The corner of his mouth quirked. "Yes."
"You're forgiven." She turned her face into his palm. "This time."
They lay tangled together as the fire burned low in the other room, as the fortress settled into its nighttime rhythms aroundthem. She could hear the distant change of the guard, the wind finding its familiar paths through the stone. Sounds she would learn. Sounds she would know for years, if she was lucky. If she was brave enough to keep choosing this.
His hand moved from her face to her hair, working loose the pins she'd forgotten were there. The quill fell onto the furs. She'd forgotten that, too.
He picked it up. Turned it in his fingers. The feather was bent from being slept on, the nib stained with ink she hadn't bothered to clean.
"Targesh."
"Mm."
"I need to write to Master Aldric."
His hand stilled. "Now?"
"Not now." She pressed closer, her cheek against his chest, listening to the slow thud of his heart. "But soon. He deserves to know my decision before the Council hears it from someone else."
"What will you tell him?"
She considered. The letter would need to be careful. Aldric had advocated for her. He had spent years training her, recommending her, building her reputation in rooms she wasn't allowed to enter. He had earned honesty, even if the honesty would disappoint him.
"The truth," she said. "That I found work here that matters more to me than the position. That the archive needs someone who can build the bridge Varresh designed. That I'm the only person who can do it."
"Will he understand?"
"No." She traced a scar on his chest, following the raised line with her fingertip. "He'll think I've lost my mind. He'll think I've thrown away everything I worked for because I fell in love with an orc and couldn't think clearly."
She felt him go still beneath her. "Verity."
She lifted her head. Looked at him. His face was unreadable in the low light, but his eyes were not. She could see it there. The thing he'd been holding back.
"I love you," she said.
His thumb traced the line of her jaw. His eyes searched her face, and she let him look. Let him see whatever he needed to see.
"I love you," he said.
The words were rough. Unpracticed. They sounded like they'd been locked in a chest for decades and had only just remembered how to form.
She kissed him. Softly this time. A seal on something that had already been sealed, a confirmation of what their bodies had been saying for weeks.
When she pulled back, his hand was still cradling her face, and his expression had changed. The careful blankness was gone. In its place was something raw and open, something she suspected very few people had ever seen.
"You should sleep," he said.
"So should you."
"I will." His arm tightened around her waist.
The fire in the other room had burned to embers. The chamber was cooling, but his body was a furnace, and the furs were heavy, and she was warm in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.
"The letter," she murmured. "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
"And the council will want to discuss terms."
