Page 33 of The War of Four Winters

Something shifted in Leif's expression, a vulnerability he rarely showed. "Do you really think of us as your sons?" he asked, the question barely audible.

The honest longing in his voice struck something deep within me, something I hadn't known existed until these two boys entered our lives. I'd never imagined myself as a father. My own experience with fatherhood—with Tarathiel's cold manipulation and calculated cruelty—had left me believing I would never want children of my own. Yet here I was, sitting on the edge of a bed in the middle of the night, comforting a child who was rapidly claiming a place in my heart that I hadn't known was empty.

"Yes," I said, the simplicity of the truth surprising me. "I do think of you as my sons. Both of you. And I will protect you with everything I have, just as Elindir will."

Leif studied my face, searching for any sign of deception. Finding none, he relaxed slightly against his pillow. "Will you tell me more about Elindir? About how brave he is?"

I smiled, recognizing his strategy. "Trying to avoid sleep, are you?"

A hint of mischief flashed in his eyes, so rare that it made my heart swell to witness it. "Maybe a little."

"Very well. One more story, then sleep." I settled more comfortably on the edge of his bed. "Did I ever tell you about the time Elindir defeated Heskir Runecleaver in single combat?"

As I recounted the tale of Elindir's unexpected victory against one of the most feared warriors in the Runecleaver clan, Leif's eyelids grew heavy. By the time I described the final decisive move that had brought Heskir to his knees in front of his entire clan, winning Elindir not just the duel but the respect of warriors who had previously dismissed him, the boy was fighting to stay awake.

"He never gives up," I concluded, gently tucking the blanket around Leif's shoulders. "That's why I know he'll return to us, no matter what stands in his way."

"Promise?" Leif murmured, sleep already claiming him.

"I promise," I whispered, brushing a strand of dark hair from his forehead. "And I keep my promises, just like Elindir does."

His breathing deepened as sleep reclaimed him, this time peacefully. I remained beside him a moment longer, watching over him as I'd never been watched over as a child. Across the room, Torsten stirred briefly, mumbling something about dragons before settling back into his dreams—so different from his foster brother, yet equally precious.

These boys, who had entered our lives by chance, had somehow become essential to who we were becoming. Their presence had transformed Elindir and me from lovers fighting for a cause into a family with deep roots and branches stretching toward a bright future.

I returned to my chambers, the emptiness less oppressive than before. At my desk, I pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward me, dipped my quill, and began to write.

Elindir,

The boys miss you desperately, though they show it in different ways. Torsten speaks of you constantly, imagining grand adventures for your return, while Leif watches the horizon with those solemn eyes that see too much. Tonight, I found him caught in nightmares, fearing you might never return—a fear I understand too well.

I told him about us, about how we began. The story sounds almost like a fable when stripped of its darker elements, yet it loses none of its power. "And they fell in love," Leif said, as if it were the most natural conclusion in the world. Perhaps it was, though neither of us recognized it at first.

Hawk reports that preparations continue as planned. The armory works day and night. New refugees arrive with each passing day, bearing stories of villages burning. They speak your brother's name with fear, as if he has become something more than human, something that taints everything it touches.

Yet tonight, sitting with Leif, I found myself thinking not of war but of the future. These boys have changed us, haven't they? They've given us something I never thought to want. They’ve given us a family built not from obligation or bloodlines but from choice and love.

If you were here, you would tease me for these midnight musings. You would remind me that kings cannot afford sentimentality, that the rebellion demands a clear head, and a focused heart. You would be right, of course. But you would also understand that fighting for a better world means nothing if we don't also build something worth protecting within it.

Return to us safely, my love. The boys need their father. And I need the heart you've awakened in me, the one I never knew existed until you claimed it as your own.

Yours in this life and whatever follows,

Ruith

I read over the words, knowing this letter would never reach Elindir. The risk of interception was too great, the potential cost too high. Still, the act of writing to him had eased something within me, had given form to emotions I struggled to name, even in the privacy of my own thoughts.

I folded the parchment carefully, then held it to the oil lamp's flame. The paper caught, edges curling as fire consumed my words. I watched until nothing remained but ash, then opened the window just enough to let the winter wind carry those remnants away.

"Come back to us," I whispered to the night, to the stars, to whatever gods might be listening. "Come back to me."

The phantom pain beneath my ribs flared once more, then subsided to a dull ache. I closed the window against Vinolia's magical winter and returned to bed, where dreams of copper hair and defiant eyes awaited.

TheMirageproved more luxurious than I expected. As night settled over Saltmire, the mist curled around the ships, turning our sanctuary into something from children's tales. Tariq had insisted I join him aboard his vessel, claiming it was "an insult to the gods themselves" to refuse a blood relative's hospitality.

I'd accepted partly out of curiosity, partly out of diplomatic necessity, and partly because the storm showed no signs of abating. Better to learn what I could of this newfound brother than waste the opportunity fate had presented.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Tariq announced with a theatrical sweep of his arm as we entered his private quarters.

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