Then the floor slams shut.
The chamber drops into darkness, lit only by torches and the fading glow beneath my bandage.
Silence.
Then coughing. Stone settling. Someone crying.
Kavor’s forehead rests against mine. His hearts hammer through the bond.
Hearts. Plural. Wild and beautiful and mine because he gave me the word before he gave me the claim.
“You are here,” he says.
I laugh, and it breaks halfway. “Terrible observation. I expected better from you.”
His mouth almost smiles. Almost.
Then he kisses my forehead.
The bond answers, warm and steady.
Mine. His. Ours.
Behind us, Rosalind says very softly, “What did you see?”
I open my eyes. Kavor’s gaze sharpens. He saw it too.
The thing beyond. The listening signal. The waiting shapes in the dark above Tajss.
The immediate crisis is not over, but it’s breathing again. The City is still standing. The source is still below. Someone out there heard us answer.
33
SERA
For the first time since the floor opened, no one is shouting.
That should be comforting, but it isn’t. The silence has too much room in it.
The small chamber Merra bullies someone into giving us is in the west corridor, behind two stone doors and guarded by one very irritated healer, who tells Kavor that if he lets me stand for any reason other than imminent death, she will sedate us both.
Kavor says, “Understood.”
I say, “Betrayal.”
Merra points at me. “You, especially.”
Then she leaves and the outer door shuts. The inner door settles. Quiet closes around us.
Not empty quiet. Not the dangerous kind from the tunnels, waiting for the wrong rhythm.
This quiet has water in a basin, clean wraps on a shelf, one low sleeping platform with actual padding, and a small covered bowl of broth Merra threatened to pour into me if I refused to drink it voluntarily.
Luxury, apparently, is being menaced by competent women.
Kavor stands near the door. Not because he wants distance. Because he’s giving it to me.
His shoulders nearly brush the walls. His wings are folded tight, one still bandaged near the joint. Dust and blood streak his scales. The burn on his hand is wrapped now, though blue-gold light still glows faintly beneath the cloth when the bond pulses.
