Vorakkar will never hurt me again,” I promised her. I felt those words reverberate in my bones, as if I had cast a spell over myself, as if Kakkari had given me power over those words to make them true. “He told me once that people only have power over you if you let them. I learned my lesson long ago. I had given him too much power over me because I loved him.”
I took a small, deep breath, feeling a sudden pang of sadness for the hopeful, foolish girl I’d been back then.
“But I don’t love him anymore,” I told her. “And I know I can never love him again. I simply don’t have the openness to. Not after what he did. Not after how he left. Not after Lomma.”
Laru’s brow furrowed. “What about Lomma?”
I had never told her.
I swallowed and confessed, “I wrote to him after she died.”
“You did?” Laru gasped. “What did you say?”
“I sent the letter by thesper to his horde, thinking at the time that he would want to pay his respects to her for the burial. Because she loved him and I knew he was very fond of her as well.”
“This was like a second home to him,” Laru commented.
“Lysi,” I whispered. How many times had Kiran been inside this soliki? How many times had he taken his meals with us, laughed with us? How many times had he seemed so…carefree with us? He hadn’t been Rukkar in these walls. He’d been…ours. “I told him that she died, that we would wait to bury her until I heard from him or until he could return to the saruk.”
“He never came.”
I shook my head. “I thought the thesper might have been lost so I begged the Arakkari to send him a letter as well. She must’ve taken pity on me because she did. She told me a week later that he wouldn’t be returning to the saruk for Lomma’s burial. That he sent his sympathies to us all.”
My lips twisted with that word.
“I realized then that I didn’t truly know him anymore. The friend I knew would’ve come. He would’ve been there for us…for me,” I said quietly, my eyes catching on Rasik’s sleeping face. A long breath escaped my nostrils and I gave my sister a half-smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “He was never going to come home, even though I asked him to. Begged him to. The moment he left here…it was a death in itself. I grieved two beings that I loved when Lomma died, not just one. I’ve accepted that. And I’ve moved on.”
Because I had to.
“I’m different now too,” I assured her. “Nine years ago, I was wishing that I’d never met him. Now, I’m willingly going to his horde for the frost. I’m stronger than I was before. And I recognize the Rukkar for what he is now…a Vorakkar. A Vorakkar who will only ever look out for himself and his horde. I’m not going into this blind, so don’t worry for me, Laru. I know what I’m doing and I’m not afraid.”
Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. I wasn’t afraid of Kiran. But I was afraid to leave the only home I’d ever truly known. To leave my loved ones, my family, the familiarity of the saruk.
Laru released a long breath. Her eyes flitted down to Rasik in her lap, her gaze softening, the space between her brows smoothing the longer she looked at her son.
“You say that you no longer have the openness to love him anymore,” Laru whispered, running her hand through Rasik’s dark hair, trailing her fingertips over his soft cheek, a cheek I had pressed numerous kisses to tonight as he squealed in delight. “But I wonder if you have the openness to love anyone anymore…the way you loved him.”
I stiffened.
When Laru met my eyes, I saw hers were glistening with tears.
“Since he left, since Lomma died, you’ve thrown yourself into your work so completely that it consumes you,” Laru commented. “And I know that you love being a kerisa. But at what cost? You shied away from males in our saruk attempting to court you. You shied away from letting anyone in. You shied away from being vulnerable and you put these walls up around you that no one could possibly hope to breach.”
I frowned, feeling my throat tighten.
“And you always talked of having a family. A mate. Children of your own,” Laru continued, sniffling, wiping at some tears that had