“Always.”
The word leaves before I can leash it.
Truth, raw and unvarnished.
She stumbles a step, just slightly, like the ground shifted under her feet.
“Thorne,” she whispers.
The bond between us gives a soft tug. That hot, bright thread from my heart to hers hums in recognition, pleased with my honesty.
I clear my throat, forcing my attention ahead. The healer’s pavilion rises into view—heavy canvas reinforced with carved bone struts and cooling wards etched along the seams.
Its entrance is marked by twin braziers burning low and steady, their flames a softer gold than my own.
“We are here,” I say, more roughly than I intend.
She looks up at the healer’s tent, then back at me.
“Nervous?” I ask.
“A little.” Her fingers flex in mine. “New realm. New medicine. New everything.”
“If you do not like what you see, we can change it or we can leave,” I tell her. “I will build you an infirmary in all of the Broken Plains from the ground up. Staff it with the best healers in Nightfall. Or burn any that displease you. Your word is law where your comfort is concerned.”
Her eyes go wide, then soften.
“Pretty sure that’s not how healthcare systems work,” she says quietly. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”
“It is not sentiment,” I reply. “It is promise.”
Chapter 20
Delia
The Healer’s Pavilion, The Ember Vein Mining Camp
I pause just outside the tent.
Not because I’m scared, exactly.
Okay, a little because I’m scared.
But mostly because this matters.
Thorne slows with me instead of tugging me along, which is already Surprise #432 in the “Apparently This Demon Lord Has Layers” file.
The wind tugs at the edge of my ember-colored cloak, warm and dry, carrying the ever-present scents of the Broken Plains—smoke, molten stone, and something that is just him.
Spicy, rich, succulent.
Like burning embers, ash, and caramel.
I didn’t notice it at first.
Now I can’t not smell it.
On my clothes. On my skin. In my hair.
