“No,” he replies. “I want it to stand beside Velcryn.”
The bond hums low, almost approving. I study him.
“You could have lied,” I say.
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
I swallow.
“Fine,” I say finally. “We share.”
His gaze sharpens. “You agree?”
“I agree,” I say. “On one condition.”
His brow lifts slightly.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You’re recovering. Your magic is volatile.”
“Exactly,” I snap. “You think I’m going to stay here alone while the bond tears itself apart over distance? While my power decides to misfire every time you step too far away?”
He goes still.
“You felt it,” I press. “You know what separation does to us right now.”
His silence is answer enough.
“I’m not staying behind,” I say more quietly. “Not when I don’t trust what my magic will do. Not when I don’t trust myself yet.”
His gaze searches my face. I dont know what he sees there but he agrees.
“Very well,” he says.
Relief rushes through the bond before either of us can mask it.
“You will remain at my side,” he adds. “Velcryn is not Nytheria.”
“I gathered.”
“And you do not antagonize the Matrons.”
I lift a brow. “Define antagonize.”
His mouth twitches despite himself.
“Amelia.”
“I’ll try,” I concede.
