Kyrian's Decision

Kyrian rolled onto his back and gazed at the Tears of Selûne. He yearned to see the face of their mother, but the moon was still new that night. Despite their beauty, the shining Tears did not soothe him.

Everything would be decided in the morning, but Kyrian already knew what the outcome would be. Demaris would go to Athkatla, and the elves would travel to Murann.

And Olena would surely follow Demaris. Just last night, while trying to sleep in Demaris’s empty house, Kyrian had awakened to find his sister weeping in one of the gardens.

“Her home misses her,” Olena had cried. “This place… I can feel it. Oh, Kyrian! Can you imagine it? To be torn from your home, and locked in a dungeon… Could there be a worse fate than to lose your freedom?”

She’d vowed to free Demaris, and to punish those responsible. She’d practically raced to the hobgoblin stronghold. How she must have burned to sit at their table, to eat their food, to feign politeness, to be powerless against them, even with so many allies.

And now, with Demaris freed, Olena had tasted her anger, had witnessed her conviction. Kyrian knew that his sister could not be dissuaded. What he did not understand was why she might need to be dissuaded.

After all, the journey to Athkatla appealed to him. Kyrian had never seen a city, and the idea of slinking though the urban maze excited him. But Murann! The city in the ogre mage’s shadow, crawling with his wicked minions, was Kyrian’s ideal proving ground. Let his sister mingle with the humans—he would become one with the shadows, testing his blades and powers against orcs and goblins. Besides, he’d missed Odran, and he found Jacynth’s frostiness somewhat intriguing.

Kyrian sighed. He barely knew anything about fey women, let alone humans or elves. And Ligeia's behavior was more confusing than anything. What was that sensation in the pit of his stomach when she spoke? Why did the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when she drew close? Maybe it was his human blood--he'd have to ask Sam or Barak about it.

Olena, at least, he understood. In nineteen winters, they’d never been apart for more than a few hours. They’d always protected each other—Olena with her great strength and pure heart, Kyrian with his keen mind and quick thinking.

Just over a tenday ago, Kyrian had never dreamed of leaving the Valley; now, he was far from home. He knew that his mother was safe, but could only hope that she was fast asleep, free of worry and sorrow.

Now, another impossibility was coming true. In the morning, he would have to tell Olena that splitting up was their best course of action, and it would shatter her heart.

He watched her sleep, and sighed again. In the end, he would win. He was the smart one.

But that certainty did not bring sleep to Kyrian any faster.