Page 86 of The Shadow of Polaris

“As a child I imagined what I would say to him if I ever had the chance. I envisioned screaming at him, asking why he didn’t love me, why he abandoned us. I was so full of anger and uncertainty about my identity, I tried to figure out who I was through other avenues. I was a thief, then a mercenary, then a soldier. I bounced from one thing to the next.

“When my mother married my stepfather, she was happy for a while, but he was a drunk and I never wanted him. It had always been just us, and that was all I needed. I refused to understand why she’d want to share our lives with someone else, and I resented her for it. But I hated him even more.

“The first time he hit my mother, I threatened him with a butter knife. I was six. I remember that day so clearly. How the blood trickled from her nose and her eye swelled shut from where he’d punched her. I was furious with him for hurting her, but I was even more furious with her for choosing a man that would do such a thing.” He looked down at his boots. The leather toe glistened from fresh polish.

“It was always a cycle. He’d hit her. Chaos would ensue. Then a few days later he’d apologize profusely, making false claims that he’d stop drinking and be a better husband, a better father. It started with a black eye here and there, which turned into broken ribs, broken arms. The last time he attacked her, he threw her down the stairs, nearly killing her. I didn’t even think twice when I lunged for him and stabbed him through the heart.

“Rather than thanking me for saving her life, my mother called me a monster. A cold-blooded killer. She sent me away, shipping me off to the soldier’s encampments. I hated her for it, too. I used my anger to train, quickly rising the ranks among us, and because of it, the other boys never fully accepted me. Then I met Aryx. He didn’t judge me for the blood on my hands or the crimes I’d committed. He accepted all of it. Eventually, he became family. Probably the only I truly ever had.” Lytos paused, his voice wavering against a sob.

I couldn’t bear to hear his pain, his sadness. In the hours that passed, I let my rage distract me from the harshness of reality. Not only had I lost the man I loved, Lytos had lost his closest friend, his most trusted confidant, his brother.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, refusing to meet his gaze.

“To wrap up this long-winded answer to your question before, why am I kind to you? Even after everything you’ve done? It’s because that’s what Aryx would do. He was kind to a broken boy who was lost in the darkness. He accepted my demons and was patient, supportive, caring. He is the only person who stayed when everyone else in my life had left.”

I hadn’t noticed the silent tears streaming down my cheeks as he spoke.

“Thank you,” I whispered, unsure of what else to say. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me.” He smiled, taking my hand in his. “Now, take the sword. You’re the only one who can wield it.”

I took the sheathe in my hands, feeling the smooth leather against my fingertips. It hummed against my touch, as if the blade within was alive. Holding his weapon, it was as if Aryx was here beside me. Guiding me through the shadows of heartbreak. Guiding me into the light.

“Now, I’ll ask you again. Are you ready for this?”

I stood, strapping the sword across my back.

“Yes,” I said, and for the first time in a very long time, I truly was.

Chapter 46

Our archers launched their leads into the cliff side. Hundreds of ropes dangled from the rock as they grasped hold and began their climb. The plan, as discussed, was to sneak up the cliff side, gather our forces, then launch our attack on the fortress gates.

My muscles burned as I climbed my lead. Arcturas rose from the cliff, seated on a rickety wooden platform. The wind ripped through us, tearing strands of hair loose from my bun. An occasional whip of a lead broken from stone whooshed passed me, sending the soldier attached to it plunging into the black depths. I tried not to think of the men as they fell, how terrified they must be, how unready for death they were.

Rain washed the glistening sweat from my brow as we continued our ascent. Aryx would have hated this. The climb up the southern mountain was nothing compared to this height. I smiled, thinking of the half-god clinging to the rock, his powerful legs quivering, frozen in fear. As courageous and stoic as he was, he had his weaknesses. Vibrations rippled down my spine as the golden blade strapped to my back came alive with his memory. The fear of an impending battle faded away, knowing a remnant of him would be by my side.

My palms were raw with rope burn when I finally reached the top. Throwing my leg over the ledge and rolling across the grass, I caught my breath. Only a few hundred soldiers, hunched over and exhausted from the climb, remained. This definitely wouldn’t be enough.

“My Queen, we’re ready,” Balakros whispered beside me.

I nodded, leading my men toward the white fortress gate in the distance. Arcturas strutted low beside me, her ears on alert for any warning of a threat. There were none. Not a single breath of life around us. Lytos caught my eye from across the field, shaking his head. Suspicion wrinkled at the corners of his mouth.

“Something’s not right here,” I whispered, crouching behind the large stone carving of the Northern Elder.

“I know. It’s too quiet. Too easy,” Balakros said, scanning the fortress in front of us. I raised my fist for my men to halt. They too hid low in the grass, awaiting my signal.

Everyone stopped breathing.

Everyone was silent.

Only the soft chirp of crickets and a steady downpour of rain filled the seaside air.

Metal glinted in the moonlight from the keep’s turrets. Shit.

“Shields!” I barked behind me. It was too late. The sky lit up with thousands of silver arrows. The clamoring of armor behind me filled the air as most of them struck true.

“GO! NOW!” I roared, lunging forward. We sprinted across the field, dodging wave after wave of arrows. I unsheathed the sword, gripping its hilt as I trudged through the mud. Arcturas weaved around man after man until we arrived at the gate. Stained in dirt, drenched to the core, my men and I flung ourselves at the keep, the adrenaline of battle pumping through our bloodstreams.

---