He licks his lips and then nods. We both know it’s addictive, which means he’s in a serious amount of pain if he’s willing to risk more.
This is the third day in a row he’s needed it, but as much as I hate him taking it, we need Kyor functional, not distracted by pain. His magic is the deadliest of all of ours, so we can’t afford to have him operating at less than full capacity.
I get the vial from his bag and offer him some. ‘Two drops,’ I say as I hand it to him. Yet as he tips it onto his tongue, it’s four – if not five – drops that land.
‘Kyor!’
‘It hurtsa lot,Thorn.’ The pain bleeds through in his voice despite his efforts to contain it.
Fuck. It must be really bad.
I put the vial away and then settle in to keep watch alongside him. Even five drops is far less than he took that time in the slums, but it’s still enough to slow him down, and the Rottings’ attack is too fresh in my mind to leave him alone.
I sit on his left, where his arm is free to move, and while the invitationis only subtly implied, he takes it. His uninjured arm slowly rises and settles around my shoulders before he draws me into him.
For a moment, that’s all it is. Weight. Warmth. The simple act of being held. But although I’m relaxing at his touch, his contrasting tension ripples through me. Not just pain, but restraint.
His muscles are taut, and his heart is thudding too fast.
‘You don’t have to be strong all the time,’ I say quietly. ‘Not with me.’
His breath hitches, barely noticeably, but I feel it where my temple rests against him.
‘I don’t know how not to be,’ he admits.
My heart aches, and I tilt my head just enough to look up at him. His face is drawn, eyes shadowed, jaw tight with everything he hasn’t said since the Myrkr fell.
‘You don’t have to carry it all alone,’ I whisper. ‘You don’t have to keep adding names to some invisible wall until it crushes you.’
His gaze drops to mine.
‘I killed one of my own men,’ he says hoarsely. He presses his eyes closed for a beat. ‘I hate it.’
‘And I killed a priest,’ I reply before letting out a sigh. ‘We did what we had to. That man wasn’t a soldier anymore. He was a Rotting, and you stopped him from killing us, the same way I stopped the Myrkr.’ The firmness in my tone is absolute, and I realise I’m saying the words as much for myself as for Kyor.
Silence stretches between us – heavy, but for once, not hostile.
‘I was so scared I’d lose you,’ he whispers. ‘When you went for it, I thought—’ He breaks off, jaw flexing. ‘I won’t survive losing you, Thorn.’
The raw honesty steals my breath, and I shift closer, sliding my hand over his chest, feeling the frantic, very human beat of his heart beneath my palm.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I want to be able to tell you everything. I don’t want there to be secrets between us.’
‘But secrets keep people safe, right?’ As I meet his gaze, I see his relief. He believes I’m talking about him, not me. But I’m not.
I want to give Kyor my all, but not enough to risk my brother’s life.
‘Do you know that mistletoe can’t grow in soil by itself?’ I say the thought as it appears in my mind.
‘Mistletoe?’ Kyor questions.
I nod. ‘It has to be attached to a tree to grow. It can’t get its nutrients otherwise. Can’t survive. Sometimes I think that you and I are like that. Like we need to be together. Like we can’t grow without each other there.’
He presses his lips together. ‘And which one am I?’ he questions. ‘Am I the mistletoe or the tree?’
‘I don’t know,’ I reply truthfully. ‘I don’t think it matters.’
I close my eyes, pressing my brow to his. ‘I don’t need you to be perfect, Kyor. I just need you to be human, to let yourself feel things, and I need you to see this world around us as it really is, not as you desperately want it to be. I also need you to seemeas I really am, and I need to know you won’t abandon me again. Not for your father. Not for anyone.’
