CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: The truth about the past
“Aunty Milani, will Uncle be okay?”
Lenora’s small, sweet voice trembled against Milani’s hands as she held the girl close.
The camel they rode moved at a slow, deliberate pace, its rhythmic steps rocking them gently beneath the vast expanse of a moonlit sky. The wind whispered—a voice only those who knew how to listen could hear.
“Don’t worry, baby. Uncle will be alright.” Milani’s words were soft yet resolute, her hand running soothing circles along Lenora’s side as she cast a wary glance at their surroundings.
The once-thriving lands of the Tivas had withered into an unforgiving desert. Where emerald fields once flourished, now only parched earth stretched endlessly before them. She had read of the region’s prosperity in history books, yet standing here now, she would have thought the land had always been this barren.
Lenora curled against her, head resting on Milani’s chest, her little form rising and falling with each breath.
From the nearby tent, Blade’s groans—sometimes low and guttural, sometimes sharp with pain—pierced the stillness of the night. Each sound wrenched at Milani’s heart, and each time, she pressed her hands gently over Lenora’s ears, shielding her from the torment within.
The travelers with them whispered in hushed, uneasy tones. Some feared the man writhing inside the tent; others simply wished the wailing would cease. But Milani could only pray—pray that Blade would claw his way back from the abyss that threatened to consume him.
Inside, Conir and his companion, the physician, had not left his side since the journey began. They fought relentlessly to keep him tethered to life, but the battle was his alone to win or lose.
“The night is young, baby. Sleep now so you can wake up early.” Milani’s voice was a gentle hush against Lenora’s ear.
The child, eyes still wide and alert, gave a small nod before shutting them. Milani patted her softly, willing her into slumber.
She wished healing was always this simple.
It had taken her an entire month to recover from the wounds Blade had inflicted upon her. Had it not been for Conir’s care, she doubted she would have healed so swiftly.
Blade’s distrustful nature grated on her. She understood she hadn’t earned his full confidence, but at the very least, she had made it clear—Lenora was never her target. So why had he hurt her so viciously over something beyond her control?
Still, she endured. Not for herself, but for the countless lives intertwined with the mission Laya had forced upon her.
And then, just when she had begun to mend, her sister had appeared—bringing with her revelations that changed everything. She remembered the conversation they had about a month ago.
“I heard what happened. How are you feeling now?”
Her sister’s eyes flicked to the bandages wrapped around Milani’s arm, concern settling deep in her features.
Milani gave a slight shake of her head. “I’m alright. I’m healing.”
“Foolish child.” Her sister sighed, reaching for Milani’s uninjured hand, rubbing her fingers in quiet comfort. “I told you to observe from the shadows. Why did you confront him? You know what the Robes are like. If their Blue Robes are ruthless, imagine their Black Robes.”
“I didn’t confront him,” Milani protested. “I just… got caught up in the situation.”
A sigh. A slow, weary shake of the head. “Why did you take Laya’s job, Milani? You know better than to trust her.”
Milani’s breath hitched. “What was I supposed to do? She threatened your life, Sister. You’re nothing more than a shadow guard. Phaya is dead. If I refused, they would have used me to get to you—”
“That’s exactly why she sent you after Phaya’s child.”
Milani froze. “I don’t understand.”
Her sister straightened, leaning back in the wooden chair as if bracing herself. “I wasn’t going to tell you yet… but I suppose there’s no point in keeping it from you any longer.”
She exhaled and began.
“One day, Phaya and I went hunting. She wanted to prepare a feast for the warriors returning from their mission. We spotted a wild boar, chased it through the woods, but lost it when it disappeared into a cave. I was exhausted, so only Phaya went in after it.
She didn’t emerge with the boar. Instead, she carried out an injured man, unconscious and barely breathing. We brought him home, and for days, he remained unresponsive. I nearly lost interest in watching over him.
Then, on the day I embarked on my first mission, he woke. By the time I returned, he was already at Phaya’s side.”
Milani listened, expression unreadable.
“Months passed. They grew closer. And then… one night, beneath fireworks painting the sky, they confessed their love to one another.”
Milani’s lips parted. “The fireworks night? That wasn’t a New Year’s celebration?”
Her sister gave her a wry look. “Let me finish.”
Milani muttered an apology.
“Before I left on my last two missions, Phaya told me she was pregnant. She asked me to take over her position temporarily, and I did. For two years, I led in her place, and Laya—who was second in command—despised it.
When Phaya returned, her child was already a year old. She reclaimed her position, and life carried on. The man, far older than her, continued visiting every fortnight. I never asked questions.
But then Laya found out.
She discovered Phaya’s secret—her lover, her child. She didn’t know whether it was a boy or girl, only that the child existed.
I was away when Phaya was killed. When I returned, the truth unraveled.
Laya had orchestrated everything, conspiring with Elder Hans from the Robes Citadel. A third party was involved, though I never uncovered their identity. Elder Hans eliminated Elder Viper, while Laya ensured Phaya’s death.
Had Phaya’s child been a girl, Laya’s chances of seizing power would have crumbled. If it had been a boy, they could have discarded him—sent him away, abandoned him to the Citadel.
But fate had its own plans.
By pure coincidence, the child ended up with Blade—the godson of Elder Viper. And now, every vulture with a stake in this twisted game wants Lenora dead.
Her death would solidify their grip on power.
Blade is the only thing standing in their way.”
Milani’s breath came in short, disbelieving gasps.
“Lenora is Phaya’s daughter?!”
Her sister’s gaze was heavy with truth. “Yes. And no matter the cost, we must protect her.”
A pause.
“I heard Blade has reached the Underground City.”
Milani’s heart skipped a beat. “Already? That’s—”
“Far. I know.”
Her sister’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“The farther he gets, the safer he’ll be.”
Milani tightened her arms around the little girl, her grip fierce yet protective. If she had known earlier—if she had realized that Lenora was Phaya’s child—she wouldn’t have hesitated for even a second. She would have fought alongside Blade with every ounce of her strength to keep the girl safe.
But now, at least, Lenora was not only safe but untouched by harm. Milani watched her sleep, her small frame rising and falling with each peaceful breath.
“Milani.”
A voice cut through her thoughts. She turned to see Conir, his head poking through the entrance of the tent.
“You’re needed,” he said, motioning for her to follow.
With Lenora still cradled in her arms, Milani slid off the camel in one fluid motion.
At that very moment, the head of the caravan raised his voice. “We’ll make camp here for the night.”
A chorus of relieved sighs rippled through the weary travelers.
Milani shifted Lenora against her shoulder and stepped into the tent where Blade lay. The stench of blood was thick in the air. Five bowls, dark with it, sat in a row, each holding crude surgical instruments that glistened with fresh crimson.
Conir’s expression was unreadable. “Are you sure she should be here?”
“I’m not entrusting her to anyone else,” Milani said firmly. She walked to the far corner of the tent, where she carefully laid Lenora down, using Blade’s cloak as a makeshift pillow. Thankfully, it wasn’t stained.
Only then did she turn her attention to Blade. He lay deathly still, his skin ashen, lips cracked and bloodless. His chest barely moved, his breathing so faint it was nearly imperceptible.
“How is he?” she asked, her fingers grazing the frozen marble of his arm as she turned to Conir and the doctor who had, by some twist of fate, been traveling with them.
The doctor exhaled. “We had to operate without anesthesia. The pain alone was enough to—”
“I asked how he is,” Milani snapped, irritation flashing in her eyes.
Conir’s friend lifted his hands in a calming gesture. “He’s not in good shape. He’ll need a long time to recover.”
“But it was just a stab wound and a slash on his back! He’s an assassin. He’s faced worse. Why—?”
“It wasn’t just the wounds,” Conir cut in. “He was poisoned, Milani. That’s what made things worse. We managed to extract the toxin before it reached his organs—that’s the only reason he’s still alive.”
Milani’s throat tightened. “How long until he recovers?”
“If he heals fast, a month. If not, three. But even after that, he can’t fight—if the stitches tear, he could bleed out.”
She forced a breath through her teeth. “Does he need more blood?”
“The bag you gave us was enough. Though the lack of proper surgical tools complicated things. We had to improvise, which made the procedure longer and riskier than it should have been.”
Conir and the doctor finished cleaning the tent. As they rose to leave, Conir cast her a knowing glance. “Stay with him if you want, but don’t wake him. He’s been through enough for one day.”
Milani nodded.
As they stepped outside, she reached for Blade’s cold hand, her fingers curling around his. Relief washed over her, so strong it nearly stole her breath. They had made it in time. They had saved both him and Lenora. Things could have been far worse.
She swallowed hard, blinking against the moisture in her eyes.
“Make sure you get some rest too,” Conir reminded her from the entrance.
“I will,” she murmured, though she knew she wouldn’t.
Conir lingered for a second before stepping out, leaving the three of them alone.
Milani let out a quiet sigh and turned back to Blade. She wiped his face with the sleeve of her dress, a soft smile pulling at her lips.
“Must we always meet like this? The princess rescuing her knight in distress?” she muttered.
She glanced at his still face, exhaling a humorless chuckle. “You’ve turned me into your personal blood donor, you know. The least you could do is wake up and thank me. I wouldn’t even blame you if the first thing you do is point a gun at me.”
Her smile faded slightly.
“Speaking of guns,” she added softly, “you should count yourself lucky. If Ripper hadn’t gotten to them first, you’d be looking more like a perforated spoon right now.”
She leaned back against the tent wall, settling in for the night. She would watch over him. If anything happened—any sign of distress—she would be there.
No matter what.
