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‘They’ll stand amongst the corpses of the beloved.’ That’s what he said at the end, though I never considered myself one of the beloved, not at the beginning. I was simply a terrified woman then, but now… now I understand. Maybe I wish I didn’t.
Void take me, this is so demon-damned hard.
In the beginning, he loved me. Irony, it twists and twirls like a lover’s song, but this is hardly a lover’s tale. It’s one of blades and blood. I wish I could’ve seen it sooner, but that would’ve been too easy. I wouldn’t have learned to love him.
Through the years, Irreor had trained Kipra, taught her everything his father taught him, and she was nearly as skilled as he with a blade. Yet there was more to it than that. She was a fingertip to a parted lip—silence that should’ve been said, yet words never spoken.
He cared for her. Deeper than the deepest pool, he cared for her. Yet she’d never let him say it.
And so he’d held his tongue.
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