His thumb traced the line of her jaw.
“You remember the lanterns, love? The ones you designed for the lower corridors? They're working. The Commons haven’t had a flare-out in weeks. Zhen’s team swore they saw mana flowing clear for the first time in decades.”
He smiled, brushing a curl back from her brow. She shivered in response.
“Even the children in the Han District are weaving your symbol into their ribbons. You’ve done more than you realize. Even now. Especially now.”
Shifting, she looked up at him, those words specifically—about the children—seeming to break through her fog.
“Are you with me, Auryn?”
She nodded. Just once. But her lips thinned into a tense line.
“You don’t need to say anything. Not until you’re ready. Just rest.”
He dipped one of the cloths Lu’ma brought into the warm water and let it trail slowly along the curve of her arm, careful around the scrapes where Lu’ma had already applied salve. Kailorien’s voice never stopped moving. Just above a whisper, steady as breath.
“The Varrow scholars have sent another invite to their symposium,” he murmured, brushing the cloth over her wrist. “They want you tospeak on mana-flow recalibration theory. Half of them still can’t agree if you’re a prodigy or a heretic.”
He chuckled, low and fond. “I told them you’re both.”
A soft pause.
“You should’ve seen their faces when I mentioned your mana-weaving relay schematic. The one you sketched on the back of that spice wrapper, remember? Lu’ma saved it. Framed it, I think. It’s probably hanging beside her bedside table.”
Lu’ma’s hands paused. 'Your Quintessence, you are not being truthful.'
Kailorien glanced at her, but didn’t confirm it either way.
A quiet beat passed. He dipped the cloth again.
“And that trick you built for the Commons gates—what did you call it? A flux-trigger cascade? It’s still holding. No more blackouts during Dark. The Commons owe you much, Auryn. Much more than you think.”
He wrung out the cloth and trailed it down her collarbone. Lu’ma had finished tending her hair and now hovered at a respectful distance, pretending not to watch as she prepared a set of bandages to use once they left the water.
Kailorien leaned in, brushing a thumb lightly beneath Auryn’s chin.
“This isn’t like you, starlight,” he murmured, coaxing her face upward. “I’m here beside you. Naked. And you’re not even looking.”
A beat.
The corners of his mouth tilted. “Should I be worried about my place in your heart?”
He kissed her temple again, this time firmer, and gave a quiet hum as she leaned into him.
“Not looking, not touching…” He tilted his head closer, voice stirring the hairs along her neck. “Have you grown tired of me, my love?”
A sudden and soft snort of disbeliefwhooshedout of her. Her hand lifted, gliding over Ansuz on his chest and Hjarta above it.
He smirked then leaned in so close his lips brushed the shell of her ear, “Lately, it seems your hands are always so eager to explore my runes.”
Her hand paused. A breath later, her voice emerged, shattered and raw, but steady.
“Because,” she rasped, “they’re beautiful.” Her fingers curled against his skin. “Like you.”
He gave her a smile. The kind that curved slow and deep, reserved only for her. “So, you haven’t tired of me, then?”
She smiled back—a flicker, but real, the sound she made half exhaustion, half exasperation. “There is no realm,” she mumbled, “in which that would be possible.”
