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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
KARIS
Karis wakes slowly, the comfort of sleep clinging to his heavy limbs. Every ache and bruise has vanished, and the binding claws of tension have unhooked themselves from between his ribs. Softness surrounds him. Everything is comfortable. Calm. Safe.
That can’t be right—right?
A warm laugh rings inside his head.You’re truly safe,Vara says.They brought you to a guest room in the Bright Cathedral.
So we can talk in here now,Karis thinks in return.How are you?
Busy.Vara adds,When you open your eyes, you’ll find your thief sitting by the window.
Karis suppresses his smile; he’s still feigning sleep.Oh, so you finally want to help with my love life?
Very busy. Talk later.The god’s presence fades from his immediate awareness. Typical.
Even with the warning, when Karis finally opens his eyes, he doesn’t see Ronan at first. There’s a lamp on near the bedside, but shadows shroud the rest of the richly appointed room. He has to squint to see Ronan leaning on the windowsill, looking out at the deep after-sunset purple of the sky.
Too many emotions tangle within Karis’s heart. Relief. Pain. Fear. More than anything, a deeply foolish wanting.
When the last light fades from the sky, Ronan turns away from the window and meets Karis’s waiting gaze. The soft melancholy of his expression snaps away into his usual stoic mask. “You’re awake? I’ll call Dansa.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Karis says haughtily, pushing himself up. His arms and legs and everything feel wobbly, but he manages to sit against the pillows before Ronan moves to his bedside. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Right now it’s evening, the day after the unbinding.”
A day and a half. While Karis is clean, the worst of his injuries healed, dressed in soft pajamas, Ronan is clearly still wearing the same torn, bloodstained clothes as when Karis last saw him in the courtyard. His arm has been bandaged, and the nicks on his brow and cheekbone are pink with new flesh from healing magic, but he hasn’t changed or washed at all.
“Sit down.” Karis points at the foot of the bed. “My neck hurts staring up at you.”
Ronan’s eyes burn behind his impassive mask. “Karis, I’m sorry.”
The words hang between them, quiet and inadequate. That painful wanting ripples through Karis again. “Sit down,” he repeats, pulling his knees up towards his chest to make space. “We’re going to talk, damn you.”
Ronan sits, incongruously filthy against the snow-white blankets. He watches Karis, waiting for him to speak. Karis watches him in return, trying to figure out what to say. Long moments pass, but Karis doesn’t rush. He’s been through a fucking lot in the past few days—he gets to take as much time as he pleases.
They’re still staring in silence when the door whispers open. Evain enters, dressed the most conservatively Karis has ever seen him in a dark blue coat buttoned up to his chin. His eyes widen when he sees Karis awake. “Well, you took your sweet time. Should I call Dansa?”
Karis probably won’t be able to avoid the healer forever. “Tell her to see me in an hour. I need to talk to Ronan first.”
“Ah,” Evain says significantly. He cocks his head and looks between them. Karis thinks he’s about to say something inappropriate, but Evain is serious as he continues. “Then let me tell you two things that I don’t think Ronan will tell you, but I feel you should know.”
“Evain,” Ronan says in warning.
Evain ignores him. “First, he hasn’t left your side in the past thirty-six hours.”
“I guessed that,” Karis says.
“I suppose you can smell him as well as I can.” Evain wrinkles his nose. “And the second thing is that yesterday, he jumped out a window to rescue you.”
Karis whips around to Ronan. “Youwhat?”
Ronan stands up. “It was a ground-floor window. Don’t make it sound so dramatic.”
“I’m helping,” Evain says, grinning.
