“They do. This place belonged to the Wulfbane family before the Crown’s Mineral Edicts consolidated Tremore’s limyerite sources. It remains under our name as long as the yield stays below the threshold requiring royal oversight. We also cannot export, only sell in local markets.”
“How much is the yield compared to those under Bertrand’s purview?”
“His caves produce about fifty times as much.”
She didn’t comment, but her eyes took in the worn but well-maintained rail grooves, the walls reinforced with care.
“How often do you harvest?”
“Once a year, after the last spring frost. Only the amount we need. I won’t see it stripped bare—it should be passed down as part of our legacy.”
As they crept further in, the silver-blue gave way to vibrant purple, glimmering along the rock wall, dappled with a webbed black sheen.
She stepped closer. “What’s that black growth?”
Alexander came to her side, lowering his lantern until its glow pooled across the stone. “That is Blackcap. A natural growth—a creeping mold that anchors itself into the mineral beds.”
“A type of fungus?” She crouched down. “It looks fibrous, like roots.”
“It is. On its own, it’s toxic enough to cause fever and sickness when ingested. But when it feeds on the limyerite, interesting things happen.”
She looked up at him, a frown tugging at her lips. “It transforms the crystal?”
“The limyerite binds with the fungus’s toxins, transforming into a new, denser compound. The effect can be unpredictable, as you know.”
Her brows drew together as she traced the striation with her gaze.
“The purple variant carries the properties of both,” Alexander continued. “When the deposits are chipped or cut too hastily, the dust becomes airborne. You breathe it in. First comes euphoria. Then disorientation. Hallucinations. Collapse.”
They stood close together as she inspected the growth. She wasn’t simply tolerating his explanation. She saw the stewardship he valued, the legacy he was trying to protect. The warmth of that recognition—she was seeinghim—caught him off guard.
Now, he was the one watching. The way her intelligent eyes traced the row of blackcaps with intent. The way her fingers touched the growth with caution.
“This reminds me of the first time we met,” she said softly. “After the bandits.”
He cleared his throat. “The plume moss.”
She nodded.
“You didn’t need me that night,” he said, “but I wanted to steady you anyway.”
She looked up, her eyes dark and solemn beneath the torch’s flickering silver. Her scent shifted—not overwhelming, not the raw call of Heat—but something smoky-sweet. He drew a breath and let it out through his nose. He had always assumed that if he ever found someone who matched him, the feeling would be instant, undeniable, like lightning.
But this wasn’t lightning. This was a quiet bloom of heat in his chest. Warmth he hadn’t known he’d been searching for until it was already there.
He looked at her again.
The impulse to touch was there, the same one that had lifted his hand the night before. But now, he knew its cost. He saw not just the curve of her cheek, but the subtle tension in her brow,the readiness to withdraw behind the linen mask protecting her from the air.
His want was not worth her fear, no matter how easy it would have been to hook a finger beneath the edge of that mask, draw it down, and kiss her—not with lust, but with something steadier. The kind of kiss that said, even through the dust and dread:I see you. I know you. I want to know who you’ll be when given the chance to bloom.
He reached forward and guided her hand toward the cluster of Blackcap, just as he had with the moss.
“If you want a sample, track the seam carefully. It fractures easily near the base.”
She bent her head and collected a piece with deft hands, storing it inside a pouch she then tucked inside her cloak’s pocket. When she stood, he offered his hand. She took it. Strong and steady beneath the layers of leather, her fingers curled around his before letting go.
They moved toward the entrance, and the cave breathed them out into dusk.
