Her comb smoothed the last few strands into place. Not practical, not militant. A gesture meant only for comfort. Then, almost too soft to hear, “But you’re already there, aren’t you?”
Auryn swallowed. The braid slid over her shoulder like a comet’s tail.
“Let me braid it like mine,” Thessia said. “You’ve earned a warrior’s braid.”
Auryn nodded. “The Lioness’s braids are lovely, too.” She reached for the slender one that stood out. The one with the violet ribbon. "This matches your eyes. It's beautiful."
The tent flap rustled. Talia leaned in with a crooked smile. “Well, this looks cozy. Sorry to interrupt, but the scouts are back. Got a few things to report, Captain.”
Thessia didn’t pause. Her fingers kept weaving, precise and sure. “I’m listening.”
Talia shifted, then winked at Auryn. “Glad you’re on your feet again. All of us were worried. But none more than Thess here.”
Talia’s brown eyes were warm, full of adoration for her Captain. “You should’ve seen her during the battle,” she added, teasing. “Broke the line like a madwoman. Made straight for the tethering when that rift split. Serra nearly dropped her shield—and nothing surprises her.”
Auryn’s chest tightened. Her hands stilled in her lap.
Talia winked. “If she hadn’t, the whole camp would’ve drowned in shadows. But then again, that’s what we’re known for. The Riven Blades don’t break—wecleave.”
Auryn tilted her head. “Cleaving sorrow. I’ve heard several of the Blades say something like that before.”
Thessia’s hands stilled in Auryn’s hair, just for a moment. “An old saying,” she murmured. “From when the Blades were first formed, long before my time. A promise that if grief came for us, the Riven himself would stand in the way.”
Talia grinned. “Some still think he will.”
“Who is the Riven?” Auryn asked.
Thessia continued braiding. “Been so long since the legend was made, no one’s sure anymore. We say it as truth. The Riven cleaved through sorrow itself to save us. Or so the story goes.”
“Now I’m curious,” Auryn said.
“Captain’s just shy,” Talia smirked. “Maybe one day, she’ll tell you the story.”
Thessia said nothing. Only murmured, “Hold still. Almost done.”
Auryn’s hand crept back, brushing Thessia’s bent knee. “You saved my life,” she whispered. “I could not have held the rift without you.”
Thessia’s fingers froze mid-braid. She breathed once, long. “I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done. I just got to you first.”
Auryn turned, eyes flicking up. “You disobeyed the Resh’Agar’s orders.”
“I’d do it again,” Thessia said without hesitation. Her violet eyes were steady, sure. “He’s already thanked me. In his way.” She resumed braiding, slower now; every twist was deliberate, as though Auryn’s touch had unraveled something inside her. “You didn’t just hold the rift, little moonbeam,” she murmured. “You held the whole sky together.”
Silence wrapped around them again, deep and warm.
Talia glanced between them, lips quirking, before backing out with a sly smile. “I’ll leave you two to it. Scouts can wait.” The canvas rustled closed. Outside, sparring grunts resumed. Inside, stillness reigned.
Auryn’s fingers still rested on Thessia’s knee. She hadn’t pulled back. "Little moonbeam,” she said. “You’ve been calling me that.”
“You were unconscious ten days,” Thessia murmured. “We were all worried sick. Forgive me if I started talking like a lunatic. Naming you things. Making up stories about how you’d wake and tell me I was wrong.”
Auryn swallowed. Said nothing. Only tilted her head into Thessia’s touch. The braid was nearly finished—loose, soft, laced with oil and care.
“I kept expecting him to storm in,” Thessia said. “Shouting. Weeping. Anything.”
Auryn exhaled. “He doesn’t do those things.”
“No,” Thessia agreed. “But I would have. If it were me.”
