Page 143 of A Fate so Cruel

The attack from the civilians—likely her plan—and the way she’d helped tend to him afterward. To further gain his trust.

The tender way she’d run her hands through his hair. The look in her eyes.

Rion clenched his fists and shoved all those thoughts down, hoping they’d drown and never resurface.

His mind drifted to the party, the way she’d been hurt. The way she’d planned it all so that she seemed worse off than she actually was. The patience. The timing. The planning.

She’d done it all. Just so she could see the look of devastation in his eyes the moment she revealed herself.

He’d never forget that look.

Never forget the female he’d loved either, even if she never really existed.

Rion kept moving. Kept letting his mind cycle through the memories, piecing everything together one small bit at a time. Every word, every touch, every calculated move.

He passed trees, meadows, travelers as they raced from his destructive path.

He ignored them.

Rion’s throat burned, begging for water. He vaguely remembered drinking what was left in the water skin hanging from his belt. Then he dropped the water skin and kept moving.

He was done. Beyond done. Never again. He’d never let his heart bleed like this again.

Everyone would just betray him, eventually.

His father. His teacher. His friend. His classmates. The villagers. The staff that had once looked out for him. Each and every person held a knife, just waiting for the moment they could shove it in his back.

His legs finally gave out and Rion’s palms scraped against the rock as he hit the ground. A fresh wave of pain coursed through him as he sat there, staring at the very rock he commanded.

A laugh escaped. Grew. Bubbled over into hysteria. Maybe that female would succeed, even buried beneath the earth. He wouldn’t say her name. He’d already buried it.

His wounds still bled, breaking open as he trudged across Brónach. Rion’s vision blurred, but he forced himself up once more. Sweat rolled down his face, but he could see the redwoods rising above the trees that surrounded them. Calling him. Beckoning him home.

Rion circled around to the side entrance Saoirse had designed for him all those years ago. He blasted through the greenery meant to shield it from view. Maybe he should havesecond guessed using it. Maybe in his absence, Saoirse had set traps for him too, ready to be rid of her nuisance of a little brother.

No—not Saoirse. She’d always been there for him. Healed him. She’d made a promise to protect him and care for him.

Grief lodged itself in Rion’s throat.

So many promises. So many broken.

He didn’t remember entering the room. Didn’t remember the walk up the stairs or down the hallways. Or whose room he now stood in. He only knew it smelled familiar somehow, safe, maybe, if anywhere was safe anymore.

His magic kept circling, kept close to him, ready to protect.

“Gods, Rion, what the—” He knew that voice. Rion turned slowly, the figure nothing more than a blur as it ran toward him.

His heart rate spiked. Was it her? Had she somehow escaped the mountain? Slender fingers wrapped around his wrist, but Rion smacked the hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he screamed, his voice hoarse as he stumbled back into a dresser. It tilted and he fell with it. A vase shattered, cold water covered his hands, and his magic billowed out, reaching for the individual.

No, no, he couldn’t do that—he knew them—knew the scent—he—he—his body collapsed and Rion collapsed with it, everything shaking with uncontrollable sobs.

One person. That’s all he wanted. Just one person to understand his soul. His mother. She would have understood. He needed her. They all needed her.

“Rion.” The voice again. So soft and gentle. Coaxing. He looked up, but his vision wouldn’t clear. They moved slower now, crouching as they crawled forward, one arm outstretched.

“It’s Saoirse.”

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