The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Tapestry Threads

“Cornelius, Ilythia!” Phoebe broke the silence first, rising to greet them with tears in her eyes. “Estrellas, Ilythia, it’s so good to see you awake.”

The renowned Myragnar finally broke Kitara’s gaze and extended a hand to the High Emissary, who wasted no time bending to embrace the other woman. “Hi, Phoebes,” she rasped, her voice still compromised after fifty years of silence.

Zayne and Declan had both jumped to their feet.

“Lady Avensäel,” Declan murmured, bowing his head. “We were so relieved when we heard—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Declan, come over here and hug me,” the Myragnar cut in, a spark of amusement in her silver gaze. “Don’t make an old injured lady get up.”

Kitara blinked at the curse and sat back, eyes widening.

“Yes ma’am,” Declan mumbled, doing as she commanded, with Zayne close behind. He leaned down to give her an awkward side-hug.

“Better,” Ilythia smiled, patting Declan’s back gently. Zayne offered a more confident embrace with less hesitation before they both took a step back.

Neither Baylen nor Kitara had moved, though Baylen had become noticeably more alert as he watched the reunion unfold.

“I’m so confused,” Kenric finally muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“As am I,” Cornelius said mildly from behind Ilythia’s chair, his attention fixed on Baylen, whose eyes never strayed from the Councilor’s wife. “Who is this?”

“Cornelius—” Phoebe ventured. “It’s…complicated.”

“He healed the Commander,” Declan put in, turning toward Storm’s father. “Made new wings out of thin air—”

“That’s impossible,” Cornelius grunted. “Not even our best Healers can do that—”

“Don’t.” Ilythia’s voice whipped sharply through the room, her attention suddenly homed on Baylen.

The others glanced between the tense Myragnar leaning forward from her wheelchair and the seemingly relaxed Netherling reclining in the chair across the room.

Baylen raised a lazy eyebrow but didn’t reply.

“Lyth?” Cornelius bent his head, worry creasing his brow.

“I can feel you folding the void,” Ilythia said tightly. “Don’t. Please.”

Confusion crossed the faces of them all at her nonsensical words.

All but Baylen, whose brow furrowed. He still didn’t speak.

“You restored the Commander?” Ilythia asked, her voice low and urgent. “Not Kitara?”

The Sleeper stiffened at her name, watching the bizarre exchange with the same unease as everyone else.

“Not Kitara,” Baylen finally acknowledged.

“But this is…”

“Impossible?” His lips twitched. “So I’ve been told.”

Ilythia shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his. “Who are you?”

His lips thinned, unwilling to answer.

“I told you; don’t,” Ilythia repeated, her voice edging towards panic. “No one will harm you here. I swear it.”

“What is this?” Cornelius asked, his hands tight on the back of his wife’s chair. “Someone please explain.”

Declan pointed sideways at him. “I’m with the High Councilor.”

“Only if he swears he won’t ethervesce from here,” Ilythia ground out. “Not until I know.”

Baylen brows rose for a fraction of a second in surprise.

“Baylen,” Robert finally supplied, glancing between the Netherling and the Myragnar from his place at Kenric’s side. “His name is Baylen.”

Baylen didn’t react to Robert’s admission, but his eyes flickered briefly to the Fallen Engineer.

“Baylen,” Ilythia whispered. “It can’t be—”

“Baylen?” Kitara finally spoke up. “What is she talking about?”

The Ninthëvel’s sapphire gaze darted to the Sleeper and back again. “I’m not sure.”

“Selibályon Liviríel.”

If the Myragnar didn’t have Baylen’s full attention before, she did now. He rose cautiously from his chair, ignoring Declan instinctively reaching for his gun.

“Don’t you dare, Declan Seanste,” Ilythia snapped. “All of you, back the fuck off.”

The tension in the room, thick enough to cut, swirled heavily between the Myragnar and the Netherling.

“I have not heard that name in a very long time,” Baylen finally said, his voice low as he slowly rounded the table.

“How?” Ilythia asked, bewildered. “How is this possible? We thought you dead. Your mother left this reality thinking you lost.”

Pain crossed Baylen’s expression and disappeared again. “I was, in a way.”

“Oh,” Kitara whispered. “Stars, you know who he is. Who he really is.”

Declan raised a hand. “The rest of us would love some clarification though.”

“Remember what he told us,” Kitara said without looking at him. “About his family.”

“Right, he’s your cousin. So?”

Cornelius tensed behind Ilythia’s chair, like he wanted to pull her from the room and hide her away again.

Slowly, so slowly, the Myragnar rose to her feet. Declan instinctively reached out a hand to steady her, but she waved him off. “I’m fine,” she protested. “The chair was Neil’s idea, not mine.”

Neil?

Kitara’s brow furrowed, till she caught a glimpse of the High Councilor’s strained expression.

Neil—Cornelius. Of course.

The Myragnar extended a hand to Baylen. “You are Shyamal Ninthëvel’s son—blessed stars and all that’s holy, Baylen,” she exclaimed, exasperated. “Stop trying to ethervesce out of here.”

Baylen’s gaze darted from her to his cousin to Phoebe to the High Councilor. “I am not exactly amongst friends,” he hedged.

“And I told you: no one here will harm you.”

“Shyamal Ninthëvel’s son?” Cornelius said, his voice like ice. “Shyamal Ninthëvel’s son is in my facility—”

The Myragnar rounded on him, though the effort unsteadied her. “He is a son of the Myragnar,” she snapped. “And so help me, Cornelius, you will not touch him.”

Declan, Zayne, and Kitara’s brows all rose in unison.

“Sorry, I’m just—what?” Kenric asked, bewildered as he swung his legs over the side of the gurney, Robert still clinging to his hand. “A Ninthëvel? I thought they were dead.”

“A lot’s happened since you’ve been out, Commander,” Declan muttered.

Phoebe sighed. “Cornelius, Ilythia…Baylen?” She side-eyed the Netherling. “Not that this standoff isn’t incredibly interesting, but I think the rest of us would appreciate an explanation.”

“Lady Avensäel knew his mother,” Kitara offered, then glanced at the Myragnar. “During the rebellion, right?”

Ilythia nodded. “I did. Feyër Liviríel: one of our most distinguished daughters. She and Shyamal had an ongoing courtship before—”

“Before he betrayed everyone,” Baylen said flatly.

“Yes. We thought you dead, lost to the carnage of the war. Shyamal stole you away…”

“And turned me into a monster,” Baylen bit out. “Far away from anything Myragonian.”

“Oh, Baylen.” Sorrow carried through Ilythia’s voice.

“But he is a Ninthëvel?” Cornelius asked, still reeling.

“He is a Liviríel first and foremost,” Ilythia countered sharply. “As precious as our own son, precious as Phoenix. A natural-born child of the Myragnar, the first in centuries. We thought him lost to us.”

“Wait,” Zayne spoke up. “Does that make him the first silverblood then? Not Phoenix?”

“Not Phoenix,” Ilythia confirmed. “Had I known, Baylen, we would never have stopped searching for you.”

Baylen looked from Cornelius’s incredulous face to Ilythia’s stricken one. “You would have only found a shadow,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. “Shyamal ensured that. He took great pleasure in warping the name my mother gave me.”

“You know what it means?”

Baylen nodded once. “’Maker of beauty.’”

“That’s how you came up with your alias?” Robert exclaimed.

“Alias—” Cornelius’s gaze hardened. “You? You’re the Maker?”

“He is,” Phoebe put in before Baylen could respond. “And he just remade headquarters’ Commander before our very eyes, Cornelius. Whatever he’s done, whoever his father was—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ilythia broke in, frowning.

“He assassinated Shyamal,” Kitara said, drawing their attention again. “He ended that reign of terror after—after…”

“After he ordered me to hunt Kitara’s family,” Baylen said grimly. “And I learned who they were…too late.”

“Then you did Valëtyria and Myragos a great service,” Ilythia announced firmly. “And that holds great weight.”

“Butcher, assassin and traitor,” Cornelius listed off. “Those titles hold weight too.”

“Those titles were forced upon him,” Ilythia retorted, her eyes blazing. “And he has redeemed himself.”

Cornelius scoffed. “There is no redemption for such—”

“You’re right,” Baylen interjected calmly. “There is no redemption for some of the things I’ve done. But that is why I’m here now.” His gaze found Kitara’s. “To make amends.”

“Amends?” Cornelius asked dubiously.

“He’s agreed to help us find Storm,” Kitara said quietly. “Remaking Kenric’s wings was…a demonstration of sorts. That he’s an ally.”

Cornelius’s eyes narrowed, weighing the truth of Kitara’s words. “And you expect me to believe this? I haven’t led this organization for this long by playing the fool.”

“And I’m not asking you to start now,” replied Baylen, his voice steady. “I’m offering you my help, not asking for your trust. What you do with that is up to you.”

“For the record,” Kenric put in tiredly, “as the subject of the aforementioned demonstration and based on what little I’ve been able to put together since I woke to this insanity, I submit we let him help with…whatever it is Kitara brought him here to help with.”

Agony cracked through Kitara’s heart at the reminder.

Ilythia finally focused her full attention on the Sleeper for the first time since entering the room. “Ostragarn has my son.”

“Stars and hellfire,” Kenric swore, struggling to stand, but failing. He sank back down on the edge of the gurney. “And you’re all standing around chatting about whether or not you can trust him to help?” He gestured in Baylen’s direction. “Our supposed enemy just conjured a new pair of wings for his enemy’s Commander. In the middle of enemy territory. In the presence of the deadliest immortal in the AIDO and two High Councilors. What the hell are you waiting for?”

“Trust or not, we need all the help we can get,” Robert agreed grimly.

Kitara nodded. “Baylen’s abilities give us an edge. As for the matter of trust…trust has not been freely given in this room for centuries.” She looked pointedly at Cornelius, her gaze steely. “You and I don’t like each other. There’s a lot of bad blood. I’ll be honest and say that’s mostly your fault, but we don’t have to like each other, because we have one very important thing in common.”

“Which is?” Cornelius’s tone was as cool as his expression.

“We both love Storm.”

The High Councilor’s eyes met hers, a slight crease between his brows. “What?”

Kitara’s gaze didn’t waver. “We both love Storm,” she repeated. “You don’t know me well enough to know this but trust me when I tell you I’ll burn the world down for someone I love.”

He barked a sharp, humorless laugh. “I saw what you did to Phoenix, Kitara. I have no doubt your words are true. It took our best Healers days to put him back together.” His eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”

“If I was willing to do that to Phoenix after what he did to Devika, what do you think I’d do to an enemy who abducted the man I love?”

Declan and Zayne inhaled sharply in unison, reminding Kitara too late they hadn’t known those specifics before now.

“He assaulted Devika?” Zayne whispered. “That’s the person Phoenix attacked?”

“I’ll kill him,” Declan growled. “I’ll track him down myself and—”

“Phoenix did what?” Ilythia asked, her expression troubled. “What did he do?”

“Tried to rape my best friend and sister,” Kitara replied flatly. “I stopped him.”

Ilythia sank back into her wheelchair, looking up at her husband. “What happened to him?”

“He was punished,” Cornelius said tightly.

“He was released,” Kitara spat at him. “Devika still has nightmares. She almost turned down her reassignment to headquarters when she heard a silverblood resided here—she only changed her mind once she learned it was Storm.”

“You released him?” Declan asked, aghast.

“We Felled him!” Cornelius shouted, finally losing his trademark cool. “Felled him and sent him to Cairo to live out his life amongst a regiment of Warriors who would ensure he never forced his will on another woman or angel ever again.”

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