His expression changed – confusion, disbelief, and then hope.
“You’re giving them back?” he asked as he took it from her.
She didn’t answer. She moved to Henry’s bedroll and retrieved Sebastian’s sword as well. Handed it to him. “And this too.”
He buckled it at his hip wordlessly, not taking his eyes off her. The moment it settled into place, his posture changed. Straightened. Kara gazed at him for a moment before she turned and walked towards thevalmares, gesturing for him to follow. She heard his footsteps, unsure behind her.
“What are you doing?” Sebastian asked.
Kara’s gaze went to Henry – still unconscious, bound – then to the horizon beyond the camp. Then, finally, she looked at Sebastian.
“I thought...” Her voice trailed off. She straightened her shoulders. Perfect Hale girl. Obedient daughter. Dutiful heir. Or–
“I thought you might need at least one person willing to stand with you. So I’m coming with you. To the Fire Shard. If you’ll let me.”
Sebastian stared at her. His chest was rising and falling faster than it should. His grip tightened on the satchel, crimson sparking faintly at his fingertips, as if even his magic didn’t know what to do. He looked utterly speechless.
“You want to come?” he finally managed, hollow with shock. “You’d damn yourself for me?”
She took a breath. “I’m doing it for Vallenna.”
Kara looked him directly in the eye.
And for you. Because you shouldn’t have to do this alone.
CHAPTER 17
BETWEEN FURY AND FIRE
Verify you are amongst allies before you lower your guard.
–Thorne Code of Honour, Tenet XV
Sebastian walked just behind her, the grass muffling their steps.
What the fuck just happened?
The satchel at his side shifted as he moved, the three Shards clinking against one another – almost in judgement. The sound cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the mission. The reason he’d bled and run and fought his way here. The reason he couldn’t afford to be distracted by Kara Hale.
It had to be her they sent.
He should be furious. He was furious. He felt wrong in his own skin now; the absence of his scars was like an amputation. Pieces of his life carved away, like they had never mattered at all. Years of battles, duty, and survival – taken away without his consent.
His identity. His rank. His culture.
Erased.
He hated her for that. Or at least he told himself he did.
The wind caught her cloak, whipping it around her legs. She looked back once. Maybe checking he was still there. She was–
Beautiful.
The thought ambushed him. Uninvited. Inconvenient.
But undeniable.
He hated that he still thought it. After what she’d done.
