And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel something that might be peace.
Eventually, minutes or hours later, I cannot tell, she stirs. "I really should make tea now."
"You should rest. The feeding weakens..."
"I'm fine." She pulls back to look at me, and her eyes are bright. "Better than fine, actually."
"The bond, though?”"
"The bond is singing," she interrupts softly. "Can you feel it? It's different now. Stronger."
She is right. The gossamer thread that connected us has thickened, solidified. I can feel her more clearly now. Not just surface emotions but deeper currents. Her determination. Her hope. Her growing affection for me.
It should frighten me. This deepening connection, this loss of control.
It does not.
"Tea," she says again, climbing reluctantly from my lap. "And then we need to plan this Midwinter Feast. Together."
"Together," I echo, and the word feels like a promise.
Then she is gone, leaving me alone by the fire with the taste of her still on my lips and the memory of her body warm against mine.
I sit there for a long moment, staring at my hands. The same hands that have dealt death for centuries, that have been nothing but weapons.
The same hands that just held her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
I can still taste her, both her blood and her kiss, mingled together into something that feels like hope. Can still feel the warmth of her magic spreading through me like sunlight. Can still feel the ghost of her lips on mine, the weight of her trust.
I have served House Ashwood for two hundred and thirteen years.
But I have never felt this alive in my service.
And for the first time in those two centuries, I let myself hope that maybe I could learn to be something more than a weapon.
I could learn to be hers.
Iris
Thea's cottageis nothing like Grandmother's.
It's smaller, genuinely cottage-sized, not "estate pretending to be humble,” and it smells like herbs and wet dog and something baking that makes my mouth water. The windows are fogged with warmth, and through them I can see herb bundles hanging from the rafters and what looks like an entire wall dedicated to drying medicinal plants.
This is what a hedge witch's home should look like.
Thea answers the door with flour on her cheek and a grin. "Iris! Perfect timing. I just put bread in the oven, so we have about an hour before I have to do anything responsible."
Behind me, Cadeon freezes. Alert.
A man appears in the doorway behind Thea, ”tall, broad-shouldered, with silver threading through dark hair and eyes that reflect the light strangely. Wolf eyes.
"Ash," Thea says, gesturing him forward. "This is Iris Ashwood. And her..." She pauses, glancing at me uncertainly.
"Partner," I supply, because I've been practicing the word. "Cadeon."
Ash steps forward with an easy smile, offering his hand. "Good to meet you. Thea's been looking forward to comparing notes."
Cadeon doesn't move. Doesn't acknowledge the offered hand. Just stands there radiating cold menace like a particularly unfriendly glacier.
