Shadow Wings (The Darkest Drae Book 2)(73)

“So no one told the king or the emperor?” I asked. As my mentor shook his head, I felt a swift and fierce pride for the people of Verald.

“Though it took me a long time to understand why, Ryhl’s house was always dark at night,” Dyter said. “One day, it clicked that your mother wasn’t actually sleeping there. Back then, she didn’t rely on anyone to keep her secrets. I don’t know where she slept those first few years, but she always turned up during the day. I hadn’t bought the tavern off the prior owner at that point, and I had to walk past your house to get to my own back then.” Dyter tipped his head back to look at the blue sky. “It took three years for me to see a candle lit in your house at night.”

Three years? “She didn’t trust anyone for three years?”

Dyter turned to me. “I told you I was honored to be a confidant of your mother’s, and I meant that. I can count the people she trusted on one hand. I never asked where she came from or what she ran from, but it didn’t take a genius to see your mother had been taught trust was a weakness.”

I breathed through the tightness in my chest. Hadn’t I learned that lesson myself? I knew anyone could snap under the right pressure. You couldn’t really trust another, not unless they were willing to die for you.

“Her life sounds so isolated and forlorn,” I said hoarsely. “I never saw her as a lonely, frightened person.” But to live life in the company of such fear, always running, never trusting, constantly expecting to be captured. I’d always believed my mother to be a happy person, firm and unafraid, loving and kind to those around her. From Dyter’s description, she was someone who had few friends, and she’d never learned to trust again.

Was that my fate? To be unable to trust? Unable to live a peaceful life?

“She eased up as the years went on, Rynnie. She began sleeping in the house, remember? It took your mother time, but she began to live life in time, and much of that was thanks to you. You brought so much happiness to her life—”

Dyter broke off, and a burning sensation built behind my eyes.

I whispered, “Is that true, Dyter? Was Mum happy?”

Dyter’s shoulders shook, and at least a full minute passed before he replied, “She was truly happy, Rynnie. For the time she spent in Verald, in Harvest Zone Seven, I can say that with certainty. She found love and joy again through you.”

A tear slipped down my cheek, and despite my struggle to keep my emotions in check, I knew my choked breathing wasn’t missed by the Drae behind me. There was warmth at my back as he approached, and I stiffened, conflicted. I hoped Tyrrik would touch me, I longed for it, and I worried about what it may mean to give into that longing.

He fell back once more and spoke in my mind instead. There’s another branch ahead.

I wiped my eyes and saw he was right. I pushed the branch out of the way and let it fling back. This time when Tyrrik grunted, I knew he’d let me tree-whip him on purpose, and the thought struck me that he might’ve been letting me fling branches at him all morning.

Holy pancakes, he sure knew how to treat a woman. I couldn’t completely stop the smile tugging on my lips or the tickle of warmth spreading through my heart.

We started up a grassy hill, and the trees grew sparse.

I glanced ahead to where Dyter strode through the knee-length grass of a clearing in front of me.

For months, I’d been struggling to understand my mother. In many ways, the person revealed on the night she died had been a stranger to me, and deep down, I’d been left wondering if I’d known her at all. Dyter’s story erased my fears. My mother was happy. I was just one of the few people to witness her that way. I might not have known she was Drae and running from the emperor, or I was Phaetyn and Drae, but I understood why she’d lied. I didn’t just understand; I knew the fierce loyalty and love it took to protect those I loved—after my dungeon time, especially. She’d protected me because she loved me, and my heart beat easier for seeing I had known my mother.

Dyter didn’t look back, and I didn’t expect him to. I’d seen him cry once, not too long ago, but he would hide his tears from me if at all possible. I raised my voice so he would hear. “Thank you for telling me about her, Dyter.”

“Any time, my girl,” he said gruffly.

I looked at the sky, to the hidden stars where my mother now resided. I miss you, Mum, I thought, not caring that Tyrrik would hear me. Thank you for protecting me.

I pushed into the long grass, feeling more at peace than I had in a long time. My mother had been enslaved and learned to trust again.

That meant Tyrrik could, too.

My mother had been broken, and in time she’d found herself and happiness.

That meant I would be okay.





29





I accepted a charred bit of rabbit from Tyrrik the next morning, sighing when he didn’t say a word. Didn’t he realize he was supposed to talk first? As the first offender, he should extend the olive branch and all that. I heaved another sigh as I shouldered the responsibility of being Ryn the Peacemaker. “Thanks.”

His brow quirked. “You’re welcome.”

Was that an I-admit-I’m-sulking quirk? Or an I’m-surprised-you’re-speaking-to-me-because-you’re-sulking quirk? Somehow, I doubted the former. Ryn the Peacemaker pursed her lips but said nothing.