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“Checking for a heartbeat, partner?”

I yelled, releasing Rhyan and falling on my ass beside him.

He’d lifted his head, only one eye open as he watched me, a bemused look on his face.

“You can check the wrist for a pulse in the future,” he said wryly. “Unless you were just trying to steal a feel?”

“I—You’re okay?” I cried out.

He lifted his good eyebrow. He looked so tired, like a ghost of his former self. His jaw and chin were lined with dark stubble, and his hair was wild with its curling waves.

I shook my head, feeling half-hysterical. “I-I was checking for a black mark. From akadim. I thought….” My heart was still hammering, and a vision of him falling flashed in my mind. “I thought that’s where you were. Hunting them.”

Rhyan instantly sobered, lifting himself up onto his elbows, gingerly coming into a seat. “Oh, Gods. I’m sorry. No black mark. I promise, I’m fine.”

“You weren’t! You fainted. And you didn’t have a single cut or bruise on you. So I—Gods—”

“Lyr, I’m not hurt. I promise. Everything’s fine.”

I was shaking. I’d been worried all day for him, and then seeing him faint like that—Rhyan, the strongest man I knew, the most energetic, the most powerful soturion, the man I—I swallowed the thought. I couldn’t think that, I couldn’t feel that.

“You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to. I’m not hurt. It’s okay. It’s okay,” he said again, his voice urgent for me to believe him. “I promise.”

“Then what the hell happened?”

Rhyan rolled his head from side to side, one hand reaching to rub the nape of his neck, his bicep flexing. He groaned as he straightened, a worried look in his eyes. “It’s hard to say,” he said, his gaze distant. He bit his bottom lip, his eyebrow narrowed in frustration. “I don’t know. It felt like someone had called on kashonim.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know. I know what it feels like when you do.” He looked up at me, the green in his eyes deepening.

“Do you think it was from your old lineage? I thought being forsworn, the line was broken.”

“It was.” Rhyan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His breathing was heavy, uneven. It was obvious he wasn’t feeling well even though he tried to convince me otherwise.

“Were you bound to another novice?” I asked, a sharp pang in my chest as I said the words.

“No. Just you.” He stared at his hands, looking uncomfortable. “The cutting…happened with my father.” His jaw tensed, a haunted look in his eyes he got whenever he talked about him.

I knew then I needed to drop the subject. The idea that his previous kashonim hadn’t fully broken made sense—spells were never a guarantee, and there could be endless consequences if they were not being performed correctly. A mage may have misspoken the words or been unpracticed in the spell or simply had a weak will. This could have explained how I’d drawn as much power as I had during the habibellum. Rhyan had been pale then like he was now—my calling on kashonim had depleted him of energy and power, but he’d still been able to stand upright, to carry me home afterward, and to care for me all night.

“Fuck,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Maybe we can go to Scholar’s Harbor,” I suggested. “Check in at the Great Library, see if there’s some sort of explanation. Or talk to Kolaya? Arkmages create the kashonim, maybe she’ll have insight. And you can decide what you want to do from there—keep the line open or cut it off for good.”

He nodded sadly. “I’ll think about it.”

“It could also be important for us to understand, especially if I ever—not that I’m planning to—” I was rambling, trying to find a solution to whatever this was but also sensing Rhyan’s growing discomfort with the topic.

“If you ever need to call on our kashonim again,” his gaze intensified, and his hand rested on my arm, “if you ever need my strength, Lyr, promise me you’ll call on it.”

“As long as you’re safe—”

“No. I swore to keep you safe. If you need it,” he said, voice low, “promise me you’ll use it.”

“What if I want to keep you safe?” I asked.