Page 113 of Lord of the Lone Wolf
Maseo mourned the loss of contact as Kitsuki rose from the bed and moved to retrieve a clean tunic from a nearby trunk. The sudden absence of the dragon king’s warmth left Maseo feeling adrift, untethered in a way that made the pain of his wounds return with renewed intensity.
The mark across his ribs ached with each breath, sending fire through his torso, while the wound between his shoulder bladesfelt as if claws lodged deep in his flesh. But nothing hurt worse than his eye, which throbbed with every beat of his heart.
Maseo straightened as best he could, wincing as the movement pulled at the gash across his ribs. He hated being shirtless in front of her, with blood and necromantic fluid still seeping from his wounds.
Kizoshi strode in with the confident grace that always awed and intimidated Maseo. Her red armor gleamed in the lantern light, immaculate despite the battle that had raged beyond the tent. Her crimson hair cascaded down her back in a waterfall of fire, and her amethyst eyes, so unlike Kitsuki’s deep blue, surveyed the scene before her with knowing amusement.
“Well, brother,” she said, her lips curving into a smirk as she glanced between Kitsuki and Maseo. “I see you have been tending to our hero.”
Kitsuki pulled on his tunic, his expression composed once more. “Maseo’s wounds require careful attention.”
“They most certainly do,” Kizoshi replied, her tone suggesting she understood far more than was being said. She approached the bed with measured steps. “And how is the slayer of Nasume feeling after his victory?”
Before Maseo could respond, Kizoshi stood before him, reaching out to cup the uninjured right side of his face. She stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. The gesture was so unexpected and gentle that Maseo found himself frozen in place, uncertain how to react to such familiarity from the War Power herself. “Overwhelmed?”
“Thank you for ending Nasume’s miserable existence,” she said, her voice softer than he had ever heard it, thoughan undercurrent of fierce satisfaction thrummed beneath her words. “I regret I could not be there to witness it myself.”
Her thumb continued its tender path across his cheekbone. “Take heart in knowing you are the only worthy thing that monster ever created, the only redemptive act in a millennium of depravity. The universe has a profound sense of justice, that his own blood would be the instrument of his destruction.”
The praise from Kizoshi left Maseo speechless. He had spent his life being told he was worthless, a disappointment, a burden. To hear the War Power herself declare him valuable, to thank him as if he had fulfilled her most cherished wish, was so disorienting that he could only stare at her in mute astonishment.
“You have done what I have long wished I could,” she continued. “Every breath he took was an insult to existence itself. But fate demanded it be your hand, not mine, that ended him. And how fitting it is that the son he tried to break became the weapon that destroyed him.”
She looked at him with pride. “Now that you are blind in one eye, you will see everything so much clearer.” Her lips curved into a mysterious smile. “The veil between what is and what could be grows thin for those who have sacrificed a part of themselves to fate. What you have lost in physical sight, you will gain tenfold in vision of another kind.”
Maseo didn’t know how to respond to such a statement. Kizoshi often spoke in riddles that only made sense in hindsight, if at all.
“Your Majesty, General Jaega requests an audience,” a guard announced.
“Send him in,” Kitsuki requested.
Jaega’s imposing height made the spacious area feel small when he entered. His gaze landed on Maseo, widening at the sight of his injuries before his expression settled into familial concern.
“I am proud to announce that the Kunushi forces have surrendered,” Jaega reported. “Word of Nasume’s death spread through their ranks fast. Without his leadership and the fear he inspired, they refused to continue fighting. The war is over.”
His simple declaration hung in the air, its weight and significance almost too vast to comprehend. The conflict that had claimed thousands of lives and brought kingdoms to the brink of destruction had ended because Maseo had defeated his father.
“That is indeed welcome news, Uncle,” Kitsuki replied, his voice steady despite the momentous nature of the announcement. “Are they willing to accept our plans for the leadership vacuum in Kunushi?”
Jaega’s expression turned thoughtful. “For now, I have established a temporary council of our diplomats to work with the highest-ranking courtiers who were not loyal to Nasume’s more extreme policies. I have offered to stay and oversee the transition to ensure stability.”
“A wise approach,” Kitsuki acknowledged with a nod of approval. “Your experience will be invaluable during this period of uncertainty.”
“Kisano is the natural choice for the throne of Kunushi,” Kizoshi interjected. “Our brother has the diplomatic training, the intelligence, and none of Nasume’s madness. The Claim of Conquest grants you the right to appoint a successor, brother. It should be Kisano.”
Kitsuki raised an eyebrow at his sister’s suggestion. “While your logic is sound, I doubt our brother will leave his library for a regency in Kunushi.”
“Leave Kisano to me,” Kizoshi replied. “Sephen and I will persuade him of the benefits of inheriting Nasume’s sizable library after his coronation. The traditionalists may howl about dragon blood on the wolf throne, but they will soon recognize the wisdom in breaking the cycle of Venrik tyranny.”
“The courtiers may protest, but the people have suffered enough that they will welcome the change,” Jaega added. “I am confident that Kisano and Sephen can do much to ease their millennia of suffering.”
The casual way they discussed the future of an entire kingdom, determining its fate in the quiet confines of a war tent, reminded Maseo of the vast power the Ariake clan wielded. Unlike his father, who had used his to dominate and destroy, they seemed concerned with stability and the welfare of the people affected by their decisions.
“Very well,” Kitsuki conceded. “I trust your judgment in this matter. In the meantime, I intend to fly Maseo home as soon as possible. His wounds require Auslin’s attention if there is any hope of saving him.”
The mention of returning to Tiora stirred a complicated mix of emotions in Maseo. Relief at the prospect of proper healing, anxiety about facing Auslin with his ruined appearance, and a strange, inexplicable yearning at the thought of seeing the healer again. He had missed Auslin more than was appropriate while fighting on the war front. The fear of disappointing him with his failure to return unscathed weighed on Maseo’s heart.
“A wise decision,” Kizoshi agreed, her gaze flicking to Maseo’s ruined eye before settling on his other wounds with calculating intensity. “The healer’s poultices will help manage his pain during the journey, but this injury requires a different intervention.”
