She opened her eyes. Searched my face.
“However long?”
“Rocs live a very long time.” I traced the line of her jaw, marveling at the softness of her skin. “And our mates live as long as we do. You may come to regret this choice in a century or two.”
She went quiet.
“I spent years counting days until I could escape,” she said finally. “Rationing hope like it was coin I couldn’t afford to spend. And now I have centuries?”
“Does that frighten you?”
“Maybe. In a way.” She pressed closer, her hand flat against my chest. “I’ll outlive everyone I knew. Everyone except Elspeth, maybe, if she...” She trailed off. “It should frighten me.”
“But?”
“But I keep thinking about your library. About all those books I haven’t read yet.” A smile ghosted across her face. “Three hundred years sounds like enough time to finish them.”
“Twice,” I said.
“At least.”
“I won’t ever regret you.” No hesitation. The brief uncertainty already resolved.
The certainty in her voice. The absolute lack of doubt. I kissed her. Soft. Tender. Tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness beneath.
When I pulled back, she was smiling. Just barely. The exhausted, wondering smile of someone who had gone through hell and come out the other side.
“Your eyes are different,” she said.
“Different how?”
“Brighter. Less... feral. You look like you again.” She touched my face, traced the feathers along my jaw. “The feathers are still here. But you’re in there. I can see you.”
“I’m here.” I turned my head, brushed my lips across her palm. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving, and I’m going to spend the rest of our very long lives making sure you never regret choosing me.”
She laughed. Wet and shaky and perfect.
“That sounds like a lot of pressure.”
“I’m highly motivated.”
Her laugh turned into something else. A hitching breath. A fresh wave of tears.
“I was so scared.” The words came out broken. “When you broke through that wall. When you collapsed on the balcony. When your heart kept stopping. I was so scared I’d found you just to lose you.”
I gathered her close. Wrapped my wing tighter around us. Let her cry into my chest while I stroked her hair and murmured her name.
“You’re not losing me,” I said. “Not ever. You’re stuck with me, Wren. For better or worse. In sickness and health. Until death do us part, except death already tried and you told it no.”
She laughed again. Watery. Wonderful.
“I did. I told death it couldn’t have you.”
“And death listened.”
“Apparently I’m very persuasive.”
I smiled against her hair. Felt the bond humming between us, warm and golden and permanent.
