“I forgive you,” Zyryxa said again, squeezing her father, “but you have to get back up.” She pulled away, meeting her father’s teary eyes. “You can’t keep sitting around when we still need your strength.”

Abbaz nodded. “I know I’m failing,” he cried. “How do I go on without her?”

Zyryxa wanted to slap some sense into him. She settled for gripping his shoulders. “Be the man she’d want you to be.”

Abbaz shook free of her grip, settling into his chair. He reached for his lute, but Zyryxa pulled it out of reach. “No more songs of sorrow, of…of weakness. It is time for you to be strong.”

“I’ll try to be strong,” he said. “For her. For you, and Zeen, and Basyx. I’ll try.”

“Do more than try,” Zyryxa said. “Help me kill Saevah.”

“No. I won’t do that.”

Zyryxa scoffed. “You won’t avenge your wife?”

Abbaz sighed. “If every warrior who lost a broodmate pursued everyone who has killed a broodmate, the fighting would never end. On and on, the wheel of vengeance would spin until fire and ice were nothing but ash and mist.”

Zyryxa seized his shirt, pulling his face to hers. “Zyrthalla wasn’t just somebody’s broodmate. She was my mother. Your wife.”

“And Saevah was her dear friend. I promise you, Zyryxa, Saevah hurts enough,” Abbaz said, his voice maddeningly calm.

Her body shook, holding back the urge to slam him through his divinedamned chair. “You would have me pity my mother’s murderer?”

“No, I’d have you live a life that would make her proud. Letting blind hatred guide you, and either dying for it or killing a person she loved, and loved her, would break her heart.”

“You don’t think I can win?”

Abbaz shook his head. “I know you’re capable of defeating her, or anyone else, Zyryxa. Don’t ever confuse that for winning though.”

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Zyryxa let him go. She spat on the floor, then paced the room. She’d kill Saevah. Everyone would learn that they couldn’t take away the people she loved and continue to live their lives. Besides, if Saevah truly cared about Zyrthalla, she wouldn’t have killed her. The bitch wasn’t innocent. And her father wasn’t man enough to do what needed to be done.

“You’re so afraid of losing control that you make excuses not to fight,” she said.

“I am afraid,” Abbaz admitted, “but this isn’t about fear of me losing control. Trust me, Zyryxa. Trust that I say this because I love you: do not climb this mountain, because you won’t like what you find on the other side, and you can never come back.”

Zyryxa clenched her fists, wanting to pulverize his damn mouth. Yet, she couldn’t be that monster that had no control. She wouldn’t be like this coward. Like Zyrthalla, she’d have compassion and control over her power. Taking several heartbeats to slow her heart down, taking deep breaths, averting her eyes from the source of her anger, she steadied. “I’ll have that drink now,” she said. “And details of the other three trials.”

His voice followed her into the kitchen. “And you shall have them.”

“The Warrior’s Pride” played on his broken lute again as she gathered her composure and filled a tankard with yak’s milk. From scent alone, she knew it was sour, not sweet. Like everything in life seemed to be.

“Just get the information,” she said to herself as the discordant chords of her favorite song stoked her fury.

She stood near the door this time. She was gone as soon as he gave her what she needed. She was going to climb the mountain and never look back. That was the least she could do for Zyrthalla.

“Antryx Mir was my favorite,” Abbaz said, playing “Cold Hearts Thawing” on his lute. “There is nothing quite like spending several days in the dark with a person you’re growing to love, following little glowing mushrooms for miles beneath the surface, fighting off hordes of underground monsters, stumbling into a cavern lit by crystals, and finding hot springs just begging to be enjoyed.” He grinned. “Zyrthalla and I became more than broodmates in those crystalline caverns.”

“Tell me about the ice golem,” Zyryxa demanded, trying not to imagine a woman that looked like her getting penetrated at a subterranean hot spring by her father but with Pelzyq’s massive penis. “Please.”

Abbaz laughed. “I am a bard, after all. We performed duets and, for once, your mother’s singing—”

Zyryxa covered her eyes. “Just. Stop.”

“Very well,” Abbaz said, sighing and smiling himself into a memory that was much more pleasant for him than it was for Zyryxa to hear. “The caves themselves—

Zyryxa jolted alert as the dragonbone knocker sounded off at their door. “Expecting company?” she asked.

Abbaz shrugged. “Gaeliz sometimes sends warriors over to make sure we’re still alive.” He strummed “The Warrior’s Pride” and forced a smile onto his face. “Let them in.”

Annoyed with the interruption, Zyryxa jerked the door open, ready to chew out whoever it was.

She bit back her remarks, nodding to the newcomer. At least they might stop Abbaz from making fucking sex jokes about Zyryxa’s mother.