I bare my fangs into the darkness.
They will fail.
The healers insiston moving her to a recovery chamber, cool stone, warded doors, incense that bites the back of my throat. I let them, but I follow so closely they stop trying to pretend I’m not there.
When the last one finishes sealing the bandage, they bow and retreat. The door shuts and then there is silence.
It is finally just us.
Amelia lies on the narrow bed, hair loose against the pillow, her face too pale under the lanternlight. Her eyes stay open longer than they should. Her magic keeps skittering beneath her skin, unstable, like it’s searching for the circle that was ripped away.
“What was that?” she rasps, voice rough. “The way you… the way the power?—”
I sit on the bed, close enough that the bond loosens its frantic grip. She exhales, almost involuntarily, like her body recognizes safety before her mind allows it.
“Later,” I say, quieter than I intend. “You need rest.”
Her gaze sharpens, still stubborn even like this. “Don’t dismiss me.”
“I’m not dismissing you.” I force my tone back into something colder, controlled. “I’m ordering you to recover.”
She lets out a weak, offended huff that might have been a laugh in another moment. “Bossy.”
I should move away. I don’t. Her lashes flutter. The bond pulses gently, urging proximity, urging stillness, urging…mine.
She tries again, softer this time. “It hurt. Not just the cut. It felt like… something ripped.”
“The ritual was interrupted,” I say. I watch her throat work as she swallows. “It shook the channel. Your magic hasn’t settled.”
Her eyes search mine. “Is that dangerous?”
“Yes,” I admit.
She goes very still, and the bond flares, fear spiking through her, sharp enough to sting my nerves. Before she can spiral, I place my hand over her wrist, careful, steady. Not a claim, but an anchor.
“Breathe,” I say. “With me.”
Her breath catches, then follows mine. Slowly. Again. Again. The wildness in her magic eases, not gone, but quieter.
Her eyes drift shut.
“Don’t leave,” she murmurs, so faint I almost pretend I didn’t hear it.
I don’t answer. I just stay. Minutes pass. Her breathing deepens. Sleep finally takes her, pulling her under with reluctant gentleness. But my body doesn’t relax.
It should. The threat is gone. The poison is treated. She is alive. And still, I can’t let go of the way she looked when the blade flashed, how close she came to falling, how the bond screamed like it would tear me apart if she did.
I tell myself this is the bond. Instinct. Biology. Magic. A tether reacting to danger.
But the truth sits heavier than any rune. I didn’t want to be away from her before.
Now, after this, after watching death reach for her…I don’t know if I can leave at all. And that isn’t the bond speaking. That’s me.
11
AMELIA
Iwake to the smell of crushed herbs and old stone. For a moment, I don’t remember where I am. My body feels heavy, as if gravity has doubled overnight. Heat coils beneath my skin, uneven and restless, and when I try to move, pain blooms sharp and bright along my side.
