Kiakoa pulls away from me, the loss of contact making me shiver. He moves to the window, peering down at the arriving party. “Three guards,” he reports. “No more. Our guide has returned alone. Jesseth is waiting in the Orchard, as agreed.”
“Which is it?” I wonder aloud. “Trust or confidence?”
“Both.” He turns back to me. “Are you ready?”
I smooth the red silk over my hips, checking that the scars on my arms show clearly. The dress transforms them from marks of shame into badges of experience. Tonight they will tell a story of strength, not weakness.
“I'm ready.”
The walk to the Bone Orchard takes twenty minutes through twisting corridors and down stone steps worn smooth by centuries of use before we cross the open ground. Kiakoa leads, his massive frame cutting through shadows that seem to part before him. I follow, the silk dress whispering against my legs with each step.
Shadow servants drift alongside us, their wispy forms flickering in and out of visibility. A retinue of ghosts.
The Orchard spreads before us in the moonlight, beautiful and terrible. White trees stretch toward the star-scattered sky, their bone-pale branches clicking together in the wind.
The fruit hangs heavy on twisted stems. Heart-shaped, pulsing with faint red light, warm to the touch when the breeze carries them close enough to brush my shoulder.
“Magnificent.” The voice comes from deeper in the Orchard. Lord Jesseth emerges from between the trees, his pale hair catching moonlight. He is nearly as tall as Kiakoa, but with the lean, wiry build of a duelist where Kiakoa is all brute strength. His eyes are the color of a winter sky, sharp with an intelligence that feels older and more calculating than Kiakoa's raw power.
“This is the true treasure.Each fruit concentrated pain, decades of suffering distilled into liquid sweetness. Not gold or territory or armies, but these trees that produce the rarest delicacy for our kind.” A scholar’s voice, lecturing almost out of habit.
Behind him follow three guards in practical leather and mail. They spread out in a loose formation, hands resting on sword hilts but not drawing weapons. Professional, controlled, ready but not aggressive.
“Lord Kiakoa.” Jesseth inclines his head in formal greeting. “Your invitation was... intriguing.”
“Jesseth.” Kiakoa matches the gesture precisely. “I trust your journey was without incident.”
“Vasek's patrols are active, but they did not challenge my passage. Curious. Either he does not yet know of our meeting, or he welcomes whatever outcome tonight might bring.”
“And what outcome do you expect?”
Jesseth's gaze moves to me, lingering on the red dress, the exposed scars, the way I stand close to Kiakoa without cowering. “I confess myself uncertain. The rumors reaching my territory spoke of a human who could not only survive the frenzy, but... respond to it. I had to see for myself if the old legends were true.”
“What manner of legends?” Kiakoa asks, his hand finding the small of my back in a possessive touch.
“Of Resonance Partners,” Jesseth says, his eyes fixed on me. “Humans who did not just sustain a Vethani, but amplified them. A symbiotic bond that was thought to be a myth.” He smiles, an expression that carries the kind of edge that cuts. “Which version should I believe? That you have lost control to the frenzy, or that you have stumbled upon a power lost to our kind for millennia?”
“Neither,” Kiakoa says. “And both.”
“Cryptic. I had hoped for clarity.”
“Clarity requires demonstration.”
Jesseth nods as if he expected this answer. “Then demonstrate. Unless you are afraidto show me your weakness.”
The moment arrives faster than I anticipated. We are no longer preparing, planning, discussing. We are here, now, with an audience of four hostile strangers watching our every movement.
Kiakoa guides me to stand before him, my back to his chest. His hands rest on my shoulders, and I feel the barely controlled tremor in his fingers. He is fighting the frenzy, holding it back until the proper moment.
“What you are about to see,” he addresses Jesseth directly, “is no weakness.”
His right hand slides from my shoulder to my throat, fingers spanning from ear to ear, tilting my head to expose the vulnerable curve of my neck. The touch makes my nipples harden against the silk.
“This woman came to me by choice. She remains with me by choice. What we do together serves us both.”
I can feel Jesseth's attention burning against my skin. His guards shift position, moving for better vantage points. They want to see everything. Let them.
Kiakoa's teeth extend, sharp points pricking my throat. His free hand drops to my hip, pulling me back against the solid heat of his erection, branding me as his. The contact makes me gasp, the sound echoing between the bone trees.
