“One day.”
Her hand was still on my chest. I covered it with mine.
Rylos came that afternoon.
He stood in the doorway of the medical bay, arms crossed, violet sigils dark against his gray skin. His expression was unreadable. It usually was.
“You look terrible,” he said.
“I’ve heard.”
“Tamsin says you’ll live.”
“She’s usually right.”
Rylos nodded. His eyes moved to Anhara, who had refused to leave my side. “You’re Torek’s student.”
“Yes.”
“You kept him alive long enough to get here.”
Anhara’s hand tightened on mine. “He kept me alive first.”
Something shifted in Rylos’s face. Not warmth. But recognition. Respect.
“The Regalia piece is secure,” he said, turning back to me. “We’ll combine them when you’re able.”
“And then?”
“Then we figure out what comes next.” He paused at the door. “Rest. Both of you. You’ve earned it.”
He left without waiting for a response. That was Rylos. Say what needed saying, then go.
Anhara let out a breath. “He’s...”
“Intense.”
“I was going to say terrifying.”
“That too.” I pulled her hand to my lips. Kissed her knuckles. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Will I?”
“You got used to me.”
Her laugh was soft. “That’s different.”
“How?”
She looked at me, the way she had that first day in the farmhouse when she’d decided whether to shoot me or let me speak.
“You’re not terrifying,” she said. “You’re just lonely.”
The same words she’d used before. Before the siege. Before everything.
“Not anymore,” I said.
Bronwen visited next.
