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I wanted it so badly. Wanted to speak of it, to ask Voski questions, to turn my mind to the next step when I was healed enough.

But he never brought up my training. And if I even broached the subject, it was the only time he became frustrated. He said he was unwilling to encourage my pursuit, because I wasn’t healed enough yet. I didn’t think that I was. I wouldn’t even have tried yet. I knew I wasn’t ready physically. But I wanted to dream about what it would be like when I was.

No more threat of a lord hunting me down and forcing me to return to Fyrehold.

No more torn loyalties, or questions about my future.

I knew what I was here to do, and I was excited to begin. I felt stronger every day, though only by a small amount. Still, I was hopeful of returning to training. I wanted to embrace this life, even more so now.

Had Voski changed his mind? Did he no longer believe I was made to be a Furyknight?

But when I voiced the question, he brushed me off. “Of course not. I’m only focusing on here and now. Those thoughts, those plans are for later. Let’s focus on healing, now.”

Yet, he wouldn’t meet my eyes, and sometimes, if the healers were there, or others came to visit, he sat aside, not speaking, his expression dark and fixed in the middle distance, as if he’d sunk into a different world.

I always feared he was pulling away again, and instinctively reached for him in the bond. And he was always there. Right there. He hadn’t retreated at all. I felt bad for even fearing it.

Still, the question remained, and after he brushed off my tentative questions a couple of times, I wasn’t sure how to broach it again.

Then, a couple of days after Voski met with Donavyn, there was a knock at the door. It was still fairly early, the sunlight in the high windows, still slanting up to the roof because the sun had only risen an hour earlier.

We’d already eaten and had my wound checked. I curled on my side, watching Voski, who’d started to read me a book. I barely listened to the story, just admired his jawline, and broad shoulders, the smooth depth of his voice. Wondered when the time would come that we could reunite in truth, without pain and…

And that knock came, and he startled. Then frowned.

Usually we had these hours alone. I was stronger and more awake. The healers came before or after meals, or to give me herbs to help me sleep at night—which was a struggle sometimes if I had slept a lot in the afternoon.

That knock came again, along with a soft voice saying my name. Voski put the book aside and pushed out of the chair, hurrying to the door, to open it a few inches, and stick his head out. He hissed something, then slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him without a word.

I reached for him through the link. ‘Is something happening? If there’s bad news, you don’t have to protect me.’

‘No, nothing like that. Just give me a moment,’ he sent, attempting to keep his tone gentle, but I felt the tension in him.

I did as he asked. But I frowned.

Who had come? And why was he agitated by it?

I sighed and sat up, holding my belly, which still hurt sharply when I used my stomach muscles, but with the help of the dragon’s healing, had improved enough that it no longer stopped me moving.

I would wait. He’d tell me. I knew he would.

I just prayed it was something that wouldn’t weigh him down further.

My mate needed more rest. Not less.

~ VOSKI ~

“Terra said she’s allowed visitors now—that it would be good for her,” Bren said gently, but firmly. My squad sister stood in front of me with her hands on her hips. “You can’t hide her away forever, Voski. She needs us, too.”

“I’m not hiding her away—we haven’t moved from here. But she’s very easily tired, and still in pain. I just said I’d stay with her, you can stay as long as you want—”

“Voski… no. I need to talk to her alone. Donavyn told me.”

I went still, swallowing a curse. I hadn’t wanted to ask. Didn’t want to talk about it with Bren. Gil knew about the baby, of course. I assumed the whole squad did by now. I wasn’t scared of them knowing. Only…

“We’re doing well,” I muttered. “I’m sure when the time comes, she’ll talk about it but—”

Bren tipped her head. She folded her arms, but her expression was worried, rather than angry. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t make you,” she said quietly. “But I’m here to talk to Grace.”