Ryatt
Fresh raindrops glisten on the trees above my head as I walk on steady feet toward the creek that runs adjacent to the village. It’s quiet here. Nothing but the sound of the birds and the rippling water pierce the air as I sit on a boulder overlooking the creek and adjust the bundle in my arms.
My daughter is asleep, making little suckling motions with her lips every once in a while. Gods, she looks like Ella right now. Her hair is a dark mahogany brown, and the scrunch of her nose mimics my mate’s look when she’s annoyed–or teasing me or someone else.
I’m supposed to name this baby. Ella told me not to come back to the cottage until she has a name, or I’ll sleep outside with the bugs and rats.
I stretch out my legs and cross my ankles. This could be a long day, and I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet.
Now that Ella is recovered, we’re planning on leaving tomorrow for Rifthold. Following the base of the mountains and skirting the edge of Tarsian, and Alpha Jaxon's territory, it’s a three week journey give or take. I can’t spirit us home anymore.
I inhale a breath and let it out slowly. I didn’t tell Ella the full truth about what happened to my powers. They’re gone, yes. But forever? Maybe not, based on the tingling sensation under my skin that feels like my shadows are trying to claw their way back.
All I remember from those last moments of her labor was praying in absolute desperation for their lives. I offered my powers, and once I did, I felt the mate bond snap back into place. Why? No clue. How? Hell if I know.
The witch, who I credit for saving all three of us in the hours that followed, told me yesterday that she believes I simply exhausted my powers once the mate bond was reestablished. I let them bleed into Ella, giving her the strength she needed to survive the birth once the witch broke the curse.
It nearly killed me. I’ve never been drained like that before, even by coming and going through the veil or being stabbed repeatedly by Kane.
This is different, and only time will tell.
Time, and the White Witch who is now a part of my court. I’m taking her home to Veiled Valley to help tend to Ella and the baby. Something about the woman–who has no idea what her name is and admitted she lost her memories over twenty-years ago during a time when Kane was on a crusade to capture and enslave the witches–is familiar to me. Maybe it’s because she’s a Firestone witch like Ella and our daughter. She understands Ella’s magic in a way I never will. I need her in my arsenal.
She agreed to come with us, of course. The people in these parts treat her like a plague.
I sigh heavily and shake my head to clear my thoughts. What am I doing again? Oh, naming this baby. Giving her a name she’ll have her entire life.
I roll my eyes to the water.
“It would be nice if you could just tell me your name,” I say down to the sleeping baby in my arms. She makes a sour face then relaxes back into sleep.
During my own fitful recovery after my powers were drained dry, I had dreams. Dreams of following Ella down a marble corridor in a great castle. Dreams of lace curtains and my mate wearing nothing but her skin as I approached our bed.
And then dreams of… her. A little girl with brown hair and silver eyes. My eyes. Her, running on a beach, chasing two little boys and dodging waves breaking on the shore. Her, running up to me through a dense forest with tears in her eyes as she cradles a scraped elbow. Her, nestled in Ella’s lap while her mother paints. But she never said her name.
I wait for her name to reach me on the slight breeze.
But instead of a name, I’m met by crunching footsteps headed in my direction. I turn my head as my body goes rigid in preparation to fight to death to protect my child, but then I see Westfall making his way down to the creek.
He pauses when he sees that I’ve noticed him.
“I just heard–I heard what happened,” he says.
“When did you arrive?”
“Not even ten minutes ago. I haven’t seen Ella yet, but Granger said I could find you here and that you’ve been sent away by your mate until you… name the baby.”
“Yes, that’s true, unfortunately.” I grumble the last word.
“May I sit?”
I shrug, and Westfall sits on a boulder a few feet away from mine. I don’t look at him, but out of the corner of my eye I can see him craning his neck to try to get a look at the baby in my arms.
Despite the rift between us, I feel for the man. I’ve accepted that I’m his son, and this… this is his granddaughter.
“Do you want to hold her?”
“Yes,” he says before I can even finish the words. I stand and carefully ease over to where he’s sitting stoically, his face illuminated by the shadowy sunlight peeking through the trees. I gently place her in his arms, and I swear he exhales so deeply I’m shocked he doesn’t pass out.
His arms cradle her with practiced grace.
I forget he’s done this before–with me.
A lump forms in my throat as I sit back down and rest my elbows on my knees. I turn my head to watch my father look at my child. His blue eyes are sharp, but watery, and the corner of his mouth tilts up in a smile I’ve never seen before.
I’ve never seen him smile, actually.
“She’s beautiful.” He seems to choke on the words. He clears his throat and chuckles. “Gods, I remember you being this small. It’s hard to believe you were ever this tiny, now, seeing the man you’ve become.”
I don’t know what to say for a long time.
“How did you know what to do?” I finally ask. I have no idea what I mean. Maybe it’s just fatherhood in general that feels daunting, damn near impossible. Maybe it’s the idea of having to choose between my mate and my child, like I almost had to do. I chose Ella in those moments, but now that I’ve seen our daughter… I can’t imagine making that decision again.
Westfall did, though.
He catches my drift. “I just let your mother tell me what to do.”
I chuckle, meeting his eyes. “I imagine that’s the best course of action in my situation as well.”
His smile falters a bit. “It’s instinctual, Ryatt. Being a father. Just like being a mate, you already know what to do. This kind of love is given. It’s a blessing. It’s in your blood. Whatever you do, however you fail… she’ll forgive you. Maybe not Ella, but…” His mouth quirks into a smile again and I roll my eyes to the trees.
“Did you name me?” I ask, trying not to let my thoughts derail any further.
“Yeah, I did.”
This catches me off guard. “Why did you choose Ryatt?”
He furrows his brow as if digging back through his memories to find the moment he gave me my name. “I liked the sound of it. I remember… gods, it was a long time ago. But I remember being reluctant to call you anything because we didn’t know if you’d be taken from your mother immediately. Kane believed you to be his own son, as I’m sure you’re aware, but you were mine. Your mother insisted I name you for that reason, to stake my claim. To give you something of mine while you were raised by another man. Ryatt just came to mind one day. I liked the sound of it. It’s from an old legend. The name of a warrior turned god. And when you were born, your mother announced your name to Kane, and he accepted it. He didn’t care, I don’t think. He might have told his ailing kingdom that he had a son, but he didn’t treat you as such. You were a slave, just like us. A toy for him to play with until he got bored, or you got broken.” His tone shifts to something dark, but he clears his throat again and smiles down at the baby. “I wish she could have met her, Ryatt.”
Damn, that rips me in half.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you, for what you had to do to keep me alive.” The words warble off my tongue.
“I always would have chosen you,” he says quietly. “I would have done it the same way if given a second chance. You are the only piece of your mother I have left. You are all the good things that we were, and she….” He smiles down at my daughter. “She is the same. She’ll have your eyes, I can tell. She’ll be tough, like you. She’ll love getting in fights, I’m sure.” He sighs deeply, wistfully. “She’ll be beautiful like Ella. Kind, and funny, and a little clumsy with a sword but brave all the same.”
Now, I’m smiling despite myself.
“Kenna,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“What?”
“That’s her name. Kenna. It means ‘born of fire’ in the old tongue.”
“Kenna,” I say, letting the name roll off my tongue. “I like it. You’re good at this.”
“I’ll tell Ella you came up with it so I don’t blow your cover.”
My lips twitch into a wry smile as I look at my father and really see him for the first time. Just a man. A father, grandfather. A soul who lost his mate and spent the remainder of his life in purgatory–alone, giving up his throne to raise a stone-hearted, thick-headed boy with a flair for violence into the man I am today. Into the king I am today.
“I want you back on the throne in Veiled Valley, as Alpha.”
He shakes his head. “I’m retired. Retiring, you could say. Give Artyom my post as commander. I think I’d like to spend the rest of my days with this one here.” He runs a knuckle over Kenna’s soft, pink cheek.
I can’t argue against it. He’s my best commander, but this family… this is more important.
“You should know there’s been a breach in the veil. A few days ago, we believe. I heard the news from Artyom while I traveled here, and they’re looking for whoever might have crossed, if it did, indeed, happen.”
I shrug. I’m not in the right frame of mind to consider any threats right now, especially this far away from Rifthold.
“I’m sure Artyom can find them–”
“Alpha King, your mate is wanting to know if you’ve named your child yet and would like to return for lunch or if you need more time?” The voice of the witch carries down to the creek, a hint of amusement lacing each word.
I begin to turn my head to look up at her but stop when I notice the way Westfall has gone absolutely still, his eyes locked on the creek.
“Westfall?” I ask.
He shakes his head, his eyes lowering as a wistful expression flutters over his stony features. “Sorry, I–sometimes I think I hear her.”
“Hear who?”
“Alpha King–”
I rise to my feet the moment Westfall jumps up with Kenna cradled against his chest. He spins on his heel to look up the embankment at the witch standing in the glare of the sun. His eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen, and his lips fall open as he gapes, his brow knotting.
“Cressendra?” he rasps.
The witch looks down at him, her milky eyes whirling as if, somewhere, deep in her lost and forgotten memories, she remembers her name leaving his lips.
“No fucking way,” I say aloud, and look up at my mother.