Page 180 of The Immortal’s Mark

“No.”

“Because of something he couldn’t read. Something in the blessing he avoided.”

I turn my head to look at him. His profile against the dim light. Strong jaw. Worried eyes. The face I’ve started seeing when I close my eyes.

“He looked at me,” I say slowly. “In the void. He looked at something—like he was seeing through me—”

I shake my head.

“And he couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t make himself say it.”

Ren is quiet for a moment. Processing.

“So the blessing protects against something specific,” he says. “Something he would have known about if he’d read the full text. Something painful enough that he avoided it.”

“Something that protected me.”

We sit with that. The mystery. The impossible gift of my survival.

I should be figuring it out. I should be analyzing the blessing, searching my memories for anything my mother might have told me, anything my grandmother might have mentioned before she died. I should be doing what I always do—planning, preparing, making sure I have escape routes and backup plans for each one.

Instead I’m sitting in an ancient tomb with an emperor’s hand in mine, and all I can think about is how warm he is. How solid. How he just watched me die. What he through was for real.

“Ren—”

I just look at him—this man who holds an empire on his shoulders, who was chosen by a dragon at twelve years old and has spent two decades being exactly what his people needed—and I see the cracks. The places where the stone has worn thin. The flesh underneath.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t be.”

“I made you—”

“You made me feel.” His free hand comes up, cups my jaw. Gentle. Deliberate. “I have spent twenty-two years not feeling. You made me feel, and I would not trade that for anything. Even the grief. Even the fear. Even the—”

He stops himself. But I know what he was going to say.

Even the love.

“You’re an idiot,” I tell him. “You know that, right? Falling for an assassin who tried to kill you. Who’s being hunted by an ancient monster who wants to use her blood to resurrect his dead wife.”

“In my defence,” he says. “I was not made aware of the ancient monster tying to kill you. Or his dead wife.”

I laugh. Or snort, or sob or snot—I’m not too sure. When I write it down later I will definitely make it sound more elegant than what it was though.

“If you had known. Would it have changed anything?”

“Perhaps only how many guards were posted to your chambers.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, you know. Any of it. I was supposed to kill you and collect my payment and move on to the next job. I wasn’t supposed to—”

I stop.

“Wasn’t supposed to what?”

Stay. Care. Fall. Love.

“Get attached,” I say instead. Coward’s word. Safer word. “I’ve spent a long time not getting attached. It’s the only way to survive when everyone you care about dies and you don’t.”