Something in me moves at that, but it does not break the way it had before. It finds a quieter place, one that understands even if it does not entirely like it.
He removes his coat, then his shirt.
I take him in despite myself, and it surprises me even now, after everything, how much I notice it. The breadth of him, the lines of muscle, the markings tracing across his skin, the copper strand falling loose across his face.
He is still new to me in ways I have not fully accepted.
He removes the rest and climbs into the bed beside me, then lifts me easily and guides me between his legs, pulling me back against him. His mouth brushes my neck, then my ear, then my shoulder.
"We need to find a route," he murmurs against my skin. "Even if it takes all night."
His hand lifts my chin gently, turning me toward him. "I promised I would not leave you," he says quietly. "So I will not go to them myself."
The words move through the space between us.
"But we cannot return to Veynar without them."
I study his face. Then I lean forward and kiss him softly.
"I agree," I say.
CHAPTER 66
The Mark
The tea cools faster than either of us notices. We sit close, the maps spread between us, crumbs from the biscuits left where we had forgotten them as the hours pass without being counted. At first the discussion is uneven, pieces of thought interrupted by glances, by proximity, by the simple fact of being beside one another again after too much distance.
Then something shifts.
We fall into rhythm. I trace the line of the pass with my finger, following the ridge where the terrain narrows. "If they move here," I say, "they stay too exposed. Even if the tunnel holds, they will be seen before they reach it."
Colsar leans closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he studies the map. "Unless they do not move along the ridge at all," he says. "If they cut lower, here—" his hand moves over mine, guiding it downward, "they lose visibility but they gain cover."
"They also slow," I reply.
"Yes," he says. "But they live."
I sit back slightly. "I went to Urvinar this morning," I say. "With Kentan and Enovar."
He looks at me.
“The people there were loyal. The only unrest was directed at House Larafyn itself."
He did not look surprised. "Larafyn and Jessamy were the last of their line," he said. "The rest were executed over the years. Their house has always struggled with loyalty." He paused. "No one will question it. Shalvar will not be a problem."
He was quiet for a moment, then added, more carefully, "Lord Fyne, however, sits on Veynar's council. When word reaches him that his niece and his brother are dead, he may feel differently about us."
"When will word reach him?"
"Not soon." He glanced briefly toward the warded walls around us. "Communication between Shalvar and the outside world is limited while the wards hold." A pause. "We have time."
I kiss him, and he answers it immediately, both comforted not by the knowledge that our lie will hold, but that we are aligned in our desire to protect it. Right and wrong no longer matter. It is only what remains that does. Us.
His hands trace up my thigh and I wince as they touch the tender spot he marked earlier. His hand pauses. “I’m sorry it hurts,” he says quietly. “But not sorry I did it.”
"Was that just passion?" I say. "The bite." We had done similar before, but never a bite this deep. This had felt different.
He looks at me. "Nothing about us is ever just passion."
