Jarek exhales, shoulders sagging—but the tension in his face says he’s not done with me. Rian nods once, then guides him away before he can bite my head off again.
AMARA
The tavern is packed that evening—shoulder to shoulder withsoldiers and villagers, the air thick with heat, smoke, and too many voices trying to be louder than the others.
Tankards clash. Someone yells. Laughter cuts through a half-formed brawl in the corner. The scent of roasted meat and stale ale clings to everything.
Sconces flicker along the stone walls, casting uneven gold across the floorboards and the scuffed edges of the table where my friends and I are currently sitting, elbows deep in our third—or maybe fourth—round.
Darius is arguing with Taila about something he’ll forget by morning. Nessa and Fenric are already deep into a drinking game; neither of them will win.
I’ve stopped keeping track. Of the drinks. Of the noise. Of the reasons I shouldn’t be here.
Because tonight, I’m not the Spiritborn. Tonight, I’m just Amara. A girl with a drink in her hand and her friends surrounding her, trying to outrun the sound of everything she’s afraid to admit.
And gods, I needed this.
Lyra raises her tankard, grinning wide. “This was the best idea I’ve had in weeks!”
I snort, swirling the amber liquid in my cup. “I don’t even remember agreeing to this.”
She clinks her drink against mine. “That’s because you didn’t. I dragged you here.”
I arch a brow. “So this was a kidnapping?”
Fenric nearly spits out his beer. Darius stares at him, wide-eyed, with concern.
Lyra takes a long, satisfied sip, then slams her tankard down on the table. “A rescue.”
Taila and Nessa lift their glasses without missing a beat. “To the rescue!”
We all clink together. The sound is uneven, loud, too much—exactly what I needed.
I laugh. A real laugh.
Loud, unfiltered. The kind that cracks something open. I don’t care if it’s the drinks. Or the exhaustion. Or the fact that for the first time in weeks, I feel like someoneotherthan the Spiritborn.
I smirk, angling my head toward Lyra. “And what exactly were you rescuing me from?”
Lyra leans back against the chair, eyeing me with that too-knowing stare. “Oh, I don’t know. The weight of the entire fucking realm on your shoulders? The fact that you’ve been training like a woman possessed?”
She pauses—smirking. Her glittering eyes go sharp. And then she lands it.
“Or maybe . . . because you miss him. Bond or no bond.”
I still.
She says it casually. Quiet. But it splits me open.
The tavern doesn’t go quiet. I just stop hearing it. I force a smirk. Tip my drink back like I didn’t just flinch.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Lyra clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Oh, sweet, delusional Mara. You are so full of shit.”
Fenric props his chin on the table, grinning. “Okay.ThisI want to hear.”
And then it happens—they all go still. Taila. Nessa. Darius. Watching me. Waiting.
