The Viin


    There were few things in this life that shocked Trystan. After years of betrayal—watching his back for enemies and those who sought to hurt him, to destroy him—he’d learned to weather disappointment with disillusion and disinterest. Human nature was predictable, a pattern. People turned on others for senseless reasons. People chose themselves. It was a theory that had proven true too many times to count.


    No, Trystan Maverine didn’t shock easily.


    Until he saw Evie Sage p his mother.


    He’d still been trying to rein in his harried thoughts when Winnifred had fled. Likely because every person in the room was watching her. He understood how she felt; he, too, hated the feeling of stares, that vicious cycle of wondering what they thought of you.


    Oh…is this sympathy?


    I hate it.


    The servant was apparently the daughter of the enchantress they sought. Over the years, he’d searched every usible avenue. When Kingsley was first turned, he’d exhausted himself for weeks and vowed he would never give up. All the while, Amara had hired on the enchantress’s child and had been housing her as a maid since Trystan left home, promising he’d never return.


    He hated to break his promises. His word was the only thing he was dependable for. But he had not tried hard enough.


    If he had simply returned home in thest decade, he would’ve found Winnifred, and Winnifred would’ve helped him find the enchantress. The prince had been put in danger, robbed of many more years as a human because Trystan had been too cowardly to face all he’d run away from.


    The guilt was back, but instead of a sinking feeling, it was a weighted rod to the skull.


    Kingsley sat on the table, holding his foot up like a little felon about to be taken into custody. Trystan pulled the ball and chain from his bag and reattached it to the frog’s foot. “How you got out of it in the first ce, I’ll never know.”


    Kingsley wrote on his sign.


    Sorry


    “Are we doing facial expressions now? Wonderful,” Trystan huffed, ignoring the brush of Sage’s body against his when the front door opened and mmed shut, a dripping Arthur breathing heavily against it.


    “The roads are flooded,” Arthur informed them, stumbling in while harsh winds rattled the house. The candles flickered, and the rush of wind resounded through the chimney. “We can leave as soon as they clear. This isn’t a journey we begin in a storm.”


    Trystan’s throat caught, and it took him several seconds to regain himself before saying, “We are not going anywhere.” He gestured to Sage and the rest of them. “We are.” Turning his back on Arthur felt better than it should. “And I will decide when we leave.”


    Amara red at Trystan, and he numbed himself to it. He felt nothing. Nothing at all. “You should be happy he’s even still willing to help you,” she said with scorn.


    Trystan shrugged. “Happiness is a fruitless endeavor. I make a point to avoid it at all costs.”


    Arthur ced a hand on his shoulder, and Trystan’s temper frayed. “Son. I understand your anger, but do not let your feelings about us cloud your judgment and risk those you care about for the sake of pride.”


    The room went cold. No one said a word. No denials, no objections, just deadened silence. A dark-gray cast twisted about the room as more rain came down. Tatianna and re watched the storm outside with trepidation. They agreed with Arthur; it was clear in their stricken faces.


    Everyone was against him.


    Arthur’s n was the rational choice. Deciding based off emotions when they are so fleeting had always been one of the many reasons Trystan believed humanity was doomed. And here he was, feeding right into it.


    “Excuse me.” Sage raised a finger.


    Doomed.


    “Person he cares for here.” She waved.


    Fucking doomed.


    Arthur motioned for her to continue; Trystan motioned for her to stop. Guess which one she picked.


    “He does not take the risks for me. I take them for myself, and with all due respect, Mr. Maverine, if The Viin says we leave now, then that is when I am leaving.” She was firm, no yelling, no cynicism in the light glide of her voice. There was a gentleness in her ferocity, and Trystan had an ogre of a time keeping the wonder from his eyes.


    “Please.” Amara tucked a ck strand of hair behind her ear before crossing to the decanter in the corner and pouring herself a hearty sip of what Trystan assumed was rum. Downing it in one gulp, Amara grimaced. “You are mistaken. My oldest son is incapable of caring, truly, for anyone but himself,” Amara said with a contempt Trystan had never understood. What had turned his mother so hateful? So unforgiving? So cruel to her children even before they’d disappointed her? Another crack of thunder sounded, as if Trystan had summoned it.


    “Don’t, Mother,” Trystan warned. That thread tethering him to Sage—it was strengthening, and the one tying him to his fears was stretching, thinner and thinner and thinner.


    If she kept going, it would snap. And he wouldn’t be able to stop it.


    “Why?” Amaraughed, and it was entirely without grace. “It’s true, isn’t it? You told me thatst day that you would never feel anything for your family or anyone else ever again. I took you at your word. Or perhaps viins can’t be held to such high standards? I should’ve known the moment I found out I was pregnant with you, you’d turn out exactly like—”


    “I LOVE HER!”


    The room went to a deadened silence at Trystan’s hard promation. He didn’t dare look anywhere but Amara, but he could feel Sage jerking at his side.


    Amara’s lips parted. “You love…who?”


    “Her!” He gestured in a frustrated rage to Sage, without looking at her; he couldn’t. The words couldn’t travel back into his mind, though. They were out there in the open now. So he continued. “Everything I vowed when you betrayed me—that I’d never feel anything again—it was all useless against her. She weakened every defense you built. The moment I met her and every day since has been irritating, confusing, stifling, frustrating, maddening, and absolute chaos. You cannot say I am incapable of caring for others. I’ve broken every promise I’ve made to myself. I didn’t have a choice”—his voice shook with rage and pain and longing—“in loving her.”


    Kingsley hopped on the table, holding up a single sign, little ball and chain dragging behind him.


    Finally.


    “Trystan?” Sage whispered, and when he finally found the courage to look at her face, her blue eyes were so wide, he could see his reflection in them, frozen, awestruck.


    The man looking back at him was wild as he pointed a single finger at her and stated inly, “I…can’t.” He didn’t wait for her to say anything else, merely yanked the door open, getting doused with warm summer rain. “I’m going for a walk.”


    The wet grass slid beneath his feet as he stalked down the hill toward the old barn, approaching the open door. But he didn’t make it farther than that before he was shoved against the hard wood of the barn wall, slicked with water from the storm.


    “What in the deands,” he gritted out.


    A dagger was at his throat.


    “Did you think you could escape me so easily, Viin?”