“Which is why I’m scouting and you’re conserving the Veil.” I release her but stay close. “I sense the Arbiter’s creatures from a distance. Not as precisely as you, but enough to avoid stumbling into a pack of Hounds.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Processing. Then: “You’ve been planning this since we left the archive. The route. The pace. The positioning.”
“I’ve been planning since the waystation.”
“Since before we knew what the archive contained.”
“Since I decided that keeping you alive mattered more than killing the Arbiter.”
The words land between us. She stops walking.
I don’t look back. Keep my attention on the terrain ahead, on the distant ley-roads, on the thousand small calculations required to move safely through hostile territory.
“Tyr.”
Her voice is different. Stripped of the distance she usually maintains. Stripped of the careful control.
I turn.
She’s watching me. Reading. Always reading. But beneath the assessment, beneath the pattern-recognition and the truth-sight and the cold calculation—I see recognition. Understanding.
“The texts in the archive.” She takes a step toward me. “The information about evolved power. About what mating changes.”
“I understood the implications before you finished translating.”
“And you didn’t say anything.”
“There was nothing to say.” I step toward her, closing the gap until her breath clouds in the air between us. “I’m not going to pressure you into a permanent bond to increase our odds against the Arbiter. I’m not going to pretend necessity makes the decision simple.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
“Keep you alive.” The words come out rough. Absolute. “Long enough for this hunt to end. Long enough for you to have choices that aren’t dictated by survival. Long enough for you to decide what you want without a divine executioner breathing down our necks.”
Her hand rises. Hesitates. Then presses against me, fingers curling into the fabric over my sternum.
The contact burns through every layer between us as if they don’t exist.
“And if what I want…” She pauses. Recalibrates. “If my decision aligns with necessity? If survival and choice lead to the same destination?”
“Then we deal with that when we get there.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer I have.” I cover her hand with mine, pressing it harder against my chest. “I won’t claim you out of desperation. When I claim you—if I claim you—it will be because you chose it freely. Not because we needed the power boost. Not because the Arbiter left us no alternative.”
“When.” Her voice catches on the word. “Not if. When.”
I don’t correct myself.
TWELVE
TYR
We reach the ley-roads as the light begins to fail.
The corrupted pathways stretch in both directions—north toward territories the Arbiter hasn’t yet frozen, south toward the cities locked in enforced stillness. The magic here is unstable, violent, prone to sudden discharge. The air tastes of ozone and old power.
I stop at the junction, scanning for threats. The pressure of divine attention has intensified over the last hour—the Arbiter closing in, drawing the net tighter. Somewhere in the growing darkness, its creatures are moving. Hunting. Waiting for the moment we make a mistake.
