Release detonates—nerve fireworks over muscle and stone alike. I cry out, nails digging shoulder. He follows, breath stuttering against my neck. For a breathless span, we hang suspended in ecstasy that tastes of salt and starlight and home.
Gradually world returns. He eases grip, peppering soft kisses along collar ridge. Water sloshes gentle lullaby. My heart slows but stays buoyant, weightless. He withdraws carefully, rests forehead to mine.
Silence speaks volumes until I find words. “Curse quiet,” I murmur.
His answering smile shines. “Mine too.”
I laugh, unexpected joy spilling over. He lifts me, carrying into shallower basin where we recline, backs against slanted moonstone bench carved by waterflow. Stars wheel overhead, double moons casting twin reflections across ripples. I rest ear to his chest, listening to steady drum. He strokes hair, fingers slipping through damp locks.
After time stretches honey-slow, he breaks hush. “Think the Council can manage an undramatic fortnight while we—recuperate?”
I chuckle into his skin. “With Remi in charge? Perhaps.” I tilt head. “But they must. Guardians need leisure data too.”
“Scientific integrity,” he agrees.
I shift, settling crystal collar against his sternum. The plate catches subtle glow from within, no longer hostile spark but low hearth fire. “Feels like dawn lives here now.”
He presses kiss to knuckles. “Then my job is to keep wood stacked.”
We grin at shared metaphor gone lazy. In distance a night jar sings, its call echoing faintly. Warm breeze passes, smelling of desert spice from Zale’s coast mingled with pine into unique bouquet. The lattice weaving scents again.
I swirl finger in water, sketching rune for serenity. It floats luminous then disperses. “In morning, we send message to oracles: tests show crystal can coexist. Fear will fade.”
“And we’ll reopen those border markets Rowan keeps begging for,” he adds, voice already sliding toward drowsy.
“After second nap,” I bargain.
“Third, if I petition hard enough.” He nuzzles temple.
Contentment unspools through limbs. I let eyelids fall, trusting body to buoyancy. Vision slides forward but not as attack—simply a gentle glimpse: pups of mixed realms chasing each other across meadow stitched by lattice, elder dragons sleeping coiled around mountains, wolves flying with eagle wings. A future ornamented with laughter rather than prediction. I store it, no rush to speak.
I open eyes, find Kylan’s heavy-lidded gaze on me. “Share later,” I promise.
“Whenever.” He yawns, water lapping chin. “Right now, only fact I must memorise is your smile.”
I pinch his flank under water; he yelps softly, feigned outrage. We dissolve into quiet giggles that bounce off cliffs, startling a flock of night moths. Their wings catch starshine, scattering glitter.
Eventually steam cools, and we climb out onto warm moonstone. He fetches satchel, offers me a plump ember-peach. I bite—the fruit bursts sweet with hint of smoke. Juice dribbles; he licks stray drop from crystal collarbone. Desire sparks again but weariness tugs heavier. We wrap cloaks around naked forms, settle onto fur blanket under pergola of hanging starvines.
He sprawls on back; I curl half atop. Fingers trace idle circles around healed bite scar at my pulse. “How will songs tell this?” I wonder aloud.
“Whichever ones we teach,” he replies. “Starting tomorrow.” He lifts pendant—Yarrow’s dust encased in glass, now charm of peace—lets it sway. “The little hunter will like headline roles.”
Night deepens, moons sliding toward horizon. I close eyes. Lattice hum mingles with Kylan’s soft snores and distant waterfall hush. My last waking thought: doom’s shadow finallylost the race to dawn, and every breath hereafter will taste of reclaimed light.
I sleep smiling—first true smile absent shredding fear—and dream only of warm water, otter laughter, and a boundless sky stitched in love’s steady hand.
30
KYLAN
Sunrise stains the ridgeline apricot while I pace the skeleton of our sanctuary, boots crunching chalky dust between slabs of moonstone. Twenty paces ahead, a half-circle of arch beams rises from three different substrates at once—basalt from Feramundi, silver pine from the northern slope, and fused glass shipped from Umbramere’s shoreline. Where they meet, faint threads of the lattice shimmer, stabilising joints with invisible nails. I breathe deep; the morning carries brine from distant dunes, pine resin from fresh-cut trunks, and sulfur’s last lingering note still wafting up from the mountain’s cooling heart. Three fragrances that used to wage war now mingle like siblings squabbling over breakfast.
Holt calls measurements from a makeshift scaffold. Rowan scampers across beams, anchoring sigil bolts; his new eagle wings flicker whenever balance wavers, a perk of the realm weave. A pair of fae masons from the citadel ride floating platforms of runic stone, chiselling scrollwork that depicts wolves chasing dragons among vines. Everyone moves with dawn-fed purpose, and though I direct them, I don’t feel theold strain. The lattice hums underfoot, lending each command a calm resonance.
I pause at the central clearing where our bridge-gate will open. Yesterday it was raw ground; today a shallow bowl of polished moonstone gleams, carved overnight by sand-shapers Zale sent north on a bet he could beat Everest’s earth-callers. Rune-grooves spiral from the center, ready for final keystone. My heart knocks the inside of ribs: soon this spot will let merchants wander from frost ridge to storm coast in a breath—no soul-bleeds, no monster bleed-throughs. Horizon, not border.
A courier wolf trots up carrying a leather tube. Frost lingers on her whiskers. “Morning dispatch,” she huffs, tail wagging as she offers the tube.
