Page 41 of Brighter Than Gold

The Northern War with my family, the Kala Muata, who called themselves ‘Black Death’, had raged on for three years. Egotistical and power-hungry tyrants descended on the Realm to take ownership over the lush soil of the Womb of the North. A war over a fucking patch of dirt. But they’d been defeated.

“How high up was your family, Reyah?” Callan said raising his voice.

I was listless as I answered his questions. “They were Regents, Callan, rulers as good as nobility in your eyes. Is that what you want to hear? Do you want to know the monstrosities they planned and executed? Do you want me to repeat the stories my grandfather would tell me? Of how many Realm soldiers their army slaughtered while they laughed and drank as they hid inside the mountains?”

My words were vile and cutting, and I wanted Callan to hate me because of where I came from, hate me for this lineage that made me disgusting and violent.

And he did.

He looked at me now, knowing the blood of the Kala Muata ran in my veins and I could tell he wanted to cut it out of me and see it spill across the cold, tiled floor. I could hardly blame him; I hated the Kala Muata too. More, even.

He took several deep breaths.

“You weren’t even born yet,” he reasoned. “My anger is not with you.”

I watched him running it all through his mind.

Callan brought me another dry towel and wrapped it around my legs. “We can’t carry the burden of our parents mistakes.”

I didn’t agree or disagree with him. I was freefalling and couldn’t reach out to slow my plummet, I wanted whatever was left of my humanity to shatter, to join my heart.

“If your family did not come here seeking asylum, then how did you come to be in the Realm?”

My face shifted as the memory was pulled from some distant place in my head, some place so far away and hidden that it couldn’t hurt me anymore. That horrible night…

And that was all it took, the distant memory I’d fought so hard to push from my mind.

I began to tremble, and put my head into my hands as I cried. A fissure sliced through the dam my mind had built, and a cascade of grief washed over me.

I sobbed. I cried and howled, my voice echoing off the walls. Callan held me as I sunk to the floor, heaving for each breath. There was only pain, the worst pain I’d felt firing out from my heart, my very soul. Sorrow for everything, the guilt I carried for my heritage, seeing how the war had broken my parents as they struggled their entire lives, the shame and fear that had driven me away from my home, lying to Kaspian as I swore fealty to him on our wedding.

And my baby.

My innocent baby who didn’t deserve to suffer the consequences of their parents, who had done nothing but create love and unity. Whom I already loved so completely, that I didn’t know how to go on with my life without them.

I was panting shallow little breaths when the pain finally seemed to be leeched from my body. Callan’s arms were around me, holding me against him.

“It’s all right, Reyah,” he whispered into my ear. I felt his fingers stroking across my back and shoulders. I heard the beat of his heart, slow and steady in his chest, like a tempo that persisted even when the melody had disappeared.

This man had saved my life countless times over the last few days, and he was saving it again, right now as my soul crumbled at his feet. I didn’t hate him, not anymore. Not ever.

I tilted my head up, as if taking him in for the first time. His brassy, moody eyes, the freckles that spotted the edge of his jaw and peppered his shoulders, how he genuinely gave everything of himself to comfort me in this moment. I pushed myself up until our lips met, and I kissed him. For an instant he remained frozen and stiff, he hesitated, and I thought perhaps he was debating giving in.

“What are you doing?” he asked pitifully as he pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You—”

“Forget I did that, please.” I’d always used sex as a means of escape, and his rejection to my foolish impulse didn’t even hurt. I felt too burned out to feel anything more.

There was a quick rap on the door and Verosa opened it without waiting. She eyed us, half naked and huddled on the floor.

“Get dressed and follow me. Now,” she ordered impatiently.

Ten minutes later we walked through the busy cathouse flanked by two huge, ugly Rats with a hand ready on the hilts of their swords. I supposed that Lazio had amped up our security after I’d tried to escape. Or perhaps it was because they knew the truth about me now, married to Kaspian.

We passed through the lounge area, it was evening and the ladies were on full display, dancing and petting and gyrating.

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