Two days away from their mates is already a great ask.
And I—gods, I understand that now.
Before anything else, I must make good on a promise.
To her.
To my viyella.
So I send word to the infirmary—no, I command it—letting the head Healer know we are coming.
All will make ready. And all will do so with care.
Because today is for her. For Delia.
My flame.
My Shula.
She walks at my side, her hand in mine, her fingers small but sure between my own.
There is joy in her steps, an energy that softens the harsh lines of the camp as we pass through it. Her smile is radiant.
She greets every miner we pass with warmth in her eyes, and it is they who are stunned—watching the Demon Lord of Fire be led like a leashed drake by this bright, human woman.
Alaric and Kael flank us behind, silent shadows of power. Grier walks ahead, leading the way with an honor guard I selected myself—one I trust to protect her should I fall.
Not that I plan to.
But for her, I take every precaution.
My viyella is soft. But never weak.
Still, she is precious to me.
And her mortality is such that I must take care.
Yes, she has withstood my flame—touched it and bore no scorch—but I cannot guarantee she would survive harm should someone dare to try. And if they do?
It will be the last thing they ever do.
She gives my hand a squeeze, and I glance down at her, already so attuned to the rhythm of her body that I feel her excitement before I see it.
Her gaze locks on a corner of the commons, where a traveling minstrel plays a weathered lute. The tune is clumsy but cheerful, and he sings with a crooked grin while children toss pennies into his hat.
A small crowd watches, grateful for even the simplest joy in this soot-stained place.
Delia lets out a delighted little sound—somewhere between a gasp and a laugh—and it curls around my ribs like a leash of light.
Gods. Her joy could fuel suns.
“The camp serves as a home away from home for many of the miners, milady,” Grier offers, noticing her attention. “It is often that entertainment provides comfort.”
I growl.
Low and dark.
He doesn’t need to speak to her.
