"Ash," Thea chides, but she's smiling.
"It is. The domination model is outdated and cruel and frankly lazy magic." He leans back in his chair, completely relaxed. "Bonds are supposed to be partnerships. Symbiotic relationships. Your grandmother's generation treated familiars like tools because that's what they were taught, but it doesn't have to be that way."
"So my bond is weakening because I'm not dominating him?"
"Maybe," Thea says thoughtfully. "Or maybe it's changing. Transforming into something else. The weakening we're seeing across the region, it's not uniform. Bonds like ours, based on partnership and mutual respect, they're weakening faster than the domination-style bonds."
"That doesn't sound good."
"Or it sounds like the magic is evolving," Ash suggests. "Rejecting the old ways. Trying to become something better."
I turn that over in my mind, watching the way he sits beside Thea, close but not possessive, attentive but not servile. Like they're simply two people who've chosen to be together.
"How did you do it?" I ask. "Build that kind of partnership?"
Thea smiles. "Time. Trust. And a willingness to be honest about what we both needed. Ash came to me when he was twenty-two, feeling the call to bond. I was already established as a healer, set in my ways. We had to figure out how to make space for each other."
"She tried to give me orders for the first week," Ash says drily. "I ignored most of them."
"You did not."
"I absolutely did. Remember when you told me to stay home while you went to treat old Marvin's gout?"
"You followed me anyway."
"Because Marvin lives two miles into the woods and you have a terrible sense of direction. You would have ended up in the next county." He grins at her, and she swats his shoulder affectionately.
I watch them bicker like siblings, and something in my chest eases. This. This is what a bond can be.
"The market is today," Thea says, checking the time. "Midwinter preparations are in full swing. You should go get a feel for the village, pick up supplies. The feast is only a week away."
The feast. Right. The thing I'm supposed to be hosting.
"I should probably figure out what I'm doing for that," I admit.
"Start withwassail," Ash suggests. "Traditional, expected, and hard to mess up if you have decent spices."
"I don't even know whatwassailis."
Thea laughs. "Then definitely go to the market. Old Greta sells the best spice blends, and she'll talk your ear offabout proper wassail technique. Fair warning though, she has opinions."
The village market is chaos in the best possible way.
The main square has been transformed into a winter wonderland of stalls and decorations. Evergreen garlands drape between posts, studded with red berries and pine cones. Someone has enchanted fairy lights to float above the crowd, casting a warm golden glow. The air smells of roasted chestnuts, mulled cider, and fresh pine.
It's crowded. Very crowded.
I feel Cadeon tense beside me the moment we enter the square.
"It's okay," I murmur. "Just shopping."
"Too many people." His voice is low, strained. "Too many variables. I can't watch them all."
"You don't have to watch them all. We're just here to buy spices."
But he's already scanning the crowd with that hypervigilant intensity I'm learning to recognize. Every person who passes too close gets assessed. Every loud laugh or sudden movement makes him shift position, placing himself between me and potential threats.
"Cadeon."
