Corin lifts one finger. “An inspiring sentiment, provided we define ‘them’ and do not accidentally include innocent furniture.”
Sable finally glances at him. “Are you all right?”
He looks offended. “I saved your throat from a sentient splinter of Maltherion’s rancid personality and you ask as though I tripped over a carpet.”
“That means yes?”
“It means my shoulder may never forgive either of you, but my heroic mystique remains intact.”
I look at the iron rod in his hand. Black residue clings to the metal in thin veins. “Do not touch that with bare skin.”
Corin freezes, his fingers already halfway toward the stain. “I was not going to.”
Sable arches a brow.
“I considered it academically,” he amends.
I extend one hand and burn the residue from the iron until the rod glows dull red. Corin hisses and drops it again.
“Warn a man before you heat his equipment.”
“I assumed your academic consideration had concluded.”
Sable makes a sound that is almost a laugh and almost a sob. It pulls my attention back to her instantly. I frame her face withboth hands, and this time, when I lean in, I do not do it as a conqueror or a beast or a damned king pretending not to need mercy. I do it as a man asking without words.
She rises on her toes and kisses me first.
The bond steadies.
Not softly. Not prettily. It locks into place with a deep internal resonance that makes the floorboards hum. The last unstable threads draw taut and begin to weave themselves properly, not under my command and not under hers, but in response to the fact that neither of us is retreating. Heat rolls through me, clean and vast. For the first time since Maltherion’s intrusion, my core feels like mine again.
No.
Ours, a treacherous part of me whispers.
I do not correct it.
Sable pulls back just enough to speak against my mouth. “No more noble stupidity.”
“I cannot promise no stupidity. I have a long and decorated history.”
“Rhazek.”
“No more noble distancing,” I say. “No more deciding pain is safer when carried alone.”
“Good.”
Corin clears his throat. “Lovely. Moving. Genuinely horrifying to stand this close to. Now, before anyone resumes merging anything, perhaps we address the remaining demon confetti inside your core.”
Sable turns in my arms but does not leave them. “How many flecks?”
I close my eyes and look inward once more. The corruption has drawn back into the deepest fissures, but it no longer appears confident. The flecks tremble when the bond’s golden heat nears them.
“Fewer than before,” I say. “Enough to be annoying. Not enough to dictate terms.”
Corin nods grimly. “Maltherion always did hate losing with grace.”
“He is dead,” Sable says.
