Page 151 of Embers of Ruin

“You haven't lost me, Thorin. But you should have asked me, when you first brought me here. You should have just asked. I didn't ask for any of this either—and I would have given the light freely if I knew the truth.”

The words come out quietly and Thorin goes still. Utterly still.

“You should have asked,” I say again, and this time my voice shakes. “Not trained me into exhaustion. Not dragged memories from my mind. Not kissed me and reached into me like you had a right. You should have trusted me enough to ask.”

Understanding hits him like a physical blow. I see it happen. See the color drain from his face. See his breath catch. See the exact moment he realizes that the thing his entire bloodline spent centuries searching for had stood in front of him, and might have chosen him, if only he had given her the chance.

“I would have done it. I swear it. If you hadn't kidnapped me,” I whisper, trying to soften the words.

His expression collapses.

“Lyra—”

“I would have.” The confession tears free, raw and humiliating and true. “Not because of your prophecy. Not because of your kingdom.” I press the ember to my chest as if it can keep me from falling apart. “I would have done it because I am yours.”

The world doesn’t move. But Thorin breaks.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Something in his eyes simply gives way, and suddenly the man before me looks less like a king and more like someone who has survived the seven realms of hell only to be destroyed by one sentence.

“I will fix this.”

For a moment I'm confused, because I don’t understand. The goddess simply stands there, watching, as if this were only the shape her intervention was always going to take. The dark veins beneath his skin are moving, pulsing in time with something I cannot hear. For the first time, I understand that the curse is not simply inside him. It is woven through him. Not armor. Not a weapon. Not even sickness.

A second heart. If he tears it out⁠—

My breath catches. “No. No, Thorin!” The words leave me in a jumble of pleading.

Thorin looks up and there’s peace in his face. Not happiness, but something like clarity. And it terrifies me more than his shadows ever did.

“I love you, Lyra Tarethyn. You would have made a wonderful queen.”

“No,” I say again, because I know that look. I’m in his thoughts now—he lets me in, no shield in place to keep me out. I see that he thinks death is easier than living with what he’s done. I know he’ll mistake sacrifice for absolution, because sacrifice at least gives pain a purpose.

But I can’t lose him. I won’t.

His mouth curves faintly. Sad. Tender. The kind of smile reserved for goodbyes.

“You asked me once what I wanted,” he says.

My throat closes.

“I lied.”

“Thorin.”

“I want you,” he says, and the words are so simple they ruin me. “Not your magic. Not your light. Not what you can do for my kingdom. You. I want your fury and your sharp tongue and the way you look at me as if you are one insult away from murder even when you are frightened. I want every piece of you. I want a future I do not deserve.”

His eyes glisten.

“But wanting you was never the same as having the right to keep you.”

Onyx goes rigid. He knows. Gods. He knows too.

“Thorin, no. Brother—NO!”

I don’t know where he came from, but I can’t focus on him now.

Thorin turns his hand palm-up. Shadows coil over his fingers, darker than night, but beneath them something burns. Not gold. Not like mine. A small black ember pulses beneath his skin, half-buried in the curse, the remnant of the First King's theft carried through blood and bone and centuries of kings who never learned how to let go.