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“Of course, I will help her,” Folkoln growled before his onyx eyes shifted to mine. “Let’s go.”
“Now?” I sputtered.
“Now,” he confirmed as he appeared in front of me. Without a word of warning, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his mountainous frame, then shadow walked us to Belamour.
Sage
Of all the places I expected to see again, the bathhouse was not one of them. Yet here I was, standing in the back alley, peering at the same back door I had walked through dozens of times before.
Moments ago, I had been in the Cursed Lands, watching Lyra draw the Blade of Moram. Now, thanks to Folkoln’s shadow walking abilities, we were here in Belamour—the ten-day ride via horseback reduced to seconds.
Folkoln stood beside me, his muscular, tattooed arms threaded loosely over his chest. His eyelashes dipped and his gaze slid towards me. “Are you ready to go in?”
“Just one minute,” I said, my eyes going back to the door.
My hesitancy wasn’t because I feared Saphira—no, she might have a serpent’s tongue and a viper’s strike, but it wasn’t that. It was much deeper.
Once I went into the bathhouse and faced the Goddess of War, if I was successful and got the Blade of Moram back, that meant Von would be free of his deal. And whether I was ready for him or not, he would come like a hurricane, back into my life, and he would suck me up into his storm.
. . . What if he hurt me again?
Because learning the truth of our twisted past, of what he had done to me—learning that had shattered me. And I wasjustbarely picking up the pieces.
“As much as I’m enjoying the little feast your mixed emotions are serving, I’m growing tired of waiting,” Folkoln said testily.
I turned, my gaze meeting his all-too-familiar eyes. “Is he worth it?”
Folkoln quirked one brow in question. “He’s your bonded, you dumbass. Of course he’s worth it.”
Bonded.
And there it was again. That word that Von had used over and over again.
Safe and secure. Steady and strong. The exact opposite of what I felt for Von right now.
“What does it mean?”
The one raised brow dropped, knitting with its dark twin. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious,” I snipped back.
“Do you know how our souls are made?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Our souls are forged from the stars.” Small bits of smoke seeped from his upraised palm, and like a sweep of paint upon a blank canvas, they began to paint a black, starry sky. To mycomplete surprise, the stars, which were made of smoke—they twinkled. A hand, also made of smoke, reached across, plucking one of the stars—the brightest of them all. “On the day of our creation, the Creator looks for the brightest star. They take it and place it on their mighty anvil.” The hand did just as he said, placing the star on the flattened top of a smoke-crafted anvil. “Then they take their hammer and strike the star—only once—splitting it in two.” As he said that, the hammer raised and then swung back down, cracking the star right down the middle. The two halves fell to the side, and like a coal that had cooled, the star’s brilliant light burned out. Folkoln rolled his wrist and the smoke disappeared. “The Creator then takes those two halves and places them beneath our flesh, giving us life. But pairs are not always born in the same era, meaning some never find one another. That is why most mortals don’t believe in the bond, nor do they really know much about it—they simply don’t live long enough to experience it. But when it comes to us immortals, due to our long expanse of life, we are well aware that the bond exists.” Although it was small, I caught the tiniest crack of emotion in his perfect, ethereal mask—telling me that Folkoln had yet to find his. “When two halves of the same soul forge together, the star inside will shine again, its light so bright that it will permanently weld them back together—forging the bond. After that, the covenant made between them can not be broken.”
Despite it being a lot of information, it did not feel overwhelming. If anything, it felt like an old memory being dusted off, but the picture itself was faded and hard to make out.
Folkoln continued, “Once the bond welds them back together, the couple is referred to as bonded or fated mates. They are territorial over one another. Protective and committed. To the point that they are willing to give their life for one another.”
Just as Von had done for me, a small voice whispered inside.
And yet, he took away your ability to create, and made you live for decades in pure misery!shouted another.
I ignored them both. “How do two halves forge together?”
Folkoln smirked. “Well, sex of course.”
