I offer her only a small, polite smile. She doesn’t need to know the truth, that yes, it hurts. It burns. It claws through me like fire, tearing me apart from the inside out. But the pain always fades.
I gesture to the cottage door, and Vellis steps aside.
Inside, the air is heavy, thick with the scent of blood, char, and pain. The curtains are drawn tight, swallowing what little light remains, but even in the dim I can see the shape of him on the bed. Ronin. The Golden Son. The man who was once both my enemy and my ally and now something in between.
I move to Reon first, and when he sees me, his eyes flare with life.
“Gods, you’re here to heal me, aren’t you? Fucking fantastic!” He pauses, tongue pressing into his cheek. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I am thrilled you are alive, Amara. The healing is simply a delightful bonus.”
A tired breath leaves me. Almost a sigh. “You do not have to explain anything, Reon. I know what you did for me. Thank you.”
His face softens, and he discards the arrogance that he wears as well as his armor. I place my hand on his chest, and he closes his eyes. I feel his heartbeat, his warmth, the pulse beneath skin as my magic flows into his flesh. When I am done, he swings his legs over the bed and stands, under his own power, on his own two feet, and he weeps. Quietly. Stubbornly. He wipes the tears away before they can fall.
I leave him to his dignity and move to the next bed across the room.
From the shadows, his voice rasps. “Leave me the fuck alone, Jewel.”
“Truly?” I arch a brow. “I have been welcomed by all with open arms. Showered with love and adoration. Worshiped as some sort of sacred being, and you tell me to fuck off?”
A pause. “I didn’t say fuck off,” he mutters. “But the sentiment is the same. Leave me alone.”
“No,” I say simply, stepping closer. “You have no power over me, Ronin. You’re in my home now. Surrounded by my people. You make none of the rules here.” I stop at his bedside. “I do.”
He turns his head toward me with a low groan, every movement laced with pain. The effort alone steals his breath and for a moment, I understand Daed’s words more clearly than I wish to. Perhaps deathwouldhave been a mercy.
I had known his scars before, those silver lines that carved across his cheek, trailed down his neck and shoulder. But these… these are worse.
The burns are cruel things. Angry, raw welts crawl across his chest and arms, blistered and blackened where the fire stole flesh entirely. Some still glisten, wet, red, weeping, while others have already hardened and cracked like scorched earth.
I follow the path of the flames up his throat, where they claimed the other side of his face. The skin there puckers and pulls, uneven and warped. His lips are split, lashes burned away, and his hair, once gold as sunlight, as bright as the mask he wore, is gone.
The smell of him is the worst part. Burnt skin. Dried blood. Ash and smoke. It clings to the air.
Every breath he takes is a tremor, shallow and rattling, and when his chest rises I see how the skin pulls taut and splits again at the seams, as if his body itself has forgotten how to heal.
For the first time, I wonder if even my gift will be enough.
“I know why you’re here,” he rasps. “Don’t you dare. I’ve never once asked to be saved, and still you deny me the honor of dying on my own terms.”
I don’t answer him. The Souls whisper at the edges of my mind, soft and insistent, their murmurs like wind through leaves. Beneath my bare feet, I feel the pulse of the earth through the floorboards. I step closer.
“Don’t, Amara!” he roars. The sound cracks the air… and then falters. His voice shatters into something small, broken. “Leave me,” he pleads, the words trembling. “For fuck’s sake, just leave me to die.”
My hand stills above him.
He drags in a ragged breath, eyes glinting in the dim light. “I have nothing left. My army turned on me…my brother’s army and of all the punishments they could’ve chosen… they chose fire.” His throat works, the words scraping out raw. “I deserve this. I earned this. I’m glad you live, Amara. What we fought for wasn’t in vain. But please… let me go.”
“I cannot,” I say quietly, and his chest rises hard with another breath. “I need you, Ronin.”
He shakes his head weakly. “You need someone better.”
“Estra needs you,” I whisper, and his jaw trembles.
“This isn’t over,” I continue, voice steady now, the truth thrumming through me like a heartbeat. “It won’t be over until Gygarth is dead and my daughter is cradled in my arms. I need you to stand beside me.”
I place my hand upon his chest. His skin is searing to the touch. He flinches, but I do not pull away. The Souls hum in my blood, the glow rising beneath my skin like a dawn waiting to break.
“But first,” I whisper, “I need you whole.”
