Page 33

I drift through a dream that feels too solid, too real to be just imagination. I'm looking through someone else's eyes, feeling someone else's emotions.

Marble floors stretch before me. Tapestries hang from high ceilings, depicting battles and coronations. Everything is opulent, rich with history and significance.

I know this place, even though I've never been here. The knowledge sits in my borrowed consciousness with comfortable familiarity.

Home.

I move through grand corridors, my steps light and quick. I'm smaller than I should be, younger. A child's perspective. The adults around me tower like giants, their faces indistinct except for the warmth in their eyes when they look down at me.

"Your Highness," they murmur as I pass, bowing slightly.

The title feels natural, expected. I acknowledge them with a child's imperious nod, mimicking the grave dignity I've seen in my father but unable to fully suppress the bounce in my step. I’m expected to behave like an adult, but I’m still so young.

I round a corner and enter a sunlit room where a woman sits by a window, her back straight as she embroiders something with long, delicate fingers. She looks up as I enter, her face achingly beautiful, her smile gentle.

"There you are," she says, setting aside her work. "I was beginning to think you'd hidden away in the library again."

Mother. The word echoes with such love that it hurts.

"Father's coming home today," I say in a voice that isn't mine—a boy's voice, high with youth and excitement.

"Yes, he is." She stands, smoothing her elaborate gown. The fabric catches the light, so beautifully intricate and well-made it looks like art.

I flicker between feeling like the boy and feeling like myself, watching behind the boy’s eyes as the woman—the queen—takes the boy's hand and leads him through more corridors to a grand balcony overlooking a courtyard.

Below, men on horseback are arriving, their armor glinting in the sun. At their head rides a tall figure with a golden crown, his beard streaked with the same auburn as the boy's hair.

The king.

But not just the king. He’s my father. The boy’s father.

My perspective continues to shift, making my brain hurt with the effort of remembering who is who. Remembering me when it feels like I’m overwhelmed with the feelings and thoughts of the boy.

"Father!" I call, waving.

He waves from the courtyard, but I notice something in his mannerisms that strikes me as odd. A stiffness. An edge to his smile that feels wrong. I push the thought from my mind, writing it off because I know he sometimes comes back from the front lines distant for a few days. The death and constant war takes a toll on him, though he tries not to show it around us.

"Will he come to see you?" I ask my mother.

"Soon. He'll want to say hello to your siblings first. Saving the best for last," she adds with a wink and a smile.

I smile back, thinking how beautiful she is.

I bounce on my toes as I roam the room with the nervous energy of a small child. I want him to be proud that I waited here with Mother. I want him to see I had the patience not to rush through the castle to greet him first.

So I wait, even as I feel something wrong in the air.

It's a coldness. A kind of nothingness.

It’s not long before I hear a scream from down the hallway, high pitched and frantic. It's a scream unlike anything I've ever heard before. In that moment, I know it's my sister's voice, and I know the sound of that scream is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

I wake with a scream of my own tearing from my throat, my body drenched in sweat. The sheets are tangled around me, restraining like hands trying to drag me back into the nightmare.

Raith is there instantly, his hands on my shoulders, his eyes wide with alarm in the dim light of early dawn. "Nessa! What is it? What's wrong?"

I can't speak, can't breathe. The phantom pain of burning still courses through me, and beneath it, a grief so profound it threatens to drown me.

"A nightmare," I gasp finally, trying to control my shaking. "Just a nightmare."

But what if it was more? What if it was a memory?

"Was that a memory from someone you tethered in the past?" I ask Typhon.

"Hmm? Was what? I saw nothing."

"I was in somebody else's mind. Seeing what they saw."

"Ah… these things are possible, I suppose. It could have been. I will ask that you don't talk to me about what you saw. The memory of the ones I've lost… it's a wound I am not ready to revisit."

"Of course. I understand."

I blink away the sleepiness, looking up at Raith's unscarred face. "I think... I think I saw something from Typhon's past." But even as the words leave my mouth, I wonder…

Could those have been Raith’s memories?

There's a heavy silence for a moment before Raith's hand drifts to his throat, fingertips brushing the place that's still bruised from where the siphon touched him. "What exactly did you do to save me?" he asks quietly, an edge to his voice I can't quite place.

"I'm not entirely sure," I confess, pulling the blanket tighter around me. The predawn chill seeps through my underclothes, making me shiver. And then I realize I'm hardly wearing anything in front of Raith. With a jolt in my stomach, I tug the covers up over myself.

He's just watching me intensely, though. Waiting…

I clear my throat. "I couldn't figure out how to heal you. And Typhon didn't think we had long to mess around. He said if I tethered to you, I'd be able to. So I made an oath to you, and it... worked."

"You tethered to me? How's that even possible? And what kind of oath?" His voice is incredulous.

I look away, suddenly embarrassed. The words had come from somewhere deep inside me in that desperate moment, pulled forth by instinct and desperation. "Nothing binding. Just a promise to protect you like you've protected me. That your life is my life. That your fight is my fight."

He's silent for so long that I finally look back at him. His expression is unreadable, his eyes distant, as if seeing something far beyond the walls of this room.

"Raith?"

He blinks, focusing on me again. "That was dangerous," he says, his voice tight. "You don't understand what I'm fighting. You shouldn't have sworn that."

"You were dying," I remind him, a flare of annoyance cutting through my exhaustion. "I didn't have time to think through the implications. I just knew I couldn't… well… lose you."

The impression of a smile touches his lips. "I know the feeling." He stands, putting distance between us. "You should rest more. Your body is still recovering."

"I've rested enough," I argue, pushing back the covers even though I'm aware that I'm exposing myself again. My limbs feel stronger now, the heaviness lifting. The void corruption is leaving my system, replaced by a restless energy that demands movement. "I need to move, to train."

And to put on my actual uniform again. But I admit I like the way Raith’s eyes flash with heat as they fall to my chest and my hips. He likes what he sees. I don’t just suspect it…

I feel it. Through the tether. I can feel his arousal and attraction, the fuzzy impression of thoughts about how fucking perfect I am. How glad he is that I’m still alive. Still here.

"Nessa—"

"The Crucible is coming, Raith. And now we know there's at least one siphon in Confluence targeting us specifically. I can't afford to lie here any longer."

He looks like he might argue for a moment, but he finally sighs. "One hour of light training," he concedes. "Then you rest again. You're still pale as death."

"Who took off my clothes?" I ask, arching one eyebrow.

Raith's eyes fall to my chest, and there's a clear hint of hunger in his eyes that sends an unwelcome rush of heat to my face. "Mireen," he says. "You were burning up the first night. I asked her to do it."

"I see. So am I going to spar with you in my underwear? Or could I borrow something of yours."

"You'd be swimming in my uniforms."

“So underwear it is, then?”

"You're going to wear one of my uniforms. There's no way I'm sparring with you looking like that."

"Like what?"

"Distracting," he says without turning to face me as he digs through a dresser. He hands me a pair of black pants and a black tunic, both trimmed in silver. They're clean, but the ghost of his scent clings to them.

Raith has his back turned, so I stand and slip into his uniform. Thankfully, the pants have a drawstring, so I'm able to pull them tight and keep them up. I roll up the hem several inches until it reaches my ankles. The shirt hangs off me like a pillow case, so I tuck it into the pants and roll the sleeves up as much as I can.

"Okay, you can look now."

Raith turns, and another one of those rare smiles touches his lips.

"Still fucking sexy. Of course she is."

The thoughts hit my mind softly, almost like a whisper.

"Uh… Typhon? Was that you?"

"Was what me? If you sensed the rumble in my stomach, I apologize. I was imagining a feast of your enemies."

"Could I be hearing Raith's thoughts?"

"Perhaps. Your tether is weak, but it still exists."

"You good?" Raith asks.

I swallow hard, nodding. "Good." But I try to take a step forward and the room sways slightly around me. Raith is immediately at my side, his arm around my waist.

"Slowly," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "You've been unconscious for two days. Give your body time."

I nod, leaning into him as I find my balance. The tether between us pulses stronger with the physical contact, and I feel a rush of protectiveness from him that nearly takes my breath away. It's fierce, almost possessive, and tinged with something that feels dangerously like fear.

"He worries he cannot protect you," Typhon observes, stretching his diminished form. "The fire human has grown attached. This complicates matters."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I reply silently.

"It is neither good nor bad. It simply is. But attachments make one vulnerable, and you cannot afford vulnerability. Not with siphons hunting you."

"It felt a lot more like they were hunting him. Not me. Didn't you see how that void lion made no attempt to kill me when I tried to save Raith? It was only blocking my path."

"I would rather they are trying to kill you. The possibility of siphons not wanting to hurt you is… troubling."

"You're cute when you're this small, you know. I feel like you should be perching on my shoulder."

"Don't get accustomed to it.”

Raith is still holding his arm around me, waiting patiently for me to find my balance as I mentally chat with Typhon.

I wonder if he feels anything from me through the tether. Can he sense how my heart races when he's close, how my skin heats where he touches me? How the thought of him dying had driven me to create the tether in the first place?

If he does, he gives no sign of it as he guides me toward the door. His face is composed, neutral, though his hand at my waist is gentle. Even if part of me wishes he’d let that hand slide lower, to touch me the way I know he wants to. The way I want him to.

His hand inches slightly lower, almost as if triggered by my thought. I look up sharply at him and see confusion and… something else in his eyes.

A sharp knock interrupts the moment. Raith tenses, moving slightly in front of me as he calls, "Enter."

The door opens to reveal Bastian, immaculate as always in his black legacy uniform with silver and gold trim. His pale eyes widen slightly at the sight of me on my feet.

"Thorne," he says with a polite nod. "I'm glad to see you're recovering. The password is fish slap,” Bastian says smoothly.

Raith nods. "As you can see, we're both fine. You can report back to your… people that there's no need for concern."

Bastian's gaze shifts to Raith.

"The Rector specifically requested to see Thorne once she was able. To discuss the incident."

I feel Raith stiffen beside me. "She's not ready yet."

"She's on her feet," Bastian says, gesturing to me. I see the way his eyes linger on my oversized clothing. I wonder if he's assuming I'm wearing Raith's clothes because we slept together and not for more innocent reasons.

"And she still needs time. I'm not sending her to get interrogated by the Rector. Tell him to fuck off until she tells him she's up for it."

Bastian's expression doesn't show the slightest reaction. He's just silent for a few seconds, then nods. "I'll say she's still in bed. Make sure you're not seen when you go wherever it is you two are going."

"Thank you, Bastian,” I say.

Raith's grip tightens on my waist slightly, pulling me into his side protectively. Possessively. "Anything else?"

"Thorne's friends asked me to tell you they'll be back this evening. They apparently had some matters to attend to in preparation for the Crucible."

"Okay, thanks," I say.

Bastian hesitates. "There's something I should tell you before the Crucible… something I'd rather not say in front of Hollow."

"Fuck you," Raith growls.

"It's okay. If you can trust me with it, you can trust Raith."

Bastian looks between us, his white eyes seeming to see far more than simple appearances. His nod is curt. "Very well. The legacies have been instructed to stay out of the fight between aspirants during the Crucible. I wanted you to know you can't expect help from me. Our orders are very strict. We’ll be standing guard of the objective, forbidden to stray far."

"Orders from whom?" Raith asks.

"Somebody wants things to play out as they're going to play out this year. They don't want us stepping in and putting a stop to the bloodshed."

"Like you would have." Raith's tone is laced with cynicism.

"Actually, we already had plans to do exactly that," Bastian says. "Despite what you all think about legacies, we have no interest in seeing potential primals slaughter one another. We may be getting groomed for command, but positions of leadership are rather pointless without anyone to lead. No?"

"Right. So we're your fucking sheep. We're only allowed to die when it's under your command?" Raith asks.

Bastian straightens, looking at me instead of Raith. "Voss won't wait forever. I suggest you don't put it off for more than another day or two."

With that, he's gone, closing the door quietly behind him.

Raith and I stand in silence for a moment. Then he says, "You're not going to see Voss alone."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "No, I'm not. But I do need to see him. He may know something about the siphon—about why it attacked us. Why it was targeting you specifically."

"Yes," Raith agrees, his voice hard. But there's something I feel through the tether. I can feel him holding back. Desperately clinging to yet another secret. I can also feel why he clings to it so desperately. He's still trying to protect me.

I look up at him, studying his perfect, unfamiliar face.

"Let's train," I say, moving toward the door, determined to rebuild my strength. "We have a lot to prepare for."

More than he knows. More than either of us can imagine.

The tether throbs between us like a promise—or a warning. And through it, so faint I almost miss it, comes another fragment.

"Cannot lose her. Not when I've only just found her."

It's another thought from Raith. I'm starting to feel the difference between his thoughts and Typhon's already. Typhon's voice comes to my mind clear and loud. Raith's are whispers on the wind. So faint and weak I have to strain to hear them. I can't say if it's because he hasn't sworn oaths to me, too, or just because the tether is still so new and fresh.

But gods… what the hells have I done? I'm the one who swore oaths to him, so shouldn't he be hearing my thoughts and not the other way around?

"How do you know he's not hearing your thoughts, angry human?"

I glance sidelong at Raith as we leave his quarters. Frowning, I try to form a clear, loud thought and aim it in his direction. For some reason, I don't have any confidence it's going to work, so the thought I send is… poorly chosen.

"You're the best thing about this place, Raith."

Raith's eyes cut to me suddenly and he stops moving. My heart stops as well.

He cups my face with one hand, eyes seeming to devour me. "I want to hear it from your lips."

"W-what?"

"Say it out loud."

I swallow, cheeks burning as his fire flows through the place where he touches me, filling my body with delicious heat. "You're the best thing about this place, Raith."

His thumb brushes the line of my jaw and he leans forward. "Promise me something."

"Okay," I breathe.

He hesitates, fingertips still brushing my skin as his molten gold eyes fill with a depth I can't comprehend. "I've… lost people. Before I came here, I swore I wouldn't care like that again. If I let nobody in, they couldn't hurt me. But you didn't care, did you? You barged into my fucking heart uninvited, and now you're here." He takes my hand and presses my palm to his chest, eyes never leaving mine. "You're here, and I can't do a single fucking thing to stop it. So you will not let anything happen to yourself. You're going to live. You're going to thrive, or I'll never forgive you."

His pulse pounds through my palm, racing like he's in the middle of a sparring match. I feel like I can't breathe as I process his words. All I can do is nod, the faintest smile playing at my lips. "You're going to be mad at me if I die? Isn't that a strange threat?"

"Nessa. I'm serious. When I saw you in my bed these past few days, all I've been able to think about is what I'd do if I lost you. And… it's not something I can stand to think about. You have to protect yourself. No matter what. I've already made sure your friends understand."

"Wait… what does that mean?"

"I warned them I'd hold them responsible if anything happened to you."

"Raith. You can't threaten my friends."

"I already did."

"I like him," Typhon rumbles in my mind.

"Not now, Typhon."

I'm about to continue the argument, but Raith leans in and kisses me.

His lips are firm against mine, nothing hesitant in the way he claims my mouth. Unlike our previous kisses, there's an urgency here, a desperation that makes my knees weak. I press closer, my hands finding his shoulders for balance as liquid heat floods through me.

The kiss deepens, but I can feel the rigid control he's maintaining—holding back, mindful of my weakened state even as his hands frame my face with a possessiveness that makes my pulse race. His heartbeat thunders through the tether between us, matching the frantic pace of my own.

I even feel whispers of desire, arousal, relief, and excitement. I can hardly say which of those are my own emotions and which are his.

"This is all I've thought about since the last time," he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough with barely contained desire.

"What took you so long?" I breathe, my fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform.

He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone. "You know exactly why."

And I do. He's been protecting me—from himself, from his secrets, from whatever darkness haunts him. But now that I've tethered myself to him, those barriers are crumbling, piece by piece.

"This doesn't mean I'm not still angry about you threatening my friends," I say, even as I lean into his touch.

His lips quirk in the ghost of a smile. "Angry is fine. As long as you're alive."

"And this doesn't solve anything," I add, my tone serious now. "There's still a siphon hunting you. And… maybe I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you, either. So you had better make sure you stay alive, too."

"That's the plan. I can't keep you alive if I'm dead. I can't protect my fires if I'm dead."

"Forget about that. I don't want anything to happen to you. Not because I'm worried I'll lose a protector. Because I'd be losing you. I'm sure the fires feel the same way."

I sigh, reluctantly putting a few inches of space between us. My body protests the distance, craving the warmth and strength I felt in his arms, but my mind knows we need to focus.

"One hour of training," I remind him, steadying myself. "Then I'll get some more rest."

Despite my words, rest is the last thing on my mind. Training, too.

I'm thinking about the kiss and the fragments of what I felt through the tether. I want him in bed with me. I want him stripping off my clothes. I want him touching me like I'm not fragile or about to break. Gods. I want him. So. Fucking. Badly.

Raith's lips curve upward. "You may need to find a way to keep your thoughts quieter if we're going to be tethered… I may have picked up on some of that."

"Oh gods," I say, covering my face with both hands as my cheeks burn yet again.

Through our tether, I sense his restraint, his desire carefully banked like embers waiting to ignite.

"For the sake of all that is elemental, just mate with the fire human and be done with it," Typhon grumbles in my mind. "The tension between you two is giving me a headache."

"It's not just about sex, Typhon. Sometimes, sex is just the cherry on top."

There's a moment of silence, and then, surprisingly: "I've seen many bonds in my time, angry human. Few as... intriguing as this one." He sounds almost uncomfortable with the admission, quickly adding, "Not that I care one way or another about your mating habits. Your mortal attachments are fleeting and mostly ridiculous."

But I catch it—that rare glimpse of genuine interest beneath his usual arrogance. It's gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving me wondering if I imagined it.

I glance at Raith, at the rigid set of his shoulders and the intensity in his eyes as we walk. Whatever this is between us—whatever it's becoming—it's far more dangerous and far more precious than either of us realized.

"When you're recovered," Raith says suddenly, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "When you're back at full strength..." He pauses, his eyes meeting mine with a heat that sends electricity down my spine. "I want you in my bed again, but not for healing."

The bluntness of his words makes my breath catch, a flush spreading across my cheeks that has nothing to do with the void corruption still leaving my system.

"Is that a promise?" I ask, matching his boldness despite the hammering of my heart.

His answering smile is slow and absolutely delicious.