Page 227 of The Sun He Buried

The silver’s the one thing I’ve never taken off for anyone but blood.

She’s not blood, and she reached me anyway.

I bring both hands to my face and let her watch.

The first rune gives near my jaw. It tears out of the scar and the blood starts, warm down my chin. She doesn’t look away.

The second. The third. My hands aren’t steady—I’ve taken the silver off a thousand times, never to be seen.

The last one holds beside my eye until I make it let go.

The silver comes away in my hand.

So does the wall.

Pain tears through my chest.

Solveih gasps.

Her knees give, and I catch her before they strike the floor.

The reach has only ever ended inside her.

Now it opens back.

My own fear returns through her first. She receives it, and her grip on me tightens.

Then the rest gets through.

Want. Grief. Six hundred years of anger. I turned most of it on myself. The rest made everyone close enough bleed. Years of waking with her joy in my mouth and sleeping with her sorrow under my ribs. My brother’s blood on my hands though I never touched him at the dinner. Every night I knew she was safe with him and hated the relief because it belonged beside jealousy.

Solveih takes all of it.

Her tears fall. She stays.

The bond is now two-way.

Oh, hell.

“Eirik.”

“That’s what you chose.”

“You thought this would make me leave?”

“It was a reasonable hope.”

Her hand rises toward my face.

I catch it one inch from the open brand beside my mouth.

“Don’t.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?”