She's down there. In my bed. Probably asleep by now. Probably dreaming. I wonder what she dreams about. I wonder if she dreams about me.
I wonder if I could train her to.
"I want to go back." My voice drops. Scrapes. "Right now. I want to walk into that room and put my hands on her and—"
My fingers curl around the blade's handle. The bone is cold. Familiar.
"What?"
…
"Say it again. Louder."
…
"That's what I thought."
I pull the blade across my lap. The weight settles against my thighs. I trace the edge with my thumb—careful, slow. The bone that was her spine. The weapon that is her.
"When she's in the room my head goes—"
My throat closes.
Quiet. The word I can't say.
"Centuries." It scrapes out. "That's how long it's been since anything was quiet."
My thumb traces the edge of the blade. Back and forth, blood welling up and dripping down to the city below.
"What?"
I go still.
"No. It's not—that's not what this is."
…
"Because she's mortal, Elyr. Soulbonds don't work that way. They never have. Mortals can't form marks—their souls aren't built to hold the connection."
…
"What do you mean, what if? There is no what if. It's not possible."
…
"Fine. You want me to say it out loud? If—IF—it were a soulbond, and it's not, but if it were—" My hand tightens on the blade. "She'd get my lifespan. Centuries. Millennia. However long I last, she'd last too. Her body would just... keep going."
…
"I know what that means."
…
"Yes, I know what the Houses would do. I know they'd come for her. I know Faith would call it an abomination. I know Coin would try to use her as leverage. I know War would put a price on her head just to destabilize me." My voice drops. Scrapes. "I know every single way this could get her killed."
…
"That's why it doesn't matter. Because it's not. Soulbonds are for gods. For Titans. Not—" I stop. Swallow. "There's never been a mortal. Not once. Not in all the centuries since the Rebellion. It doesn't happen."
