I blow out a breath.
“One, we don’t have time to unpack that. Two, we already made a bargain. You said I’d be your partner. I can’t do that from behind a ward line. So let me work.”
He looks like he wants to argue.
Instead, he steps over the ward line himself and comes to stand shoulder to shoulder with me, facing the valley.
“Stay by my side,” he growls.
“See? Compromise,” I say lightly.
My heart is hammering away like it’s trying to punch through my ribs, but I pretend it’s all normal. Just another casual stroll with my very large, very grumpy, very magical demon mate.
“Now,” I add, forcing a smile, “show me the next bleed point, Lord of Earth.”
His mouth twitches like he wants to smile but refuses on principle.
“Insolent,” he mutters.
Then he offers his arm. “Come.”
We spend the next few hours walking the Marches.
And I think this might be the best day of my life.
Chapter 10
Alina
The Rooted Marches, Nightfall
It’s still Sowing Day, and the land feels awake.
Farmers are out in force, turning soil, laying out seed-sacks, checking irrigation channels that look more like glowing root-veins than pipes.
Every time they see Dagan, they brighten.
Every time they see me—they do a double-take.
Then they brighten more.
That’s weird.
But also… kind of wonderful.
We crest a rise overlooking a wide terrace carved into the hillside. The soil down below is dark and rich, furrowed into neat lines.
A tall woman with coppery gray skin and braided hair with streaks of lime green running through it straight down her back looks up from where she’s directing a crew.
Her face splits into a grin.
“My Lord!” she calls, wiping her hands on a rough linen apron as she strides up the path toward us.
Two boys trail after her, each clutching a small cloth pouch.
“Clarisse,” Dagan says, and his whole energy shifts. Less grim, more grounded. “Your fields look strong.”
“They will be stronger with your blessing,” she answers, then flicks her gaze to me, sharp and curious. “And with your viyella’s eyes on them, if rumors be true.”
