Page 45 of Wrath of the Dragons
“Me,” I say without emotion. “My mother was a lady-in-waiting to yours, and my father was a palace guard assigned to her. They couldn’t be together publicly; it would’ve been seen as a betrayal to Garrick and Isira because my father was well beneath her station. My mother was from a noble Imirath family, but they refused to take her in after she fled the castle pregnant with the bastard of a bastard from the southern isles without lands or a title.”
“Did you try to contact your family when you were on your own? Either side?” Elowen asks quietly.
“No. No matter how cold or hungry I was, I was steadfast in my decision. My mother was the only person in this world who loved me, and I’d rather have died than betray her memory. She’d have wanted me to go to them if it meant getting off the streets and not succumbing to a life of crime, but even knowing that, I couldn’t.” The thought of sitting at the table of those who cast her aside seemed worse than killing someone for money. “This is something I should’ve told you earlier. Garrick wouldn’t have cared about who I was when I was a commander because I ascended in rank through merit, but royals hate bastards because it shakes the foundation they stand upon. He will recognize my surname and try to turn people against us.”
“Well, I’ve always found most people to either be entirely dull or entirely idiotic so it’s best to ignore whatever they think,” she says, and wraps my arm tighter around her when I chuckle. “Garrick won’t remember the name of a castle guard—”
“I took my mother’s name, not my father’s.” She gave birth to me and raised me, and I never wanted to be associated with my father once I got away from him. “I suppose my true name is Cayden—”
“Veles,” she cuts me off. “You are Cayden Veles. That is who you will always be.”
I’ve suppressed both feelings and memories for so long that theydon’t even feel like they belong to me anymore. It feels as if I’m telling the story of someone else’s life. But something in my chest tightens when the adamancy laced within her tone pronounces words I never thought I’d hear.
“I can be an Atarah if taking a royal name makes this easier. The Atarah line has ruled over Imirath for centuries.”
She cranes her neck to face me, though I can see only her eyes, considering the hood and mask she wears. “All you’d be doing is taking the name of a man you despise after forsaking your own father’s.”
I grit my teeth. “My pride is not worth your pain.”
Her eyes soften and I grip the reins tighter. Eagor’s father wasn’t a Dasterian, just as King Erix of Galakin wasn’t an Ilaria; they took their queens’ names to prolong the legacy. Cayden Atarah. It makes me want to get back in the ring and punch someone until my knuckles are busted to the bone. But I’d do it…for Elowen, I would.
She strokes her thumb over my wrist. “I’ve never been my father’s daughter, never belonged anywhere or to anyone, and I know I’ll never meet your mother, but I’d like to keep her name alive to thank her.”
My brows draw together. “Thank her?”
“Were it not for her, I never would have met you.”
I don’t realize how hard I pull on the reins until the horse stops in the center of the road bordered by snow-coated evergreens as we cross into Ladislava. If Elowen noticed our path leading away from the castle, she hasn’t made it known. She pulls off her mask now that we’re alone and my eyes fall to her lips as if they’ve whispered an enchantment to always command my gaze.
“What is it? I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I am.” I jostle the reins to command my horse to trot again. I don’t understand how almost nobody in her life has held on to her. Her presence alone is enough to make me, a man I thought beyond redemption, grasp at morality just to have at least a sliver of my soul be good enough for her. “You are never getting away from me,ElowenVeles.”
Gods.
I’ll never get over how good that sounds.
She smiles while facing forward again, taking a deep breath as she relaxes against me. I lick my lips, urging the horse faster as I continue wading through my memories, watching small flakes of snow slowly float down. “My father stood there while Imirath soldiers dragged my mother out of our house by her hair. She begged me to stay hidden when she heard them coming, but I remembered where my father hid his sword.” The blade was far heavier than all the sticks I’d practiced with, but I was desperate. “I disarmed the man holding the sword to her neck, but another took his place. She died, choking on her own blood, watching while they sliced my face open.
“My father begged on his knees for his life while I killed the soldier who cut me.” There was so much blood, I remember thinking they’d blinded me. I remember feeling the tip of the blade digging into gums. “They all turned on me then, but I kept hold of that sword. That’s when my father bargained with my mother’s killers and told them I’d be worth more alive.”
Elowen trembles against me, but I continue because I’d rather just get this over with. “My father chained me and began entering me in fighting pits in Imirath like the one you saw, only I don’t allow children in mine. I began throwing the matches out of spite, and the soldiers threatened to kill him if I didn’t stop, so he began whipping my back as punishment whenever I lost.” The words taste like acid in my mouth, and I rotate my wrist, momentarily removing my hand from Elowen. “He got more creative and booked me in fights to the death, knowing I burned with the need to avenge both my mother and myself.”
“Please tell me you killed him,” Elowen whispers.
“He stole a cage that belonged to a hunting hound when all of this began. That’s how he kept me from running away. He’d only pull me out of the ring when I was so beaten or exhausted that I could barely walk.” Elowen flinches but doesn’t say anything, probably realizing our childhoods have far more things in common than she expected. I was at the mercy of my father from the ages of eleven to fourteen, and shewas at the mercy of hers from the ages four to ten. It’s why I can’t stand being touched—I’ve been conditioned to kill anyone who comes too close. “After a series of wins over the course of two years, my father started getting sloppy. I pocketed the key to my cage when he was drunk and freed myself once he passed out.” I chuckle without humor, dark and dangerous as we break the tree line and gallop down the hill leading to Ladislava. “I woke him up before slitting his throat exactly how they cut my mother.”
Elowen tries to cover her sniffle by clearing her throat, but even if she had managed it, the tremors racking her slim frame would have given her emotions away. “Were you able to take any money from your winnings? Was that how you got your first apartment?”
Anytime I won, my father would blow it all on women, booze, and drugs. Fucking gods, I don’t want to talk about this. “All I took was his coat before crossing into Vareveth.”
“Your existence is not a mistake because someone wanted you to believe it was.” Elowen shakes her head before swinging her leg over the horse, sitting sidesaddle to throw her arms around my shoulders.
I tighten my grip on the reins to slow the horse. “Do you even know how to ride sidesaddle?”
Her body vibrates with the sobs she’s trying to keep contained as she pulls me closer, like she’s trying to hug the version of myself I was when I was forced to fight in those rings, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that he’s gone. Maybe he’s off somewhere with the ghost of who she used to be; perhaps they’re having the childhood that was robbed from them.
The roaring in my ears quiets the longer she’s with me. A river in the distance creates a soothing melody, and Elowen’s softness manages to blunt the edge of the brutal memories. I keep breathing in her light floral and vanilla scent to replace the sharp tang of blood. There are certain aspects where she and I undoubtedly match, but it’s moments like this, when I find the strength in her gentleness, that I realize how we’re different. She’s the life that stems from the death that’s plagued me, and the light that breaks apart the darkness encroaching me. Itrequires a different kind of strength to remain kind in a world that has given you every reason to become jaded. Elowen has a vengeful streak within her and her bloodlust is prominent, but she loves with everything she’s made of.
