“Only because our need is so great.” The older man pushed up from his seat before the fire. His hand rested upon Cyrus’s shoulder. That single touch was more affection than he had shown all those years they had trained together. Cyrus had no idea how badly he needed it, craved it, until those hard, callused hands squeezed his shoulder to offer him comfort.

“However great our need, I believe you capable of surpassing it, my young Vagrant. My daughters are my all, but my heart still holds room for a son. Thank you. For everything. And in return, I will ensure you perform miracles. It is in that, and in you, I place my faith.”

Cyrus could barely find words to speak. The word echoed in his mind, again and again.

Son.

“I don’t deserve it,” he whispered.

The hand left his shoulder.

“None of us do.”

CHAPTER 33

CYRUS

Cyrus paused at the door to Thorda’s home after another successful midnight mission and watched Arn panic in the middle of the empty street.

“Where is it?” the giant man asked, patting his pants pockets. “Damn it. All gods, damn it.”

“Something the matter?” Cyrus asked. He pulled off his mask and wiped a bit of sweat from his brow. It was risky to expose his face as such, but the hour was late and Thorda had worked with Clarissa to purchase all the nearby homes and fill them with Thanet loyalists. The two Ahlai sisters had gone inside, leaving only the pair out in the cold.

“None of your business,” Arn said. “Maybe I left it back here…”

He burst through the front door like an angered bear. Cyrus tilted his head to the side, eyebrow arcing.

“Huh.”

Stasia and Mari shot him a confused look from the couch, the two unwinding together with steaming cups of tea in hand. Cyrus shrugged, having nothing to offer. He followed Arn upstairs to his room, where the door was open and Arn was busy ransacking his dresser. He still hadn’t removed his fox mask.

“Not here,” he mumbled. “Not here, not here. SHIT.”

“There something wrong?” Cyrus asked. He’d not been working with Arn long, and was still feeling out the man’s temperament. He was, paradoxically, both the most laid back and relaxed on missions, while also the crankiest and most stubborn about people following plans and orders. Cyrus assumed much of this was due to his paragon training, holding no fear for his own life while demanding perfection from others. He also put some of this on Arn just naturally being an asshole.

“None of your business, Vagrant.”

That he used their secret name in the house did not go unnoticed by Cyrus.

“Something is clearly bothering you, and I’d like to help if I can.”

Arn stopped his searching to put his hands on his hips and glare.

“I lost something, that’s all,” he said. “Now out of my way.”