Corin’s flame wavers.
He closes his hand, extinguishing it before the tremor can become obvious. The glamour settles, hiding the horns again, but none of us pretend we did not see them.
“Well,” he says, voice dry as old parchment, “that is new to the general audience.”
Sable steps toward him.
He does not retreat, though his entire body prepares for it. His shadow stretches behind him again, not wrong this time so much as alert. The gold in his eyes dims but does not disappear completely.
She reaches up and takes his face in both hands.
Corin goes very still.
“You idiot,” she whispers.
His smile breaks at the edges. “Runs in the family.”
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
“I would have been scared.”
“I know.”
“I still would have wanted to know.”
“I know that now.”
“No, you knew it then. You just did what everyone does around here and called secrecy mercy.”
He looks down, and for once he has no answer sharpened enough to defend himself. Sable’s thumbs rest along his cheekbones, the gesture almost maternal and entirely furious.
I force myself to speak. “Sable, the fault is not his alone.”
Her eyes cut to me. “Oh, don’t worry. I have enough anger for both of you.”
“Good.”
“Do not agree with me attractively. It is manipulative.”
Corin makes a strangled sound that might be grief trying to disguise itself as amusement. “I am changed beyond mortal limits, and she is still policing your tone. There is comfort in consistency.”
Sable lets go of his face but keeps one hand on his shoulder. “Do you feel like yourself?”
Corin considers the question with more honesty than he gives most things. “Yes. More than I expected. Less than I would prefer. There is a door in me that keeps opening, and I am not yet certain what lives on the other side, but when I speak, I am still the one choosing the words.”
“That was almost reassuring.”
“I am out of practice.”
She looks at his hand. “The flame?”
“Mine,” he says. “Or mine enough.”
“The shadow?”
“Annoying.”
