Page 112 of Taken
“Maureen was bright and shiny as a new coin fresh from the mint. Pretty, eager, full of airs. But beneath that shine, she was vapid. Selfish. She craved power, position, and wealth, not me. Not really. And all of that was none of which I wanted then. I was young, restless. I longed for adventure, not a cage. I had no desire to be tied down by the weight of my father’s bargains.”
The mist-woman preens on a balcony of vapor. Beside her, a younger version of myself stalks away, eyes full of arrogance.
“When the family of Old Ridge came to Castletide, I was cruel. Cold. I ignored Maureen’s advances. Worse, I flaunted my disdain. I cavorted with other women in the open, flaunting trysts like banners in the wind. I thought myself clever. Untouchable. A Lord too wild to be tamed.”
I clear my throat, rough, and the mist flickers with the motion.
“Bartholomew objected, of course. My father intervened.We are Lords of Water, Kael,he said as an excuse to the old fisherman.It is expected of us to have grand appetites.But even he saw I had gone too far. Before their departure, my father hunted me down. Demanded I make it right.”
The vapor shifts—my father, Ishmael, broad-shouldered and stern, his voice echoing in memory.
“You will see her. You will honor our word.”
“I could not refuse him. So I went. I expected a scene—tears, anger, perhaps shouting. What I found was worse.”
The mist darkens, becomes a dock stretching out into black water.
A lone slip of paper tied to a string with a sailor’s knot glimmers in the air.
“She left a note. Said my actions had broken her. That she tied an anchor chain around her waist and threw herself into the sea.”
The words shake something loose inside me, even after all these centuries.
I press a hand over my face, dragging it down, but I do not stop.
Iwill not stop.
“Her father was inconsolable. He raised an army, swore vengeance on Castletide. My father answered, as prideful men do. Both of them died in that battle—Bartholomew, Ishmael. My mother followed them soon after, her heart broken from grief. And Castletide, bleeding and leaderless, fell to me.”
The mists collapse into water, splashing harmlessly to the stones.
The silence left in their wake is deafening.
I finally risk a glance at Phoebe. My chest is raw, scraped hollow by the telling.
Will she recoil? Hate me for the callousness of my youth?
See only the monster who ruined a girl, a family, an entire village?
“I have carried it ever since,” I say, voice low. “My greatest shame. My greatest duty. I swore I would do better. That I would never again let arrogance cost so much. Old Ridge is no more—razed, washed into the sea. Its lands reclaimed by the tide, now home only to birds and seals. But the wound,” I press my palm to my chest. “The wound has never healed. Until now, Phoebe Sewell of Earth.”
The “until you”I leave unsaid.
I draw a ragged breath.
“And now you know, Telya. All of it. The promise. The break. When it ended, it ended badly. All because I was a young and careless Lord. And I have carried this guilt like an anchor, even back when I was only a boy thinking myself invincible.”
The words fall from me like stones into the deep. I swallow, waiting for it—her judgment, her recoil, the disgust I am certain I deserve. My chest is tight as a clenched fist, every breath caught against the fear that she will see me now for what I am.
But instead, this sweet, soft woman I do not deserve surprises me.
She presses her forehead to my shoulder, wraps her slender arms around me, and wiggles until she is seated in my lap as if she belongs there. The bond thrums, fierce and steady, and I shudder in her embrace, the strength in me buckling under the weight of her mercy.
“Can—can you forgive me?” The words tear from me, hoarse, almost unrecognizable in my own throat.
“Forgive you?” she whispers against my skin. “Kael, whatever you did, what happened is not your fault.”
The absolution pierces me, sharper than any blade. I choke on it. “I broke her heart. I was cold. Cruel?—”
