhaps too many. However, there had only been one other who caught her notice like Raithym did. Of all the men who’d received pleasure from her, to Raithym, she’d submit willingly.

“The—the bed, milord.”

He moved to the bed, stretching before laying on his back. As Ceron approached, he watched the movement of her eyes, noticing the desire burning within them. He smiled when she lingered on his groin, biting at her lips.

When she drizzled the warm oil over his body, he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Is it too hot?”

“No. The heat feels good.”

She nodded, sliding her hands over his chest and arms. As she glided down his abdomen, Raithym’s arousal was evident.

“I—I can come back in a bit, milord, if’n ya want?”

He grinned, admiring his erection. “My name’s Raithym, Ceron, and no. You can’t leave now, the muscles in my thighs burn. I think you should begin massaging there, and then slowly work your way up. I love the feel of your hands.”

Ceron desperately tried to calm her thoughts. Drizzling more oil in her hand, she did as he instructed. Each time her hands glided near his groin, Raithym’s body responded, drawing her attention exactly where he wanted it. The more she massaged, the more her body ached to be one with his.

“Will you be tending me each day?”

“If’n you’re wantin’ me to.”

He sat up then, clutching her wrist. “What do you want, Ceron? Would you like to see me this way, to feel my body respond to your touch, and to bathe me? Tell me what you want.”

Ceron examined every inch of him, weakening more each moment. When she met his eyes again, her face flushed. The child was gone, and only the man remained.

“I—I would,” she said, continuing her massage.

When she reached for more oil, Raithym’s hand disappeared beneath her dress. She gasped, enjoying the feel of his fingers caressing between her thighs. Her eyes closed as his fingers continued to work, probing and stimulating her all at once. Every pass left an intoxicating tingle in its wake, causing her to shudder. Raithym could feel her excitement, growing more aroused himself. It was the first he’d ever touched a woman so, and he loved the feeling.

When her stance began to falter, he increased his efforts, until her satisfaction was evident.

“You brought me sweets after all,” he said, bringing his fingers to his mouth. “What else do you have for me?”

Raithym smirked as she lowered him to the bed, taking position over him. Easily she joined her eager body with his. He released a deep moan, relishing her heat and the tantalizing sensation.

“Oh, so sweet, indeed,” he moaned, shuddering with his quick release. Ceron’s motion continued until her body tensed with an explosion of pleasure.

“Oh, yes. Each day.” Raithym grinned, massaging her chest. “Mayhaps you could taste of me. Would you like that as well?”

Before Ceron could respond, the door swung open. She gasped, quickly sliding off the bed and lowering her dress.

Surma stared at the two, walking into the room.

“Pardons, milord.” He glared at Ceron. “I’ve brought the water for your bath. Hushar believed that Ceron was seeing to your massage.”

Raithym crossed his ankles, rising on his elbows. “Yes. Yes, Ceron did that and more,” he said, looking over at her. “And we’re not quite finished. Some muscles need more attention than others. Thank you for the water. You may leave now. I won’t be needing any assistance until the evening. And please, next time, knock before entering.” He smiled. “Ceron isn’t as insouciant as I am.”

Surma glimpsed the unmistakable wetness covering him, masking his revulsion. “Forgive me, milord. It won’t happen again. However, the Shijahn has requested Ceron’s assistance in her solar. I was told to see to your bath while Ceron speaks with your mother.”

Ceron glanced at Raithym, feeling suddenly ashamed. “Yes, Surma,” she said, leaving his room. She fidgeted with her hair and clothes, unable to stop her hands from trembling.

Ceron cursed herself, forcing back the tears threatening to fall. Only Surma was aware of her indiscretion, but it wouldn’t remain that way. He had a disdain for her that was incomprehensible. This wasn’t new. Surma had mistreated her often since her arrival in Nazil.

Surma held the same disdain for Zeta, but he wasn’t ignorant. Had Zeta wanted to, he could’ve been thrown in the cells for his past treatment of Nazil’s new Shijahn. But Zeta offered him the mercy he refused to show others. Especially Ceron.

Surma had wed Leanta, and retained his position, but his former tendencies and prejudices remained. He was free for the first time in his life, albeit, if he truly understood the magnitude of his liberation, he exhibited no evidence of it.

The ictus of Ceron’s heart thrummed in her ears as she approached Zeta’s solar. Her actions could be interpreted as a violation, and one in which she was guilty. How could she face Zeta now? She’d just made love to her son…a man that she’d cared for since he was an infant. Ceron still loved the child that he was, and couldn’t reconcile her heart with her mind.

“Rai-Rai,” she said, wiping away her tears. “How?”

She shook her head. Raithym should be merely a boy of four, yet he was a man grown. A man whose charms she couldn’t seem to resist.

Checking her appearance again, Ceron inhaled a steadying breath, knocking on Zeta’s door. When she heard her respond, Ceron straightened her stance, slowly exhaling.

“Mi…milady, Shijahn,” Ceron stammered, walking in and offering her best curtsy.

Zeta smiled, motioning her inside. After laying Ihnat in his crib, she took a seat on the divan.

“Please sit, Ceron, and call me Zeta. We need no titles, you and I. No matter my position now, I once served the citadel in a position lower than your own.”

“Yes—yes, Z—Zeta. Surma said ya wanted me.”

“I do. Mayhaps I’ve waited too long.”

Ceron’s brow creased. “Too long? Everythin’ all right?”

“You’re one of the few who knows that nothing has been all right for some time. This is part of the reason I’ve asked you to come.”

“What would ya have of me?”

“Raithym,” Zeta said, observing the fluctuating expressions on Ceron’s face.

“Yes, Ceron, my elder son. Hushar asked for you to tend him in her stead this afternoon.”

“Yes’m. I—I did his massage, and Surma’s tendin’ to his bath.”

“Truly?” Zeta’s brow raised. “Ceron, I don’t consider you or any of the former citadel attendants beneath me. I was pleased when you elected to stay here with us. Of everyone who decided to remain, I consider you a true friend. I’ve never forgotten the kindnesses you showed toward me.”

She nodded, unable to meet Zeta’s eyes.

“Ceron, there’re things that I can’t discuss, but it’s obvious that this is an uncertain and dangerous time for our family. Much lies ahead for all of us, including Raithym. He needs time to acclimate to the changes taking place with his cousins and him. Raithym needs no distractions.”

“I’ve seen the way the two of you look at each other, and heard that you’re attracted to my son. Is there any truth to this?”

“The question is plain, Ceron.”

“Uhm…well…I…I think he’s handsome, yes.”

“It appears that he finds you the same. There are others he fancies, but you occupy his thoughts most. Because of this, I thought it best to speak with you first.”

“What would ya have of me?” she asked again.

“I’m asking that you avoid being with my son.”

“In all manners, Ceron. I’m asking you to respect Danimore’s wishes, and mine, regarding Raithym. He’s experienced far too much in his four years,” she said, lowering her gaze while caressing her rounding womb. At that moment, the realization of his transformation was more than painful. Four years had passed, yet her son stood nine and ten.

“He stands a man grown to you,” Zeta continued. “But that’s not who he truly is. Raithym is a child, and he doesn’t understand the urges within him. There hasn’t been sufficient time for him to cope with such rapid changes. I’m asking you to not interfere or interact with him until these dangers have passed.”

Ceron visibly slumped, overcome with remorse. She respected Zeta and Danimore, but she couldn’t undo what was already done.

“Yes’m, Shijahn,” Ceron conceded.

“Thank you. I appreciate your understanding and cooperation in this matter. You’ve always been such a good friend, and I cherish that friendship dearly.”

“I—I do, too, milady. Ya needin’ anythin’ else?”

“No, you’re excused.”

Ceron stood, offering another curtsy before leaving the solar. She couldn’t keep Raithym from her thoughts, nor the pleasure they’d just shared—the pleasure she still desired. Lowering a hand to her abdomen, Ceron continued down the hall. She needed the maiden’s tears. It was the only way.

As she quickened her pace, her thoughts shifted from the possible babe in her womb, to all the babes she was forced to flush from her body. All, but one.

“Braydon,” she murmured, halting. After a sobering breath, Ceron turned, heading down the stairs instead.

She continuously paced in the hall, considering her few options. Her hand found her womb again, thinking about Raithym, but he wasn’t the only man on her mind at that moment.

When Symeon and Wosen exited the practice chamber, Symeon smiled, noticing her in the corridor. He released Wosen to his duties, and then approached where she stood.

“Ceron? Do you have need of me?”

“I didn’t mean to disturb yer trainin’, Symeon. I—I was just wantin’ to talk wit’ you for a bit.”

“You can come to me at any time. Come, sit,” he said, gesturing to one of the wooden benches lining the wall. She stared as he wiped the glistening sweat from his face, admiring every part of him. She’d always found him handsome, and couldn’t deny that she still loved him as well. She would probably always love him, regardless of their situations. Symeon was the one man that Ceron had desired in the past…and looking at him now, that desire hadn’t faded.

“We ain’t been able to talk in a bit,” she said, meeting his eyes. “With everythin’ happenin’, I mean.”

“My time has been limited of late, but I’m always here for you, Ceron. This, you should know.”

“I was hopin’.”

“Has something happened?”

“It has, but that ain’t what I come to talk ‘bout. I been thinkin’ ‘bout when Draizeyn would call for us.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. “It was far too often, and I again ask your forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness? Weren’t no choice, for any of us. Even when they’d beat you, you still tried to protect me. But that weren’t what he wanted. Draizeyn was wantin’ you to hurt me, to hurt both of us.”

“I tried to be gentle, Ceron. Always I tried. If we were going to be forced to entertain him, I wanted to ensure that it was pleasurable for you. But that only angered Draizeyn more. He envied the size of my manhood and wanted it used as an instrument of pain, not pleasure. I tried to ensure your readiness to make our joining easier.”

Ceron’s smile was wistful, offering a weak nod. “You did, and I ain’t never blamed you, Symeon. Draizeyn forced you on me ‘cause I was the smallest slave in the citadel.” Her head lowered, reliving the painful memories. “He—he was wantin’ to see me sufferin’. That’s why he bringed in them guards to force me down atop you, makin’ sure I—”

He caressed her hand, shaking his head. “Please, Ceron, don’t speak of it. Draizeyn did the same to Zeta for a time, but you were his favorite. You’d barely have time to heal before he sent for us again. I’m sorry, Ceron, and I forever will be.”

“I weren’t tryin’ to sadden you. You’ve always been kind, ‘specially when I sneaked in the stables. If’n we would’a been caught, he’d a beat us for sure. They would’a beaten both of us had we been caught. But you didn’t send me away.”

“We needed each other, and I was pleased that you came. Other than Draizeyn’s cruelties, I’d rarely see you.”

Ceron met his eyes, holding back her tears. “I loved you, Symeon. I—I still do. No matter what he did to us, that never changed.”

When he gazed down, she cupped his chin, looking into his eyes again. “I’m knowin’ that you cared ‘bout me, and you’re carin’ still, but weren’t the same.

“We’s knew that you and Sarai were in love even then, and that’s why Draizeyn used her in front of you. I’m not askin’ for anythin’ more than what we share. It’s special on its own. Just like you are.”

“As are you, Ceron. Always.”

“In the stable, when—when you let me stay, it was the most wonderful I’ve known. That was the only time someone was makin’ love to me, being tender and lovin’, makin’ sure I was pleased.”

“I was, Ceron. You’re very special to me. When we were in the stables, I wanted my every move to convey my feelings toward you. That night was as it should’ve always been. You are very special to me. Please don’t ever forget that.”

She smiled, wiping her eyes. “I been knowin’ that from the beginnin’. But…I…if…”

“Ceron, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

She took a deep breath. “Aft—after you made love to me so sweetly, I knew. I—I timed it just so, and prayed to all the gods. I couldn’t tell you then, but it’s different now.”

Symeon’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Weren’t long after that Hushar told me I was pregnant. Draizeyn threatened to kill my babe, or both of us, ‘afore he was birthed. They’d sent me for the purge, and didn’t know which Cha gots me that way.

“They weren’t claimin’ nothin’ anyhow, but the Cha stopped Draizeyn from hurtin’ me. Slaves was limited, and Cha Lymbach agreed to take charge of me.”

“I’d always wondered why you were assigned to the temple. It’s as if you just disappeared for seasons.”

“Was Lymbach’s doin’. It weren’t no cookin’ and cleanin’ they’s wanted. There was some other Cha visitin’, too and they…” Ceron shook the painful memories away, regaining her composure. “Weren’t long after my son was born, they’s sent me back to the citadel. It was the happiest I’d ever been. He didn’t belong to me, but I was still his mother and loved him. I yet love him, and they’s couldn’t take that away from me. I’ll always love my son.”

He gently caressed her hands, seeing the pain those memories caused.

“He’s almost six now.”

“Ceron, you’ve never talked about your son. Most thought that Micah was his father, not any of the Cha. But I heard he had some human features. What happened?”

“Micah ain’t Braydon’s father. I keep prayin’ that he’s healthy and ain’t been abused. Been nearly three years since I seen him.”

“We can find him, Ceron,” he said, gripping both her hands. “No matter what it takes, I promise to help find your son and return him to you. Do you know where he was taken?”

“I ain’t knowin’ much. Sir Branston and Sir Wright came wit one of them attendants from Yarah. I remember her cranberry-colored hair and greenish lookin’ eyes. I’ll never forget her face.”

“Sir Branston’s here in the citadel. Mayhaps he can remember something that might help us. We’re going to find your son.”

Wosen halted in the corridor, hearing the Desu Beast’s screeches overhead. His heart thumped in his chest as he peered up, trying to mask the sudden anxiousness consuming him.

Thalassa and Jahno were returning from the Animus Wood, and with them, his children.

“Wosen?” Hibret said, squeezing his hand. “Are we going to the gardens are not? It’ll be cold soon, and we won’t have the opportunity.”

Wosen peered up again. “I—if you’d like to go. But didn’t you hear them?”

“The Desu Beasts. They’re here.”

“Just as they are every seven suns. Why does it matter?”

Wosen forced a smile, leading her down the corridor. “It’s not the visit that matters, but who might be with them.”

She paused. “Do you think that Thalassa and Jahno are with them?”

“They didn’t come on their last visit. If I recall, they stayed in the wood for a fortnight when Thalassa delivered Suravi. It wouldn’t hurt to see. Of course, if you’d rather visit the garden…” He left his words there, stroking her cheek.

Hibret didn’t answer. She clasped his hand again, rushing down the corridor. After taking the final flight of stairs, she stopped, fanning her face.

“Do you need to rest?” Wosen asked.

“No, I just needed to catch my breath. We’d better hurry.”

When they neared the Protector’s chamber, Thalassa and Jahno were exiting, rocking the infants in their arms.

“Thalassa, Jahno, we’re so happy to see you,” Hibret said. She hurried forward, offering a hug to each of them while staring at the swaddled bundles in their arms.

“Again, we’ve been blessed,” Jahno said. “We’re heading to our suite now so that Thalassa can rest.”

“How are you feeling?” Hibret asked. “Is there anything that I can get for you?”

“I—I’m quite well, thank you. This is Sabina,” Thalassa said, noticing Wosen’s stare.

“She’s the elder,” Jahno said. “This is her brother, Kai.”

“Oh, they’re beautiful. Just beautiful,” Hibret said, glancing from one to the other.

Jahno nodded. “Just like their mother, and both have her stunning eyes.”

Thalassa winced, glancing up at Wosen. Their first child, Suravi, had Jahno’s dark brown eyes, and the same raven-colored hair as both her parents. These babes were much different. The twin’s skin was paler than their sister’s with lighter hair and pale eyes. Both looked like their father. Like Wosen.

“May I?” Wosen asked.

Jahno smiled, nestling Kai into his arms. “Careful with his head.”

After Thalassa handed Sabina to Hibret, Jahno slid an arm around her waist, walking to their room.

Thalassa could hear their conversation, but not make out the words. The image of Wosen and Kai was engrained in her mind as she kept her eyes trained on the floor. She only looked up when Jahno removed his arm, helping her to sit on their bed.

Wosen sat on the divan in awe, seeing only himself as he admired his first son. He fought back his emotion when Kai grabbed hold of his finger.

“He likes you,” Jahno said, removing Thalassa’s slippers. “This is good since you’re going to be his godfather.”

Wosen’s head snapped up, looking at Thalassa. Her eyes were full of pain and uncertainty, fearing what Wosen might do or say.

“I’d choose no one else,” Jahno said. “You and Hibret are family to us. After Suravi was born, Thalassa and I agreed that you and Hibret would be the godparents for our next child. You’ll always be a part of our children’s lives,” he said, kissing the top of Thalassa’s foot, and then elevating her legs on the bed.

“We’d be honored,” Hibret said. “They’re so beautiful.”

Wosen could only nod, kissing the small hand wrapped around his finger. He couldn’t have known how overwhelming it would be to hold his son in his arms. He never wanted to let him go. Both were his children, and he wanted everyone to know.

He and Hibret both longed for children, and now, he held his first son in his hands. His son and heir.

With that thought, he leered over at Jahno. How he loved and hated him all at once. He would’ve never betrayed him if not for the wraith’s corruption, but that made little difference to him now. Jahno was like his brother, yet he was also the only person keeping him from being a father to his children. My children , he thought again, looking down at Sabina.

Hibret giggled. “Oh, she’s the sweetest, Thalassa. You’re truly fortunate, the both of you.”

“We are,” Jahno said.

Wosen stared at the couple and then back to his son. A smile returned to his face as he caressed the fine brown hair atop Kai’s head with his fingertips. My son , he thought, nestling him closer.

When the knock sounded on the door, Wosen didn’t hear it. Kai had his father completely entranced, and he never wanted to release him.

He looked up, noticing Hushar and Temian in the room.

“May I hold him?” Hushar asked, reaching forward. At first, he thought to withdraw Kai from her reach, but he remembered himself, and forced a smile, allowing her the seat.

“Oh, Thalassa, a son. He’s precious, Jahno,” Hushar said, snuggling Kai beneath her chin.

“Thank you, Mother. The Guardians are good.”

Temian glared at Wosen. “I’m glad that you’re doing well, Thalassa,” Temian said, leaning down to kiss her. “Would you like anything?” Temian asked, shaking Jahno’s hand, and then going to see his niece and nephew.

“They both have Thalassa’s eyes,” Hibret said. “Have you ever seen two more beautiful babes?”

“They are, indeed, just like Suravi.” Temian smiled, advancing on Wosen. “I’ll check in with you again soon. The others will allow you to rest before they visit. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my station. Wosen, you need to come as well.”

Without speaking another word, Temian left the chamber, awaiting him in the corridor. Wosen didn’t meet his eyes, walking several strides behind him. Temian continued forward, glancing over his shoulder until they were out of range of the guards. When they reached the end of the corridor, he turned on him.

“What are you about, Wosen? Why were you in my sister’s room?”

“Why? Am I not even allowed to see my children?”

He clutched Wosen’s arm, pulling him into an adjacent corridor. “Have you lost your wits?”

Wosen snatched away, running his fingers through his thick hair. “Wouldn’t you have done the same? The babes are mine, Temian, my first.”

“No. The babes are Thalassa’s and Jahno’s. You can’t do this, Wosen, you can’t. You’re thinking only of yourself. What about Jahno and Hibret?”

“What about my son and daughter? Kai has my features, mine, not Jahno’s.”

“They have the features of their mother and grandfather. Use your mind. Do you really want to hurt Jahno and Hibret this way?”

“The babes are mine,” Wosen said louder than he meant. “They’re mine, Temian. They might be the only ones that I’ll ever have. Don’t you understand that?” His voice cracked. “We’ve tried…Hibret can’t, she hasn’t been able, we…we…she—” His words petered to nothing as he tried to maintain his composure.

Temian gripped his arms, understanding his feelings. “Wosen, you don’t know that Hibret can’t conceive. Give it more time. I understand exactly how you feel. Arianna and I haven’t been able to have children, either. Not yet. But we haven’t given up hope, and you should not.

“You can be with your children, but not tell about their parentage. Now isn’t the time, and you promised Thalassa. We’re facing threats from all sides, and your mind must remain clear. The babes are here, and you’ve seen them. No one is going to take them from you.”

“Nor will they allow me to be a father to them. It isn’t fair, Temian, they’re my children.”

“No. It isn’t fair, but that’s the way of things.” Temian upraised a hand, silencing any coming retort. “For now. Allow Thalassa her time. She didn’t have to tell you about the twins at all, but Thalassa wouldn’t keep something this important from you.”

“There can be no but, Wosen, not now. I didn’t only come to see Thalassa, I needed to see you, too.”

“Yes. The Jasiri have arrived Molag. He’s been secured in a cell.”

“We do, Chosen of Nazil,” Temian said, clapping him on the back. “Your Zaxson needs you at your post. Do you have a mind to do your duty for Nazil?”