The weight of that gesture—and perhaps the profound respect it represented—settled on Raziel’s shoulders like a mantle. Whatever else Kalo Lohti might be, he was a man who understood the gravity of what they were undertaking.
And a man who was not a sore loser. He could appreciate that.
Nadi lifted the dagger next. When she began to speak, her voice took on a cadence that was clearly ceremonial, words flowing from her in the strange syllables of the fae tongue. “Te’eilim, ish wu’iel. Drustish, ish wu’iel. Lisht’na, ish wu’iel. Nalo ish wu’tiva tul siva, maru na talighi.”
The words washed over Raziel like music, odd and incomprehensible. But he could fool himself into thinking there was power in them, much like his own commands—he could imagine the way the air itself seemed to thicken, in how the bioluminescent vines pulsed brighter in response to her voice.
She drew the blade across her palm without hesitation, letting her blood fall into the goblet. The crimson drops struck the wood with soft sounds that seemed to echo far longer than they should have.
His mouth watered.
She let the liquid flow until it filled half the goblet. Reaching into her bag, she wrapped a white linen bandage around her palm, before holding the dagger out to him. Her black, opalescent eyes were solemn. “Repeat the words.” She smiled faintly. “As best you can. The meaning matters more than getting it perfect.”
Smirking back at her, Raziel took the blade, feeling its surprising warmth against his skin. The fae tongue was fluid and complex. And there was only one other language in Runne.
“Te’eilim, ish wu’iel. Drustish, ish wu’iel…”He paused.
“Lisht’na,”she helped.
Yes. Right. “Lisht’na, ish wu’iel. Nalo ish wu’tiva tul siva, maru na talighi.”His pronunciation was clumsy but something in Nadi’s expression told him he’d captured the essence of what was needed.
She nodded encouragingly as he drew the blade across his own palm, letting his blood join hers in the wooden goblet. He let it fill before he accepted the bandage she offered him. Both their wounds would heal quickly.
“What does it mean?” he asked as he watched their blood swirl together, creating patterns that seemed almost deliberate in their complexity. His blood was much darker than hers.
“Mm…roughly? ‘Ancestors, we call you. Lords of the deep, we call you. Beloved dead, we call you. Bless us as we join our souls as one.’” She lifted the goblet with both hands, her movements reverent. “It’s an old binding. Old and powerful. Once we drink, we’re connected in ways that go deeper than any human marriage contract.”
“Connected how?”
“Soul to soul. Life to life.” She met his gaze over the rim of the goblet. “If you’re in pain, I’ll feel it. We become part of each other in the most literal sense. One cannot die, unless both of us die together.”
“Superstition.” He rolled his eyes. “Magic like that isn’t real.”
“Of course not. But it’s what we believe. That if we were to hold this bond true in our hearts forever, and never want to leave the other’s side…the magic would stay strong.”
“Convenient. That means when one dies and the other doesn’t, you can simply explain it away as only one being ‘ready to die’ and the other not.” He couldn’t help the cynicism. It ran too deep in him.
It was, therefore, a surprise to see her smiling. “Exactly. But, it’s…a tradition. And sometimes, it’s nice to keep traditions alive. Otherwise, what would we be as a people? Besides. It’s about what this represents, in the end. And that’s what I want.”
“And youdowant this?” he asked. “Truly?”
“I do. Once and for all, I do.” She lifted the goblet to her lips and drank half its contents without hesitation. Then she passed it to him, her fingers brushing his as he took it.
The blood was warm, tasting of copper and something indefinablyher. As he drained the remaining contents, he could not help but purr for a moment, loving the taste on his lips. He would never tire of her flavor.
“Is it done?” he asked, setting the empty goblet aside.
“Almost.” Nadi leaned closer, so close he could see the gold flecks in her dark eyes. “There’s one more part.”
“Which is?” He suspected he knew.
Instead of answering, she reached up and pulled his head down to hers, claiming his mouth in a kiss that was somehow different from all the others they’d shared. It was…more complete. As if she were pouring her very essence into him through the contact.
And he could swear he felt something respond inside him—a warmth that spread outward from his chest, reaching into every corner of his being. When they finally broke apart, hefelt…whole. As if some missing piece of himself had finally clicked into place.
“Now it’s done,” she whispered against his lips.
“That simple?”
