She shifts the stack into the middle of a sheet of wax paper, then ties and fastens it with ruthless efficiency, popping it all in a soft leather satchel, red as crushed cherries. It fits perfectly.
She holds it out to him. ‘With my compliments.’
Shroudweaver takes it, slips it over one shoulder. ‘Thank you, Smoke. Really. It’s so good to see you.’
She frowns at him. ‘Of course it is, but you should have said that a few decades ago. Still, at least the unbinding will finally take the strain off you.’ She steps forwards, rests a hand on his shoulder. ‘You were supposed to come back, so I could check on you.’
‘There wasn’t time, Smoke.’
She lets the hand fall. ‘There was near enough twenty years, Shroud. Of all your weak excuses, this is the worst. Just tell the truth.’
He hesitates.
‘Go on,’ she says. ‘It’s not like we don’t both know it. Why wasn’t there time?’
Shroudweaver holds her gaze. ‘Because I met her.’
The pain that brushes Smokesister’s face is momentary, but it hangs in her eyes for some time after. She lets her breath out slowly. ‘Ah, there we are. Nice to hear you finally say it.’
‘I’m sorry, Smoke.’
She shoots him a look then, filled with fire. ‘The time for sorry was years ago too, Shroud. But then, I’ve noticed that when it comes to coming clean you like to be … fashionably late. I’d work on that, if I were you.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
She nods sadly. ‘That sounds about right.’ Her shoulders drop, her voice softens. ‘Well,’ she waves a hand. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I learnt to hate you a little less directly, over time. Maybe you can learn to like me a little more honestly.’
She brushes a hand across her eyes. ‘For now, we need to be grown-ups about this. Besides,’ she smiles. ‘If I wanted to get my revenge, this would really be perfect.’
His eyes widen.
She laughs, a little sadly. ‘I wouldn’t. Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it.’
Shroudweaver remains silent.
Smokesister reads the lines of his face. ‘Don’t get maudlin now, Shroud. This is going to be tricky work. Let me see the state of you.’
He starts, and she gestures impatiently. ‘Top off. I need to see what damage has been done.’
He shrugs his robes off and shivers.
She gently runs her hands over his body, the collarbone, the stark ribs, the scars and burns that touch his stomach. ‘Could be worse,’ she says. ‘Some muscle mass still.’ She moves closer, presses her ear to his chest. Hears his heart flutter and race. Sighs, the heat of her breath running over his skin.
‘Not so good, Shroud. We knew this might happen. Especially if you left it so long without seeing me.’
Shroudweaver lifts her head away gently. ‘All bindings need a focus, Smoke.’
She looks back at him, a little flushed. ‘Didn’t they warn you about this in the Aestering?’
He begins to dress, his reply muffled. ‘They warned me about a lot of things. I didn’t always listen.’
‘That bad boy act’s not as cute as you think it is.’
He grins, shakes his head. ‘I just mean I had to improvise. I had no idea what the Emperor was doing until I finally met him.’
She raises an eyebrow.
‘I mean, I knew he was raising the dead. Modifying them. Infecting the living, maybe. But until I met him, I had no ideahowhe could do it on that scale.’ He pulls his sleeves down, shivers at the touch of the wool. ‘And I had no idea how to stop it. The binding needed a focus.’
