Page 84 of Blood Weaver
As Caelan lunged, my eyes widened and I yelled, “Ronan!”
He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Caelan swing his sword. Ducking, he rolled across the ground and popped back up to his feet, away from the bite of Caelan’s sword.
I sat atop my horse in shock at what I just did. Why did I warn him? This was our opportunity to get rid of him once and for all! Deep down, I still had lingering feelings for him, no matter how much his betrayal stung.
The battle raged around me, but in that moment, everything slowed down. I was perched on the precipice of a truth I wasn’t ready to accept. I warned Ronan because, despite everything, I couldn't bear to watch him die. Was it the remnants of what we shared, or was it the part of me that knew his death wouldn't end this war?
Caelan regrouped quickly, and his eyes darted between me and Ronan. A flash of hurt and betrayal crossed his features before he masked it with the stoic façade of a prince at war. “He is our enemy, Lyanna. He isn’t who you think he is. You were the one who told me that.”
“I—” I stuttered, unable to think clearly.
“I won’t hurt him,” Ronan said, gasping for air. “You said you didn’t want me to hurt him, so I’ll listen. I’ll do as you say. I won’t touch him. So it’s up to you, Leila. Stop this or let him kill me.”
Caelan sneered. “It would my pleasure.”
“Caelan,stop!” I said loud enough for him to hear.
In a blink, a myriad of emotions flashed across his face. Chief among them were conflict, pain, and the weight of leadership that demanded decisive action. He slowly sheathed his sword and the sneer that touched his lips faded into a grim line of resolve.
“Retreat,” Caelan demanded of Ronan. “Tell your men to retreat … but you …stay.”
Ronan looked up at me, his eyes pained as he nodded. “Retreat!” he yelled.
“Ronan!” Silas called out, but Ronan only pointed a glare his way.
“I said retreat!”
Slowly, the Crimson Clan warriors turned and headed back the way they came, until only Ronan and Silas remained.
Silas looked up at me in horror. “You …youare Princess Lyanna?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. When I nodded, he looked between me and Ronan. “You’ll regret this, Princess.”
“Is that a threat?” I growled.
Silas shook his head. “No. It’s a promise.” Without another word, Silas jumped back on his horse and galloped from the battlefield to safety, leaving Ronan as our hostage.
24
We returned to the Valorian camp in silence. When I slid off my horse, Caelan rushed to me and tenderly gripped my face, his eyes searching for some recognition and checking my body for injuries.
“It’s you … It’s really you!” he murmured reverently. His eyes widened and glossed with unshed tears when I released the magic that hid the crescent moon mark on my forehead. “You were right in front of me this whole time and I never knew. How could I not know?” he asked himself.
I gripped his wrist, his hands still holding my face. “I was eleven the last time we saw each other, Caelan. There’s no way you would have known me as I am now.”
He brushed my hair back and caressed my face. “Still …” he whispered. “I should have recognized you. I’m sorry …” Suddenly, he released me as if I’d burned him. “Oh, gods, I’m so sorry, Lyanna!” Horror flashed across his face as he thought back to the arrows … the torture … everything he’d done to me.
“You didn’t know,” I said again.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What I’ve done is unforgiveable.” His eyes reflected his inner turmoil, revealingthe struggle to reconcile his personal regrets and what he’d just learned. A war raged in him, one that mirrored the chaos that had only recently ceased on the battlefield.
“Caelan, stop,” I urged, reaching out to steady his wavering focus. “Your actions were against an enemy you were unaware held a face from your past.”
His jaw clenched and he looked away, unable to meet my gaze. Ashamed. “That doesn’t excuse my actions. I can’t—”
“Look at me,” I interrupted, a gentle command that drew his tormented gaze back to mine. “You cannot undo the past. None of us can. But you can learn from it. We both can.”
He remained silent for a moment, breathing deeply as he processed my words. The guards and soldiers around us gave us space, a quiet bubble amidst the camp's recovering bustle.
“I’ve been living with a ghost,” he finally whispered. “A memory of a little girl I swore to protect. And now …” His hand reached up as if to touch the crescent moon mark, but he stopped short as if he suddenly felt unworthy.
