Page 132 of The Bonds of Indigo

The wall was also warded by a Yldarwright, keeping the waste from passing through, even all the way down to the Earth’s core. It was a powerful spell. And yes, I know who cast it.

There aren’t many of us old enough, or powerful enough, to maintain a ward like that, even after death.

His name was Xavian, and he was my father.

I wouldn’t be in this mess if he hadn’t been killed. He would have obliterated this world for me—just as my mother would have. If they were alive, they would’ve torn down Thornegate, then shredded everyone that ever put their hands on me.

I’m not going to tell Kayn. There’s no point in him knowing. He’d ask too many questions, the first being how someone like my father could be murdered. And then everything would unravel—including that night in Sylverton.

And I’m not ready for him to know exactly what happened, and what I did.

“There’s an opening. Someone must’ve spent months welding it,” Kayn slips through the bond. “We’re going to use that.”

He takes a sharp left and heads north for a few minutes before slowing. It’s then that I start to smell something: fire and alkaline. My father used to tell me the sky over Demour stayed under constant cloud cover, and from a distance I can already see that beginning to form, though it hasn’t reached the border yet. He’d say the toxins smelled like styrene. The stuff used in plastics. Sweet and floral at first, but underneath it, it’s like burning plastic.

That particular scent doesn’t hit me. Instead, it smells oddly familiar.

Kayn sets me down and takes my hand. His fingers thread through mine, and my heart skips. It’s the first time he’s held it like this, and I know I’m overthinking it, but it feels right there. Like it belongs.

“Let’s go⁠—”

“Wait.”

He turns fully toward me, shoulders squaring, eyes fixed on mine.

“Stick your tongue out. I’m going to write a rune of protection on it.”

His smirk is devastating. “No complaints, but why the tongue?”

“This will be a permanent spell, and normally I’d carve it into your skin, but you’d just heal it.”

“Should’ve stopped at a tattoo shop,” he says with a wink.

“I’d have to inject the special ink you Vampires need to permanently mark your skin. Plus, I don’t know if that would change the chemical balance. This should work.”

He’s so carefree—shrugging his shoulders, bending forward a little, and sticking his tongue out.

I press my thumb to one of his sharp fangs and drag it across the tip. It splits my skin instantly. Then I bring my bleeding thumb to his tongue and draw the simple four-line protection spell. I can cast without chanting aloud now, but I still think the words as I write them.

Vendra, protect and maintain. Wounds, life, and mind in trade. His for mine. Mine for his.

This spell will basically protect him from the Ashspyte. I’ll absorb all of it for him, which I’ll expel over time. No offense to Atlas, but I wouldn’t do it for him. He’s fragile, and easily killable. If he died… we all would.

Suddenly, he jerks back. “What’s that mean?”

“What’s… what mean?”

“‘Mine for his’? My wounds? Life?” His voice sharpens. “Amar⁠—”

I can’t help it—I giggle. “You’re getting waaay too comfortable in the bond, Kayn.”

“Amarah.”

Oh, he’s not joking. His tone drops, and the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows makes me clear my throat.

“Magic isn’t free. There’s always a price. If there weren’t something I had to offer in exchange, I could misuse it. Imagine having unlimited power with no consequence.” I smile softly and place my hand on his cheek, brushing my fingertips along his beard. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. The Ashspyte can’t hurt me, and you’re pretty durable.”

His nostrils flare, and he literally huffs. “I don’t like it. Take it off. I’ll survive.”