“I’d say we’re already past proposals.” She leans up, brushes her mouth against mine. “I chose you in a bone hollow while an army tried to kill us. I chose you when a god tried to tear you apart. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words settle into my chest like warmth after cold. Like belonging after exile.
“Then let’s go kill a god.”
The Heartgrove looks different now.
When we step through the final ring of trees, the altar waits in twilight shadows—but the mass that grew from it has changed. Swelled. The Thorn King has been feeding on the battle’s violence, drinking in the blood that soaked into the soil.
The faces have multiplied. And the crown of thorns burns with dark fire.
Xela’s hand tightens in mine. I feel her pulse spike—fear and determination tangled into something powerful. The forest carries her heartbeat to me now, echoing it through root and vine.
“It’s bigger,” she murmurs.
“The battle fed it. All that death, all that rage...” I study the entity that has been my enemy and my burden for longer than most humans live. “The Severance Engine’s failure didn’t weaken it. Just delayed the inevitable.”
You think you’ve won.
The King’s voice slides through my mind—not words, but feelings. Hunger and contempt and ancient, patient malice. The same voice that has whispered to me every day since the binding began.
You’ve only delayed what I am owed.
“It’s talking to you.” Xela’s voice is tight. “I can feel it. Like pressure at the edges of my awareness.”
“Good. That means the bond is holding.” I squeeze her hand once, then release it. “Stay back. Let me?—”
The woman is mortal. The King’s attention shifts, focuses on Xela with cold calculation. She will die, warden. In decades, or in years, or in this battle. I have waited eight centuries. I can wait a little longer. And when she is gone, you will be alone again—and I will be here.
“It wants you to react.” Xela’s hand finds my arm, grounds me. “Don’t give it what it wants.”
I breathe. Count the thundering beats of my heart. The King is baiting me—testing the bond, looking for cracks it can exploit. It’s been doing this for longer than I can remember. The tactics haven’t changed.
But I have.
“You tried to take me.” My voice is steady. Calm in a way I don’t entirely feel. “During the battle with the Consortium. You tried to use what’s between Xela and me—to possess me while she distracted me with her pain.”
Yesssss. The word is a hiss of satisfaction. And I would have succeeded. If the weapon hadn’t interfered. If your little human hadn’t proven more... resilient than expected.
“You underestimated her.”
I underestimate nothing. The King’s presence swells, pressing against my mental barriers. The woman is a variable. A complication. But complications can be removed.
Thorns erupt from the ground—not aimed at me, but at Xela.
I don’t think. Just move. My hand catches the first thorn before it can pierce her throat, snapping it with strength I shouldn’t possess. More follow, a barrage of barbed projectiles, and I put myself between them and her, letting the thorns that I can’t stop sink into my flesh instead.
Pain. Sharp and immediate. But bearable.
“Tharos—”
“Stay behind me.” I pull a thorn from my shoulder; the wound seals slowly. “The King’s power is in them—the same venomous influence that makes Briargrave’s vegetation deadly. But I’m bound to that power too. It hurts, but it can’t consume me.”
Touching. The King’s voice drips with mockery. You would die to protect her. Just as your predecessors died to protect their weaknesses. How long do you think she’ll last, warden?A month? A year? Eventually, you’ll fail. Eventually, she’ll join the faces in my bark.
“Then I’ll cut you down before that happens.”
The King laughs. The sound shakes the Heartgrove, makes the faces in its bark twist and writhe.
