Kael nods. Alaric flexes his fingers, silver light sparking at his knuckles.
As we step toward the great lift that will take us into the depths, I let the bond tug once more, pulling my gaze back toward the Healer’s Pavilion.
“Stay where you are, Shula,” I murmur under my breath. “Stay safe. Learn. Laugh. Wait for me.”
I feel her answer—no words, just a flare of warmth along the bond, like a hand pressed to my heart.
The Fates may be laughing.
But so help me, I will see who gets the last laugh.
Because I am Thorne, Lord of Fire, Demon Prince of the Broken Plains, Keeper of the Flame.
And now, I am also Delia’s.
Whether destiny meant for it to happen or not.
Chapter 22
Delia
The Healer’s Pavilion, The Ember Vein Mining Camp
Evonne Withers does not look like any healer I’ve ever met.
She’s older—silver streaking through thick flame colored hair braided and pinned at the nape of her neck.
Her skin is dark gray, like many of the people here. She has glowing tattoos, brands maybe? They look like runes and geometrical designs, I don’t really understand, but they are beautiful.
Lines bracket her mouth and eyes, but they look earned, not worn. Her hands are big and capable, ink stains along the fingers from whatever she was writing before we walked in.
She smiles when she sees us, but it’s Thorne she bows to first.
“My Lord. My Lady.” Her voice is warm, steady. “Welcome.”
Thorne gives the formal greeting, makes his very dramatic do not die while I’m gone speech, then after some while, he turns to me.
“Stay until I return for you,” he says, that Demon-king gravity threaded through every word.
“Of course,” I promise.
Then, softer, because I can’t help myself, “And Thorne?”
“Yes, Shula?”
“Be careful.”
He leans down. I kiss the corner of his mouth. It’s quick, almost chaste.
It wrecks me.
And from the way his eyes flare and his hand tightens once on mine before he lets go, it wrecks him too.
Then he bows, and he’s gone, the tent flap falling closed behind him, and the world suddenly feels quieter.
Smaller. Lonelier. But also, it’s charged with anticipation because I know—I know—he is coming back for me.
Evonne watches me with the kind of look I recognize from old nurses and doctors I’ve worked with in the past—measuring, curious, not unkind.
