Shattered sunlight book.., p.47
Shattered Sunlight (Book Five of the Storm Below), page 47
“Zori stabbed me while you were too busy ending the Storm. Too busy to protect me!” she snarled, shocked by the darkness bubbling out of her. “She rammed a dagger right into my belly.”
“Zori?” he choked. His hands clenched. “Zori killed our child?” Anger rushed across his face. Hatred. He understood now. How she’d gambled with the life of their son. How she’d put their child at risk. What kind of mother did that?
Ary bellowed like a raging boar. His fist lashed out, punching past her face, and slamming into the frame of the wall. Wood splintered from his blow. The hair on her arms stood up, the air alive with an electric charge. Sparks burst from his hand as he discharged into the frame. He drew back his fist and slammed it in again.
“She killed our child?”
“I killed our child!” Chaylene spat, tears burning down her face. “Me, Ary! I knew the risks! I thought saving Riasruo was worth it, and it wasn’t! Nothing was worth this!”
His face, burning with hatred, stared at hers. She felt it. The loathing. The disgust. His lip curled. His fist punched again. His entire body trembled as he fought his rage. Chaylene knew he didn’t want to punch the wall.
He drew back his fist. She darted around him and raced for the stairs. She couldn’t stand to see the hatred in her husband’s eyes. It hurt almost as bad as staring at the knife protruding from her belly. He didn’t follow her. He only snarled and slammed his fist into the door frame again. A moment later, wood crashed as he smashed something, venting his anger.
He should beat her instead.
She burst onto the deck as she broke the wax seal on the bottle. Her hand trembled as she reached the railing. She could smell the sour tang of the orange wine. It sloshed in there. Last time she had gotten drunk, she’d almost died. She’d sworn never again.
She was so tired of being strong. Chaylene lifted the bottle to her lips and savored being weak.
Chapter Forty-Two
“Sorry for the mess,” Ary growled to Captain Charele sometime after his rage had passed.
“Well, nothing important was broken,” she said, her toe brushing a broken bottle of wine.
“That dung-stained sow killed my child,” Ary growled, his fist clenching. “She was my wife’s best friend and she stabbed her in the belly.”
“Riasruo Above,” Charele said, clasping hands over her lips. “Oh, Ary.”
She hugged him. Ary didn’t care. Her sympathy meant nothing. Zori had murdered his child, and his wife was drowning. She had run off with the wine bottle. That was bad. Ary knew how wine was a crutch for her, something to lean on, to drown in.
He had to find her. He had to show her that she hadn’t killed their child. That was ridiculous.
Right?
Guilt squirmed in his belly. We knew. We knew that she might die crossing the cloudwall. That our baby would die with her. We risked it anyway.
But we had no choice, Ary argued back. The Wrackthar would have killed us. We would have had to eke out a living in the wilderness, surviving in that perpetual dark. What sort of life would our child have lived? We had to have hope.
We could have found a better way.
What? How?
We didn’t have to risk our child’s life. We could have waited for her to be born. Went to another hold.
We had to save Riasruo.
And that’s worked out so well. A mad Goddess trapped from even helping us. How many people have died because you crossed the cloudwall?
My child . . .
“Riasruo Above,” groaned Ary. He pulled away from Charele as anger surged through him. He wanted to find Zori and strangle her. Wipe that smiling grin from her face. Hear the bones of her delicate neck pop.
She murdered my child.
The dark winds howled inside of him, whipped up by his own guilt. His charge crackled across his skin. Charele gasped and pushed away from him, her eyes wild. Ary gritted his teeth, forcing down the winds, hammering them with his will. He couldn’t explode in anger. He had to be calm. For his wife’s sake. For the safety of others.
“Sorry,” Ary growled. “She murdered my child.”
“And you have every right to be angry.” Charele picked up a piece of broken wood, remains of the shelf. “Here, break this over your knee or something. Go punch the metal hull.”
“I have to talk to my wife,” Ary growled.
“Not like that. You need to calm down.”
Ary pushed past her, his body trembling. He marched up onto the deck. Gretla was up there, her eyes wide with questions. He ignored her, walking to his wife. She leaned on the railing, taking a long, deep pull of the bottle.
“Lena,” he said, yanking the bottle from her hand.
“Hey,” she protested, her words a little slurred. “Drinking that.”
“We have to talk and—”
“There it is,” someone shouted in Wracktharian. “Castle Romeich! It stands!”
Ary was suddenly reminded of everyone on the deck. As cheers erupted, he pitched the bottle over the railing and grabbed Chaylene’s arm. “We’re almost to the castle. I have a room. We’re going to talk.”
“About what? How I killed our child? How you let me do it!” Her gray eyes were hard, her face twisted.
The words stung. He hadn’t helped kill their child, and neither had she. “We’ll talk,” he said slowly. “Okay?”
“Fine,” she said then peered over the side. She punched his arm. “There was still some left.”
They stood in silence as the ship sailed toward Romeich. The barren fields gave away to the town. The people were peering up at the metal ship. The Wrackthar refugees waved over the sides, shouting their excitement at reaching their people. Ahead, the dark walls of Castle Romeich loomed, the tower a dark pinnacle above all.
Chaylene didn’t look at it. She just stared over the side, not saying a word. Ary held her arm, not tight, but afraid if he let go, she’d run.
“Wow,” Gretla shouted as she peered at the castle. “That’s it, Ary?”
“That’s it,” he answered, trying to keep his words calm. “Where you’ll be staying for a while.”
“With the Wrackthar,” Jhevon said, sounding dubious.
“It’s so cold,” shivered Myrian.
“Yeah, something’s wrong with the world,” Ary said. “Something Theisseg did. I don’t think we’re getting a summer.”
“She’ll kill us all one way or the other,” Chaylene muttered, her words sounding dead.
Ary’s stomach clenched.
The Varele descended to the courtyard of the castle bailey. The seneschal bustled out, not happy about the ship landing there until he realized there were refugees. Then the fussy man set about ordering servants while embracing all the survivors. The Wrackthar flowed off first while the Vionese held back. Estan and Esty were nowhere in sight, though Ary had heard a few passionate moans from the cabins.
At least their reunion is happy.
“Come on,” Ary said gently to his wife. “Let’s go talk to the seneschal and get everyone attended to. Then we’ll talk.”
Chaylene just nodded her head, her shoulders listless.
They marched down the gangplank, followed by the survivors of Vesche. Ary talked to the seneschal, introducing his wife and siblings. Gretla bounced around, peppering the seneschal with questions he couldn’t understand. He did his best to ignore her.
“I will see to all their comfort, Master Jayne,” the man said in Wracktharian. “By the strength of my iron.”
“Thank you.” He paused. “Watch out for my little sister. She bites.”
“Bites?”
Ary led Chaylene to the castle. He knew his siblings would be fine. He’d spent enough time in Romeich to be comfortable with the Wrackthar. He had to talk to his wife and understand why she blamed herself if Zori had killed their child.
Why did she have to find that bottle of wine?
They reached his room soon. It lay on the first floor off a side corridor. He shouldered open the heavy metal door. The hinges creaked, opening on the messy room. Some of his soiled clothing lay draped on the floor, the bed unmade. It would never come close to passing inspection. He’d let himself get lazy.
“So,” Chaylene said, her words still slurred. He closed the door behind them as she turned to face him, eyes a touch glossy. “Let’s talk. Tell me how much you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” Ary growled, struggling to control his rage. Zori . . . That Theisseg-damned woman. How could she stab her best friend?
Chaylene laughed, shrill, derisive, her shaking head tossing her filthy, blonde hair off her shoulders. She shrugged out of her coat while her fingers went to the bone buttons of the soot-stained shirt. She worked them down, glaring at him.
“I do not hate you, Chaylene,” Ary repeated. “What are you doing?”
“I can see the hatred,” she said, her gray eyes bloodshot. Her hands trembled. As she unbuttoned her blouse, her dark skin appeared, the slopes of her breasts, the outline of her ribs.
Ary winced. She was underfed. I’ve been eating three meals a day while she was starving, carrying this guilt. Theisseg damn Zori!
“Yes, there it is,” she hissed. “The anger. Let me hear it, Ary. I know you have it bottled up in you. Don’t try and contain it.”
“I’m angry at Zori. She killed our child.”
“We killed him!” Chaylene ripped her shirt open. She pushed down the top of the pants she wore, exposing the hideous scar on her lower abdomen. A thick, puckered slash of gray flesh surrounded by her dark skin. Two lines of smaller, puckered scars advanced along the main one, remains of the sutures that had held her belly together.
“Theisseg’s scrawny feathers,” exploded out of Ary, seeing the proof, the hideousness of the knife wound that had murdered his child.
“See!” Chaylene shouted and slammed a finger into his chest. “See what we did! What you did, Ary!”
“Me!” He had to control himself. “How did I do that? I was ending the Storm, Chaylene! I was freeing Riasruo when that happened. I didn’t wield the knife. Zori did!”
“But we knew it would happen.” Her words were as wild as the dirty tangles of her hair. “We knew our child would die if we pressed on. I told you Esty’s prophecy. Why, Ary? Why didn’t you stop me?”
“Stop you?” His hand clenched. “Riasruo Above, Lena, I wanted to stop. You convinced me we had to keep going. That we had to have hope that you would survive. That Esty didn’t say you would die.”
“Only that I would lose my future. No children. The surgeon removed my womb. I’m barren!”
Ary’s anger fluttered for a moment, seeing the raw pain in his wife’s expression. “Lena.”
He reached for her.
She knocked him away.
“Don’t pity me! This is all your fault! You should have stopped me.”
“How?”
“Stopped us from going to Mount Wraiucwii. Found a place we could have lived. Why did you care more about saving Riasruo than your own wife and child’s lives?”
Ary flinched, her words slicing his guts. “What?”
“You heard me. You’ve always cared more about Riasruo. Even when you thought She was Theisseg. You kept Her from me.”
“I was mistaken,” Ary growled. “I apologized for that.”
“Always abandoning me when I need you,” she snarled. “It’s why Vel kissed me in the alley and had me all confused.”
“That’s my fault? That you almost . . .” He choked back the word.
“Say it!” she hissed. “Say how I almost cuckolded you because you kept your precious dreams from me. That you let me run after I was drafted into the Navy and didn’t follow.”
He didn’t understand what was happening, why she was saying these words. Vel was in the past. He’d forgiven her and had stopped bringing up her near infidelity. “Lena, I was enlisting so I could—”
“You fled me the moment you were discharged from the Navy. I was hurting so badly. You know that. You saw what killing that damned sailor did to me, and you left.”
“With your blessing.” He struggled to keep the winds of his anger from lashing out at her. He couldn’t lose control. Not now. Chaylene was like his mother. Irrational, lashing out, broken by grief. He couldn’t let her crack. He had to find the words to show her he didn’t hate her. That he cared. “I left with your blessing, Lena.”
“What was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to be the bad wife? Beg you to stay when you wanted to flee from the Navy?”
“I didn’t want to leave you!” The words came out harsh, his face twisting. “Theisseg’s Storm, why are you saying this, Lena? What does this have to do—”
“You so needed to save Riasruo, you left me. And then you left me again atop Mount Wraiucwii. You knew I had risked my life. You knew I was in danger, but that didn’t matter. You had to save Riasruo!”
“Lena! Stop this!”
“The truth hurts, huh? After our child died—after you abandoned me—you begged me to save your siblings. I was in pain. I was hurting. Did you come after me after Riasruo released you? Did you cross half the world to find your wife? No!” Her finger poked hard into his chest. “You came here! You had this room. With a bed. Warmth. Food. Comfort.”
“When I woke up, it was too late to do anything about it. The skylands fell only days later. I was up here, too far away. I had to make an alliance. I had to get the Wrackthar to aid us and get the Sun Lance to defeat Theisseg. To stop Her from doing any more evil. What was I supposed to do?”
“Come after your wife!” She stepped closer. “But you hate me. I got our child killed.”
“You’re not making any Storming sense, Lena!” The words hurt so much. He had so wanted to come after her, but he was stuck here. The ship was dismantled, and he’d had to convince the President. He knew she was strong. That she could handle the journey. He believed in her. “I didn’t even know our child was dead until today. I was here, trying to make a better future for us. I love you, Lena.”
“I hate you!” she snarled, her voice low. “You let me kill our son. You let me risk my life when I was carrying our child. What kind of father does that?”
The words cut deep into Ary. He trembled, staring at the wild thing that had possessed his wife. Raw pain burned in her eyes. She’d suffered so much, and he hadn’t been there for her. He’d been trapped by Riasruo then trapped by playing politics with the Wrackthar. He’d let her risk their child’s life. He’d believed her words that saving Riasruo was worth the chance.
What type of father am I?
Anger and rage roiled in him. He wanted to lash out at his wife. He wanted to protest all her words, show her how they’d made the right decision, how they’d had no choice but to keep going. It was the correct one, but how could he argue that?
Their child had died because of their choice.
My child is dead . . .
“Well, Briaris? What kind of father does that? Tell me!”
The anger wanted to explode out of him. He trembled. For a moment, he hated his wife, despised her for saying those words, for those accusations. They’d made the decision together. They had gambled and lost, and yet she wanted to heap all the blame on him? He hadn’t thrusted the knife. He hadn’t trusted Zori with their child’s life.
Why was it his fault and not hers?
The sour reek of orange wine perfumed her breath. He had to leave. She wasn’t herself. She was drunk. She didn’t mean those words. He knew that. He had to believe that. He couldn’t face the fact she might actually hate him.
Not after growing up with his ma despising him.
He had to leave before he did something he would regret. His anger wanted to be unleashed.
Ary turned away, marching to the door. How could she blame me for our son’s death?
“That’s right! Go! Abandon me like you always do!”
Her voice crackled. He hesitated, gripping the cold metal of the door handle. He shivered, his electric charge tingling across his hand. He looked back at her wild eyes, her face twisted in anger, her blonde hair sticking in every direction. She looked like his ma.
And there was only one way he ever found to deal with his ma.
By leaving.
*
Chaylene collapsed the moment the metal door boomed shut behind him. “Ary,” she croaked, reaching for the door, her anger vanished. “Why?”
The question wasn’t for her departing husband, but herself. She couldn’t believe the words that had tumbled out of her mouth. Her head spun, reeling from the pain she’d heaped on her husband.
“I’m sorry, Ary,” she choked. “Why? Why? Why?”
The moment he’d tried to be compassionate, to show her he still cared, it had just exploded out of her. How could he love her? Didn’t he understand what she had done? It was why she showed him the scar, so he could see what she’d done. She was forever marked by her mistake.
But once she’d started, it had all spilled out of her. Emotions she didn’t even realize, the pain of being so alone as she’d trudged through ash back to Romeich, how abandoned she’d felt after he’d left with Estan to find the answers of his dreams, how guilty she felt for their son’s death. She knew it wasn’t his fault. She knew she shouldn’t have said those words, that he had only done what he believed was right.
Chaylene had convinced him to keep going.
“What is wrong with me?” Chaylene screamed at the room. Why am I so terrible? Why do I destroy everything? Why do I only hurt him?
Memories of Vel kissing her flashed through her mind. Their nightly meetings. The hot tension coiling tighter in her guts until she felt like she would explode if she didn’t kiss him. How she had flirted, so close to breaking her vows. It had wounded Ary when he’d learned of it.
Now, when he was just trying to stop Theisseg, she’d hurt him even worse.
She reeled, stumbling towards the bed. At least now he would hate her. Now he could abandon her and find someone else. Someone who would love him and care for him in ways she wasn’t capable. A mother for his sons and daughters.
Chaylene hugged the pillow, breathing in his scent wreathing it. That musk that was all Ary. She remembered it well, all the times he’d hugged her in the depths of night, holding her when she had a nightmare or clutching her when he had his own. He was such a loving man he would have even forgiven her for killing their son.
