Page 11 of Returned to the Vissigroth
I pressed my palm flat to the wall and swallowed hard. My cock throbbed in memory of her warmth, of her fingers curled around me, of the heat in her voice when she whispered my name against my throat. She used to beg and tease and take—all in the same breath. She used to pull me apart and kiss the pieces back together.
Zyn. I missed her.Allof her.
And now that she was here… I didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse from the gods to break me once and for all.
She didn’t remember me. Not our home. Not our child. Not the nights we held each other so close I forgot where my body ended and hers began. And yet, shewantedsomething. She’d asked about Myccael. Demanded to see him, even.
That unsettled me more than anything.
Why him? She didn't even seem to know who he was. That he was her son, or so she believed at her passing, or not… gods, this was a complicated mess. Give me a good battle any day of a cycle, but not this mess.
“Is it really her?” I was so deep in thought that I didn't hear Korran approach. My lack of awareness shook me. He glanced at the cabin door.
I nodded once. “Zyn. I’d know her anywhere.”
He blew out a breath and leaned against the opposite wall. And I opened up, the words pouring out. “She looks like her. Sounds like her… but… she doesn't remember me or anything."
He looked at me for a long beat. “She didn’t recognize you?”
“She doesn’t recognizeanyone.Not even me.” I confided with a deep, mournful sigh.
Korran’s jaw shifted, the way it always did when he was thinking too many thoughts at once and didn’t know which one to speak first.
“Then how…?” he trailed off, gesturing loosely.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” I ran a hand over my face. “She woke in the shrine without memory of anything. She didn'teven know her own name. She thought she was Thalia. I don't even know how she got to Veyrhall." I stopped, then added, "She asked for Myccael.”
That made Korran’s brow pull tight. “She remembershim?”
“She doesn’t even know who he is. But something in her keeps pulling her toward him.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Silence fell between us. We were warriors, we fought with swords and axes, we didn't use words between us, not like this. When we talked, we talked about battle strategies, not our families or feelings. Snyg. I didn't know how to do this. Any of this.
"What happened after I left?" I wanted to know. I meant after I ran to catch up with Daphne.
Korran said one word. “Grandyr. He came from the mountains, Grandyr's Crown, and flew low over the castle like a thunderclap. Nearly knocked the spires off their moorings. Scared the stones themselves.”
I stared at him, unable to breathe. So, it was the dragon I heard. I had suspected as much, but… he hadn’t shown himself since Myccael took the Seat of the Susserayn. It had to be a sign, I understood that much. But a sign for what? If he brought my Daphne back from the dead, he could take her again too… ney, I wouldn't allow that. He couldn't. The gods wouldn’t be that cruel, would they? To bring her back just to take her again? Bring her back for what? Grandyr had declared Myccael our susserayn; why would he now send Daphne after him?
She was my querilly. She was Thalia's mother.
Korran folded his arms and voiced his suspicions. “This could be a trick.”
I stiffened. “By who?” Who would have the ability to bring Daphne back? Nobody that I knew of, except the gods. Zyn, we had enemies aplenty, but this… something raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Suddenly, the Renegades were in possession of the most powerful weapon we had ever seen, and at the same time, Daphne came back? This couldn't be a coincidence.
“She’s not a trick,” I added stubbornly. She couldn't be.
“I didn’t say she was. Just—keep your blade sharp,” Korran advised, sensing that this was as far as I was willing to discuss this. A wise decision, because when I looked at the cabin again, I decided, if anyone tried to take her, god or not, I’d rip the sky open to stop it.
I nodded my assent and turned to reenter the cabin. The door slid shut behind me with a soft hiss. The dim light warmed the edges of the room, gold washed over dark wood, over metal, over her.
Daphne lay curled on the bed, wearing one of her old night gowns, one I remembered well, and the sight nearly ripped my heart out. Her red hair spilled across the pillow like fire poured over silk. One bare shoulder was exposed, freckled, luminous. The material rode dangerously high on her hips, revealing the curve of her back, the soft press of thigh against the blanket.
My throat tightened. She looked like a dream. A vision that could disappear if I breathed too hard. I crossed the room in silence and pulled the blanket gently over her. She shifted but didn’twake. The dress loosened slightly, and I caught a glimpse of skin I’d memorized with my hands, my mouth, my soul.
I couldn’t help it. I reached out.
My fingers brushed along her arm, light as breath, tracing the delicate slope from her shoulder to her elbow. Her skin was so warm, so smooth. Just like I remembered. The sensation shot through me like a lightning bolt. Not just heat, it wasmemorytoo. How many times had I touched this arm? In happiness, with restraint, to restrain, to hug, to laugh, to pull her to me. My entire body responded like it was twenty rotations ago, and we were lovers tangled in firelight, tangled in forever.
