Chapter 56: Shattered Hatred

Thessaly left Davorin sleeping in the war room and wandered until she found the gardens.

Dawn was still hours away. The eternal twilight painted everything in shades of gray, and she found a bench hidden behind rose bushes where no one would think to look.

Then she let herself break.

It started with crying. Not the pretty kind from books, but ugly sobbing that made her chest hurt and her throat raw. She pressed her hands against her face and let ten years of carefully built anger crumble into confusion.

She'd spent a decade blaming Davorin. Hating him. Building her entire identity around being the broken princess whose father was murdered by the Shadow King. It had given her purpose. Given her something to focus on besides her own worthlessness.

And now that was gone.

He wasn't a monster. He was a victim, same as her. Maybe worse, because at least she'd been unconscious when her trauma happened. He'd been awake for every terrible second, screaming inside his own head while his hands destroyed everything.

So who was she supposed to hate now?

The Void was too abstract. Too distant. You couldn't build rage around something that didn't have a face.

Fate? Destiny? The universe that decided she'd be born broken specifically to fix a cursed king?

That just made her tired.

Herself?

That one stuck. Because maybe the real problem was her. For starting to care about him. For letting the bond blur the lines between enemy and something else entirely. For feeling safe in the arms of the man whose hands had killed her father, even if those hands hadn't been under his control.

What did that make her? What kind of daughter fell for her father's killer?

Even if the killer was also a victim. Even if he'd spent ten years drowning in guilt. Even if he was kind and broken and trying so desperately to be better than what the Void had made him.

She was still falling for him. That was undeniable now. The bond made it impossible to hide from her own feelings, and what she felt was complicated and messy and absolutely not hatred anymore.

Which meant she didn't know who she was.

Without the anger, what was left? Just Thessaly. Powerless, worthless, broken Thessaly who'd spent nineteen years being nobody special. Who'd traded her brother's chains for her own and somehow ended up here, crying in a garden because her enemy turned out to be human.

"I don't know who I am," she whispered into her hands. "I don't know who I'm supposed to be."

The bond pulsed warmly in her chest. Davorin was still asleep, but even unconscious he was there. A constant presence that reminded her she'd never be just herself again.

Was that comforting or terrifying? She couldn't tell anymore.

Footsteps on the path made her look up. Quillan stood there with two steaming mugs, looking unsurprised to find her crying at dawn.

"Thought you might be here," he said, sitting beside her. "You have that look people get when they're having an identity crisis."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who's had about six of them." He handed her a mug. Tea, bitter and hot. "Want to talk about it?"

"I don't know how to explain it."

"Try anyway. I'm a good listener."

Thessaly wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the warmth ground her. "I spent ten years being the girl whose father was murdered. That's who I was. And now I find out the man who killed him was being controlled, was suffering, was a victim too." She took a shaky breath. "So if I'm not the girl who hates her father's killer, who am I?"

Quillan was quiet for a moment. "Maybe you're just Thessaly. Without all the labels."

"Just Thessaly isn't enough. She's broken and powerless and—"

"And brave enough to trade herself for her brother. Strong enough to survive in a hostile court. Smart enough to stand up to the council." Quillan's voice was gentle. "She's enough, Thess. You're enough. Without the anger. Without the prophecy. Just you."

"I don't know how to be just me."

"Nobody does. We're all making it up as we go." He sipped his tea. "But you're doing better than you think. You've survived impossible situations. Made allies. Stopped Davorin from becoming the weapon he feared. That's not nothing."

"It feels like nothing." She wiped her face. "It feels like I'm losing everything I used to be and I don't know what's taking its place."

"Something better, probably. Or at least something more honest." He paused. "Can I tell you something the king told me once?"

"What?"

"He said the worst part of the possession wasn't the violence. It was realizing he had to rebuild his entire sense of self afterward. That the man he'd been before was gone, and he had to figure out who he was now." Quillan looked at her. "You're doing the same thing. Rebuilding. It's messy and painful, but it means you're growing instead of staying stuck."

"I don't want to grow. I want things to make sense again."

"Things never made sense. You just had anger to hide behind." His voice was kind. "Now you don't, and you have to face everything without that armor. It's terrifying. But it's also necessary."

Thessaly knew he was right. Hated that he was right. "How do I stop feeling like I'm betraying my father by caring about Davorin?"

"I don't know if you can. But maybe you're not betraying him. Maybe you're just acknowledging that the world is more complicated than good guys and bad guys." Quillan set down his mug. "Your father wouldn't want you stuck in hatred forever. He'd want you to live. To be happy, even if that happiness includes caring about complicated people."

"You didn't know my father."

"No. But I know you. And I know the guilt I hear in your voice is about honoring his memory, not about what he actually would have wanted." He squeezed her shoulder. "Sometimes the dead become simpler in our minds. We forget they were complex people who made mistakes and would want us to do the same—make mistakes, grow, figure things out."

Thessaly's throat was tight. "I miss him. I miss being sure about things."

"I know. But certainty is overrated. Messy is more honest." He stood. "Come on. Let's get you inside before someone else finds you crying and draws conclusions."

"What conclusions?"

"That you're having a breakdown. That the bond is breaking you. That you're not strong enough for what's coming." His expression was serious. "The court is watching for weakness. Don't give them ammunition."

He was right. Thessaly pulled herself together, wiped her face, tried to look less like she'd been sobbing into her hands.

"Thank you," she said. "For finding me. For the tea. For not making me explain it all."

"That's what friends do." He smiled. "Though you should probably talk to Davorin about this eventually. He can feel your distress through the bond anyway. Might as well give him context."

"Later. When I understand it better myself."

They walked back through the awakening palace, and Thessaly tried to figure out who she was without the anger that had defined her.

Just Thessaly. Complicated. Messy. Still figuring things out.

It would have to be enough.

Because the alternative was pretending to be something she wasn't anymore, and she was tired of pretending.