Resh sprang to his feet, toppling the chair behind him in his haste. Zarrek stood in the entrance, rain dripping from his armor, his sharp eyes darting from Auryn to Resh to the ribbon in his hair.
“Well then,” he drawled. “Looks like you’re feeling better.”
“I am,” Auryn answered, the serenity of her tone a stark contrast to the firestorm inside Resh’s chest.
He turned away, pretending to rearrange maps. His ears burned.
Zarrek stepped inside, boots squelching on damp canvas. “You gave some of us a scare,” he said, dropping something in her lap.
Auryn blinked. “Fish?”
“Tribute,” Zarrek said dryly. “From the men.”
“And flowers?” she added, brow furrowed.
“For stopping the river,” Zarrek replied. “Saving their lives.”
“I only helped the river remember.” She frowned.
“You did it on a whim?” Resh asked.
She glanced at him. “No. I didn’t want the water to wash away your memory. The soldiers. The horses. You. Kailorien.”
Resh tried not to react.Tried.
“You should eat,” Zarrek muttered. “You’ve been out nearly a full day.”
“This fish looks tasty,” she said. “I will have some.”
“I wouldn’t,” Zarrek warned. “The men can’t cook for sh—”
“Zarrek,” Resh cut in. “Watch your mouth. She’s learning everything you say.”
Zarrek snorted. “What are you, her father now?”
Auryn placed the fish beside the flowers. “Voids-damned,” she repeated, then smiled. “You say that a lot, Kailorien. What does it mean?”
Resh stared at her, helpless.
Then he laughed.
Laughed until his chest ached and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Even Zarrek cracked a smile.
For the first time in weeks, the air between the three of them was clear.
That night, Resh immersed himself in journals and continued preparations for potential dangers of the coming Cycle. He was penning a missive when the world thinned, the sounds of night in the Kelvasari camp blurring into a deep echoing voice calling his name. He drifted, and from the dark, red eyes watched.
He jerked up, startled, his fist clenching so hard he snapped the stylus in his hand clean in half. Ink spilled over his fingers onto maps, half-filled notes about rivers, and the safest way through the Emerald Moores.
I need to sleep. Soon.His jaw ached with weariness, eyes burning from too many nights awake.But not while she’s near.
Auryn hadn’t stirred since Zarrek left, still curled up on her side where he’d tucked her. Too pale. Still drawn thin from the river. Weeks ago, she had slipped into his bed claiming cold as her excuse, and she hadn’t left it since. He told himself he let her stay because it steadied her. Truth was, it anchored him.
He set the charcoal down and pinched the Polis lanterns to embers. The tent dimmed, shadows pooling along the canvas. Buckles fell open one by one; armor rested in its rack. He stripped to trousers and an old undershirt and eased down beside her. The mattress dipped. Warmth spilled between them. He lay still, listening.
In. Out.
