Her eyes narrow. “Do not nothing me.”
“It is contained.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the answer I am offering.”
She rises from the chair with painful care, one hand braced against the arm as if her body has just remembered what we survived. Her hair has come loose from its pins, dark waves falling around her face and shoulders, and the sight nearlyundoes me. Not because she looks fragile. She does not. She looks like a woman who has crawled out of a grave and is considering whether to make the grave apologize.
“Rhazek,” she says, “you moved away from me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The flecks in my core stir at the hurt in her voice. They like it. I feel them brighten, greedy as carrion flies.
My hand curls into a fist. “Because Maltherion left remnants.”
Sable goes very still.
Corin says something profane behind the door.
I keep my eyes on Sable because looking away would be cowardice, and I have committed many sins, but I try not to repeat the undignified ones. “Not enough to control me. Not enough to breach the bond. But enough that I will not let them touch you.”
Her face changes, not all at once, but in layers. First concern. Then comprehension. Then anger, swift and hot enough to warm the room.
“So you decided to protect me by making the bond falter?”
“I stepped back before contamination could travel.”
“You stepped back without telling me.”
“I am telling you now.”
“No, you are informing me after the fact like I am some breakable little heirloom you shoved onto a high shelf.”
“Sable.”
“Don’t you Sable me in that tone.”
The bond shudders. It is subtle, but subtle means nothing when I can feel her inside my ribs. Her hurt strikes the merged current, and my fear meets it there. The two emotions do not braid. They collide. A low vibration passes through the chamber, rattling the glass vials on a nearby table. Candle flames leansideways though no wind enters. The hearth coughs sparks up the chimney.
Corin’s hand hits the door. “Whatever the hell you two are doing, stop doing it badly.”
Sable does not glance away. “Open the door, Corin.”
“I was maintaining boundaries.”
“Open it.”
The latch clicks. Corin slips inside with an iron rod already in his hand, which is either admirable preparedness or proof that he was absolutely pressed against the door listening. He takes in the room with one sweep of his eyes: me near the hearth, Sable near the chair, the air between us trembling with offended magic.
His mouth tightens. “Oh, that is unpleasant.”
“Be more specific,” Sable snaps.
“The bond is pulling in opposite directions.” Corin points the iron rod toward the space between us but does not cross it. “You are hurt, he is panicking, and whatever filth Maltherion left behind is enjoying the family quarrel.”
