Chapter forty - two - "You're disgusting"

**Authors note - Merry Christmas Eve everyone! Here is an early update as my christmas gift to you all! Love Karina x**

Barging through the doors of the Barracks, Rydan, Link and I trail after Freya. She'd fled Leira's as if it was a mission to get back here, and I already knew she was going to confront General Erion.

We stalk past the halls until she pushes a set of wooden doors wide open, and we enter the boardroom. Velvet curtains brush back as everyone sitting on the long table look up: Lorcan, a few Venators, and the General himself.

I linger behind as Freya slams her hands down on the table, not caring for the rest. "Where you ever going to mention my mother was a witch?"

My eyes land on two vials shaking at Freya's movements atop the map, each containing grey ash. I lift my head towards Lorcan, and a deep line forms between my brows. My mind recalls the raided Tavern at Leira's; venators had demanded whether witches helped shifters.

If Lorcan—

"Niamh, Roman," The General's clear voice jerks me out of my thoughts as he addresses the two other Venators. "You may leave."

Everyone else stays put as Niamh and Roman head out and close the double doors behind them. A silence lapses us all, and I try to remain still, despite the heat of Lorcan's gaze on me.

"Freya." A soft expression drenches Erion's face, one I've never seen on him. It's almost too hard to believe. He rises from his chair, wood groaning as his boots drag across the marble floor. "What did I tell you about interrupting meetings—"

"Answer my question," Freya demands, her hands fisting.

Erion freezes in front of her, and the fatherly hold he has dissipates into a humorous frown. "Where did you hear that?"

"Mother's name was Brigid, and I happened to open a grimoire." Freya tilts her head. "How does that occur, father, when only witches can access a grimoire?"

My eyes slide to Link and Rydan, both seeming to read my mind as their eyes widen, and I shoot them a subtle nod of my head.

Erion barks out a gruff laugh. An underlying tone of bitterness coats it. "I didn't expect my daughter to go snooping around."

"I didn't expect my father to keep the fact I'm a half-witch from me," Freya retorts, her anger crackling inside the room like bolts of lightning waiting to strike.

It makes sense, everything if she were to be a half-witch. Her constant admiration with amethysts, how she can't bear to attend any dragon fight at the arena, much alone kill one.

After a few silent seconds, Erion scrubs at his face. "I did it for your own good."

"How?" Freya's voice rises with a crack. I move to go nearer, as does Rydan. A protective side to him appears as his eyes narrow on the general. I'm as surprised as Link is by the sudden change in him. "How could you possibly think it was for my own good? That my mother was a witch—that I—"

"Witches aren't particularly liked. I didn't know your mother was one herself for a while." Erion places his hands on top of her shoulders, and she flinches, it's only a second, but it's enough for me to notice. "She never loved us, Freya," he says it so soft; I believe it for a moment if not for the cruelty sipping through his next words, "She only wanted a way to deceive me and take the Venators down all because she'd fallen for a shifter."

*"I know because my sister over twenty years ago fell in love with a shifter."*

*"Where is your sister now?"*

*"She perished."*

Everything Leira had said the first day I met her was a clue to Brigid, and she hadn't even known—known that she had a niece living behind castle walls.

"You'd told me she died from a dragon attack," Freya's voice is inaudible, and the General's face drains of color. His hands slip from Freya as he stares at her.

No answer. His chest puffs, and a faint grin sneaks onto his lips.

Something inside me ricochets off the walls of my chest, disgust, and rage wanting to unleash at the General. He didn't have to say it. He didn't even need to show a sign for me to understand the truth.

"You killed her," Freya whispers, realizing herself and speaking it for me as she steps back.

I wince at the words, and Lorcan then shifts in his spot as if he wants to come toward me. But all I want is to reach for Freya.

"I did what I had to do." Erion's smile vanishes, and gone is the concerned father. In place is the General I've come to know. A man who'd kill the mother of his own child, a man who treats his daughter like she is nothing to him, a man who detests any form of happiness.

Freya slowly shakes her head before turning and pushing past us toward the doors. Rydan and Link run out of the room, but I stay. I stay and stare at the General. He doesn't even show a twitch of emotion, no remorse, no pain.

I walk over as I bite out the words, "You're disgusting."

He lifts his chin; a condescending smile deepens at the side of his lips. "Interesting..." He flicks invisible dust off his cape. "The thief said the same earlier on. Though at least he managed a smile before I cracked a whip against his back—"

His head turns as my palm strikes him across the face, harsh and cold, forcing the walls in the grand room to echo. I do not regret it. General or not, he deserves it.

For Brigid.

For Freya.

For Darius.

He doesn't look at me, nor does he lift his hand to his cheek. He inhales a sharp breath through his nose and then carefully glides his eyes to meet mine. The brown reminds me of the rich dark soils of the forests, trapping you in whatever harsh reality there is underground.

I wait for him to snap back, to order my dismissal or worse as his eyes say it all—iron-willed hatred. Yet he straightens up and says, "You're just like your father... a disgrace." He walks off, and without as much hesitation, I turn to go after him, my fingers already curling into my palms, causing indents on my skin.

But Lorcan says, "I need to talk to you."

I tense before moving in a slow circle until I look at him straight on. A slit of light slashes across his eyes, yet no glimmer shines in them.

Struggle grips at my heart, and I let my defenses down. If he can see it, he decides not to mention it as I clear my throat, diverting my gaze to the other side of the paneled walls. "I can't right now."

Cedar and spices mix with the heaviness of the boardroom as he stands inches away and says quietly, "I didn't know Freya's mother was a witch."

Is that supposed to make me think differently?

My eyes flash up at him, remembering Leira's tavern. "If you did, would you have disowned Freya just like you all do to other witches?"

His jaw flexes as he swallows. "Nara, I know that you're mad—"

"I'm not mad. I'm—" Frustrated, hurt, confused? I sigh, and my lashes flutter across my skin as I glance down. "You never told me about the Neoma blood. You were... distant with me even after you showed me my carving, you—"

"What difference would it have made if I told you."

I would have reacted the same way...

I knew about the tree's blood by the time Darius took me into his cottage. I wanted to tell him I almost did, but I ended up putting it off once we made it to the den. I could have prevented many things if I'd just been honest with myself.

Wiping my nose with the back of my hand, I sniffle and look at Lorcan. His brows narrow as I say, "I guess none."

I whirl to leave, but his scarred hand closes around my upper arm; the span of his fingers grip my skin tightly as he twists me. "Nara," he whispers in turmoil. "I know it may not seem it, but I'm trying to protect you from—"

"Protect me from what? Your brother?" My brows flick up, persistent on that word. His nostrils flare, and I tilt my head, lowering my voice by an octave. "Or from you?"

"Why do you defend him so much?"

"Because he is not the enemy." We—the Venators, the queen—are.

Lorcan shakes his head. "What happened, Nara?" The disbelief in his tone matches his expression. "What happened to you hating his kind? What happened to you helping us capture that dragon in your village?"

A knot ties in my stomach. It doesn't loosen once as I think back to that dragon. My hands clam up, and something hard compresses my chest, weighing me down.

"I'm sorry, forgive me."

*Glistening eyes, fire, and gold, youthful and peaceful.*

*Thick liquid pools onto my hands—*

"What happened to the times we spent together?" Lorcan's words crash back into me, his forehead falls on mine, and his hand traces my arm until it's by my waist.

I can't shake the unease of memories over what I'd done. My breaths rush out from my throat, ragged and tense. Lorcan pushes me backward, and I hit the edge of the table. I almost stumble onto it, but Lorcan's hands are already there, holding me as I press my palms on the scaled armor of his chest. "Lorcan—" I sigh, closing my eyes as I try to move my head away from his, I can't do this, I can't—

His lips catch mine regardless. At first, I fight to part from him, but his grip doesn't yield. His tongue darts inside me like it's a battle he doesn't want to lose, and I say his name between breaths. Pleading to let go but at the same time not.

One hand lowers from my back to my thigh, and he cups my rear. I gasp before he whispers, "What about our carvings?"

Reality quickly lances through me, and someone's voice, deep, annoying, tantalizing, seeps into my mind.

*"One of their greatest wishes was to unite and dance among the stars."*

My eyes shoot open, and I twist my head as Lorcan's bottom lip grazes the side of my neck.

"For no love greater shared than the moon and the sun," I say to myself with a knit of my brows as Lorcan continues. I press with my hands and shake my head. "Lorcan, stop."

His arm tugs me closer, and I say it again and again until I push with enough force and shout, "Stop!"

He staggers back, panting as shock shadows his face. "Nara I—"

"You can't expect to kiss me and think everything is okay after," I say, feeling suddenly small. I'd melted into his touch, his kiss again when nothing is right at the moment, the trials, Darius in the dungeons, Freya a half-witch. Rubbing at my arm, I huff a breath. "I need to go check on Freya."

He tries to say something, but I cut him off, "We'll talk later." I don't wait for his response as I rush past him and out the doors in search of Freya, Link, and Rydan.

***

Later indeed came, but I'd focused on Freya. She did not want to speak of it; instead, she went out to train. She expected Rydan, Link, and I to leave, but we didn't, I went and grabbed a fletcher while Rydan fetched swords, and the four of us trained in silence, supporting her in anything.

"I think I get it now," Rydan says in a hushed tone as I lead him and Link to the door of my room. Freya had fallen asleep early on, but we'd stayed with her until now.

I cross my arms over my chest, and he continues, "Why you freed the creatures... stayed with the Golden Thief."

My shoulders loosen, but my arms remain where they are, unsure of what to say to that. I don't know myself most of the time, and I yet have to explain everything to Rydan and Link. But between everything going on, it's hard enough.

"You know I thought becoming a Venator is what I needed to be because there was nothing else, and I wanted to protect Emberwell, but—" He pauses, glancing down at Link, and he nods at him. "It turns out they don't protect; they ruin this kingdom."

A tightness engulfs my throat at his words, at both their comforting expressions. They understand; they're on my side. I throw my arms around both at the burst of familiarity with them.

"Link, don't move, she might break our hands next," Rydan whispers, and I draw back, swatting his arm. "So vicious, Ambrose," he teases, and I half laugh, shaking my head.

"So," Link longs out the word, looking over my shoulder. "Freya is a half-witch."

I glance behind me as Freya's curls cover half her face, and her lashes flicker each time she breathes. "I guess she is." I'm not entirely sure what she thought of it herself, but I know that when she is ready to talk about it, I'm here.

Link then mentions how I need rest, and both Rydan and he agrees to vacate our chambers. As I bid my goodnight to them, I close the door and take a deep breath leaning the back of my head against it.

The only source of light is the moon gleaming through the open window of our room. It splashes across the beds and chest of drawers. You'll figure this out, I tell myself, you'll figure it all out.

***

Sitting at the edge of my bed, I focus on the crescent in my hand. A new day has surfaced, meaning another sleepless night. At least, Freya awoke in good spirits, focusing on new hobbies she wanted to try as she plaited a few thin strands of my hair at the front.

Meanwhile, I've not stopped thinking about Lorcan. Had I been too harsh yesterday? Had I hurt him? I'd not gone to speak with him when I said I would but partly because I don't know what I would have gotten out of it.

He's the first I've experienced intimate things with, and I'd considered something more perhaps but truthfully? I don't know anything anymore.

A frustrated breath ripples out of me as Freya comes out of the bath chambers, clad in her Venator armor just before a burst of the door slams against the walls.

Link, practically gasping for air, stretches his hand across the door as he looks at me, then Freya.

Alarmed, I stand. "Link, what is it?"

Wide blue eyes blink at me. "You need to come with me now."

"Why?" Freya asks, and Link sighs heavily, his gaze turning worrisome.

"Because they've—" he hesitates. "—They've put the Golden Thief up for fighting at the Arena."