Kael snorts, shaking his head as he reins Nyx closer to the group. “Ronyn,” he drawls, voice rich with amusement. “If that’s a gift, it’s one the gods forgot to bestow.”
Laughter ripples through the group, easing the weight in Seren’s face.
And yet... something lingers beneath Therion’s words. A question none of us are quite ready to answer.
There is a connection between us all that didn’t exist before we began our journey up the mountain.
A softening.
A melding together.
As if we are no longer five fractured souls, but rather, whole.
I have never belonged to anyone.
I have neverletmyself belong.
And yet... I do.
We all have something to lose, yet we have all chosen to let each other in, to open ourselves up and belong to something greater than ourselves.
It is beautiful.
And terrifying.
Kael senses the shift in me then, because he leans forward, pressing firmly against my back, the scent of leather and oakmoss enveloping me.
“You are so godsdamned beautiful when you laugh, Elyssara.”
My breath catches on his words, the reality of this—of him—settling into my bones.
“Are we really doing this?” I say, the words loaded with meaning and heavy with context.
Without hesitation, he speaks like the unflinching warrior he is. “I told you last night that you’re mine,” he pauses for a moment, looping an arm around my waist. “And I meant it.Always.”
And this time, I do not hesitate either.
I lean into him, his heartbeat steady against my spine.
“And you are mine.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
KAEL
Though Galreth lies ahead,I stay sharp as we move through the Nyvaryn Ranges—a perfect place for an ambush. I know Therion feels it, too. His back is straight as an arrow, and his grip on Aura’s reins is so tight his knuckles are white. I can see the almost imperceptible swivel of his head from behind, indicating his eyes are darting across the terrain—watching, sensing, listening for anything out of place. This is what makes Therion an unmatched General—he’s the most observant man under the Stars.
We see Galreth approaching in the distance, and everything looks as it should—though that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
Children are out in the streets, day trade is bustling as it should, and neighbors seem to be talking to one another uninhibited. It’s enough for Therion to visibly relax, and I take his confidence as a sign that I should, too.
We ride the long way into the village, avoiding any highly visible routes, and not long after, the inn comes into view, the weeping eye insignia scrubbed from the building, and all looking restored.
Therion lets out a bird call—something he’s proficient in, and has developed his own language for with the leaders he trains across Aevryn—and the sound of scuffing and scurrying feet fills my ears.
The innocent and wide eyes of the stable hand peer out from behind the gate, and he drags it open for us to enter into the inn’s courtyard once more.
Inside, Merrik stands and stretches his hulking frame, as if he’s been sitting and waiting for a while. “Good to have you back, son,” he says in a gruff yet warm timber, and runs his hand down Nyx’s flank as we pull up.
