“And if they don’t mean something?”
“Then at least they died free.” She turns toward the door, and speaks to someone. Four fae males follow her back inside. “Help carry them out. We need to build a pyre for them before we leave.”
The bodies are carried one by one to the field behind the cages. The same field where the Dell burned the remains after their hunts. The irony of that isn’t lost on me. Therin joins us, taking his place at my right, and we move in silence, ferrying the dead from barracks to field, stacking them with a care that won’t matter to them.
The pyre takes shape slowly. Bodies layered with wood from the Dell’s stores, arranged so the flames will catch and spread evenly. When the last body is in place, Therin hands me a torch.
I step toward the pyre.
“Go well. Whatever comes after, go well, knowing you died free.”
I touch the torch to the base of the pyre. The flames catch, spreading through the dry wood, and licking at the bodies above. Smoke rises, thick and dark, carrying the smell of burning flesh.
I stand and watch them burn. Therin moves up to my right, Vel takes position at my left. We stay until the pyre collapses into embers, until the bodies are gone, reduced to ash and bone fragments that will scatter in the next strong wind.
Ashes, not trophies. That much, at least, we could give them.
I’m still staring at the embers when there’s a pulse of sensation behind my ribs. I go still, every sense turning inward, reaching for the source.
There.
The thread is fragile, but it holds when I reach along it, trembling like spider silk in wind, and through it I feel?—
Therin. A warm, steady presence that’s unmistakably him.
He’s standing right beside me, close enough to touch, but the reformed bond tells me the things his physical presence doesn’t. He’s tired, worn thin, holding himself together through stubbornness and not much else.
I reach further, careful, and find another thread spinning itself into existence beside the first.
Vel.
Her presence is different to Therin’s. Sharper, cooler. More like touching the edge of a blade rather than a hearthfire’s warmth. She’s still standing at my other side, her attention fixed on the dying embers. The thread connecting me to her pulses with grief … or relief. With Vel, it’s hard to know for sure.
For three centuries, these bonds have been dead. Burned away by the iron, leaving nothing but absence where they should have been. I’d forgotten what it felt like to carry them—the constant low awareness of where they are,howthey are.
And now those threads are reforming. Thin and fragile, barely more than whispers yet, butreal.
I press my palm flat against my chest, feeling the bonds pulse in time with my heartbeat.
Therin. Vel.
Not Serath or Caelum. Those spaces are still dark, still silent. But if these two are returning, maybe others will follow.
“Cairn?” Therin’s voice breaks through the sensation. “Is everything all right?”
“The bonds.” The word comes out rough. “I can feel them again. Both ofyou.”
Silence. Then Therin’s hand grips my shoulder, warm through my tunic.
“It’s coming back,” he whispers. “All of it. The iron is finally letting go.”
Vel doesn’t touch me, but when I glance at her, there’s an emotion in her expression I haven’t seen since before the Sealing.Hope.
“Then we better make sure we survive long enough to use it.” Her voice doesn’t give any hint of that hope. “There’s still work to do before we can leave.”
And just like that, we go back to preparing everyone.
We separate and split duties. I check harnesses, and answer questions from fae who still can’t quite believe they’re free. All the while, the bonds pulse steadily in the back of my mind, telling me that Therin is near the gate, and Vel is by the stables. Both of them moving through my awareness like currents of deep water.
