“And?”
I hold up my hand. A small flame blossoms gently above my palm. It glows warm and steady in the morning light, no larger than a candle flame, dancing calmly in the center of my hand.
Threxian does not react with alarm. Instead something like pride moves quietly through the bond.
“You are fully controlling it,” he says.
“Yes.”
The flame flickers once before fading when I close my fingers around it.
“I thought accepting the bond meant learning not to fear the fire,” I say softly. “But it means something else too.”
“What?”
“Accepting that part of me.”
Threxian reaches across the table and takes my hand.
“You were never fragile,” he says quietly.
This sends warmth through my chest.
“What happens now?” I ask for like a hundred times.
Threxian glances toward the window where the road beyond the village stretches across the hills.
“We find somewhere the world has not already decided who we are.”
“That sounds suspiciously like the same plan as yesterday.”
“It is a reliable plan.”
I laugh softly.
“And when we find this place?”
His thumb brushes slowly across my knuckles.
“Then I will build you a home.”
The words catch me off guard.
“A home?” I repeat.
“Yes.”
He says it simply, as though the idea has already settled into his mind.
“Somewhere quiet,” he continues. “Somewhere the world will leave you alone long enough to grow herbs and heal people if you wish.”
“And what will you do?”
His mouth curves faintly.
“Guard the healer who set an entire village on fire.”
“That is the best plan possible."
