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“No, I’m not,” he said. “Lyr, just…I need a moment.”
I stepped back.
He punched again and again, a hole now in the wall. And then he punched once more as he heaved out a breath, something almost like a sob at the tail end of it, followed by another round of curses before his shoulders finally slumped.
“They’re all the same,” he said, his voice low. “All the fucking Imperators are the same.”
Rhyan’s father was the Imperator to the North, and a brute. A brute who’d beaten Rhyan mercilessly as he’d grown up. Beaten, imprisoned, bound, and humiliated him until Rhyan had realized he was strong enough to fight back.
I couldn’t imagine the depths of the horrors he’d experienced. I couldn’t imagine how he felt. The Imperator terrified me more than akadim, more than anything else in the world, and he’d destroyed my life from afar, torn my family apart. Rhyan’s father, Imperator Hart, was rumored to be even worse, even more cruel. I didn’t know the full extent—in some ways I didn’t want to—but I knew what was in Rhyan’s eyes, the hurt, the pain, the way he sometimes looked so distant and haunted. The cruelty of Imperator Hart’s aura had even touched me when he and Rhyan had twice visited Cresthaven years earlier. I’d hidden in my room, terrified of the powerful gusts of dark, cold power emanating from him. I’d once even feared he’d blow Cresthaven down.
Rhyan’s hand slammed against the wall, this time not in a punch but to support himself as he learned forward, his head dropping. His knuckles were reddened with small scrapes and scratches that were beginning to bleed. Had he not been a soturion with magic running through his body, he’d have broken his hands. The tendons in his forearm stood out, and his shoulders rose and fell as his breath remained uneven.
I moved toward him before I realized what I was doing, my hand reaching for his slumped shoulder, wanting to touch him, to comfort him. But I pushed my hand against my hip at the last second. We were in this situation because of what lay between us. And touching him right now…it wasn’t going to help anything. It would only make matters worse, make it harder for us to do what had to be done.
“It’s over,” I said. “He’s gone…for now.”
“Some gryphon-shit guard I’m turning out to be,” he said. “Gods.”
“That’s not true. You’re—"
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t comfort me when you’re the one who….” He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to. Not when I owe you an apology. Not when everything that happened was because of me. I sent you home. It’s my fault you ran into Tani, my fault you were exposed to this, my fault the Imperator—” He practically roared in frustration.
“Rhyan.”
“Lyr….” His voice broke on my name. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”
“Like what?” I asked. “You still look like Rhyan to me. It’s all right.”
“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s not.”
“Hey. You’re my friend, right?”
His shoulders tensed as he turned slowly, moving his gaze to mine. The edges of his eyes reddened as he looked me up and down, his chest heaving with the exertion of trying to calm himself down. “Of course, I am.”
“You’ve been there for me whenever I needed you. The friendship you’ve given…I don’t even have words for what it means to me, how your support has been the biggest reason I survived the last month. Rhyan, I want to be there for you, too. If you’ll let me.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. “You’re the one who was just…who….” His hands flexed. “I caused this. My fault.”
“No, you didn’t. You didn’t sentence me to this life. You didn’t rip my tunic apart. You didn’t open my wounds.”
He took a shaky breath. “Lyr.”
“Rhyan, you’re the one who’s closing them. Over and over again.” I stepped forward. “And it means everything to me.” I could see the guilt and shame in his eyes. I knew that look because I’d seen it in myself every day since Jules. “I know how sacred oaths are to you. But you’ve never forsworn yourself to me. I learned the hard way, oath or no oath, I’ll never be safe. I can’t be protected. Not while the Imperator lives.”
He looked ready to disagree with me, one eyebrow narrowed as he frowned. Instead, he asked, “Do you know the motto for Ka Hart?”
“No. Tell me.”
“Me sha, me ka.”
“My oath, my soul,” I translated.
He closed his eyes, hands flexing into fists at his side. “Our word is our soul. If we can’t keep it, we’re worth nothing. And I’m forsworn. I’ve broken that oath before, failed the people I loved most in this world. Being unable to keep my oath, to uphold my promise, these were the worst moments of my life.” His eyes opened. “I failed.” His gaze grew distant. “I couldn’t save them. I can’t make that mistake again. Not with you.”
I stepped forward again. This time, I took his hand. His grip tightened around mine at once, his skin warm and familiar. “I don’t know what happened. But I know you. And I know you’re not just a good person, you’re one of the best. You’re so much more than just someone keeping every oath you’ve ever made—”
“Stop,” he said.
