Page 62 of The Storm
Kyra watched the hard-faced warriors around them. No eye was dry. They wiped their tears without shame, listening to the singer’s lament. Some bent over themselves as if in physical pain. Theirtalesmglowed with a low silver light, and Kyra saw nearly all of them wore mourning collars around their neck, visible when their magic was roused. The silent Asian scribe on the far side of the room wore a thick mourning collar for his mate with three finer circles beneath it symbolizing the loss of three children, likely dead in the Rending.
Kyra’s heart ached for them, these hard men who were so very alone. No children laughed in their halls. No joyful songs filled their house. They trudged on, half-alive, ensuring the balance of light and dark in the world with no hope of a brighter future or the comfort of their ancestors.
They simply endured.
“So I must guide my children back to light
that their hearts do not turn to stone.
They will be my birds in the nest
like larks in the morning,
singing to bring the sun’s return.”
Chapter Two
They packed a borrowed Land Cruiser for Dunte the next morning. Leo and Volos were loading the bags. Gustav had given them several weapons he needed Peter to repair at his forge. Max and Renata were having a heated discussion under the trees. Kyra was sleeping in the back seat.
The sun had warmed the leather bench of the Land Cruiser, and she’d drifted to sleep before Leo came downstairs with the first pieces of luggage. She hadn’t rested much the night before. Leo had taken her to bed, holding her silently while she lay sleepless. When emotions were high, as they had been during Renata’s singing, it was nearly impossible for her to shut out the voices around her.
It wasn’t that her defenses were thin. She had extraordinary perception, even for an Irina. It was why he’d been willing to translate for her the night before. She would have perceived the sorrow in the room. Better for her to understand what had provoked it.
Volos glanced at Kyra. “She’s delicate.”
Leo tried not to bristle. “She’s stronger than she looks.”
Volos shrugged. “I didn’t say she wasn’t strong. My Naina was delicate. A spider’s silk is delicate; that doesn’t mean it’s not strong.”
Leo carefully packed the swords behind the suitcases. “I’ve never heard you talk about your mate.”
Volos grunted. “You were a boy.”
“Not when I came back from the academy, I wasn’t.”
Volos frowned. “You didn’t understand then. You couldn’t have.”
You didn’t have a mate.
Leo couldn’t argue with the older scribe. Loving Kyra had taught him both bravery and weakness. Even the thought of losing her paralyzed him. He couldn’t even bring himself to imagine it; the places it took him in his mind were too dark.
“How did you survive?” Leo asked without thinking.
Volos’s face was hard. “You don’t have a choice.”
“Others chose—”
“I cannot face my Naina in the heavens,” Volos said, “if I haven’t fulfilled my duty on the earth.”
The rate of suicide in the weeks and months after the Rending had been high. They didn’t call it suicide, of course. But countless scribes died in reckless battles. Others performed magic that could only poison them in the end. Many who had lost their mates and children simply slept and did not wake.
For the first time, Leo realized that the cold men who’d raised him had been faced with a choice, and despite their many faults, they’d chosen to stay alive. Looking at Kyra sleeping in the back of the car, Leo finally understood how difficult that choice must have been. The scribes who raised him might not have been warm or affectionate men, but they had remained.
Leo held out his hand. “Thank you for teaching me how to ride a horse when I was ten. My father should have done it, but he never did. When you found out, you made me work with you in the stables every morning. You taught me without telling anyone because you knew I was embarrassed.”
Volos took Leo’s hand. “Your father had a duty too. That was all he had after Lauma died.”
No, he still had a son.
