Page 266 of May: Bloom & Bane

“You’re letting the cold in,” I murmur.

He flinches.

Gods, I hate that. I have spent the last three hundred years trying to get that out of him, and it is still right there, put there by men who were supposed to protect him.

“I lost him,” he whispers.

“Come in.”

“Father—”

“Ørvahn.” I set the crystal down. “Come in and shut the door.”

He ducks under the frame. He’s outgrown three doorways in this house, and I have widened every one of them, yet he still ducks out of that terrible reflexive apology his body makes for simply existing.

He stands in the middle of my study with his paws hanging at his sides. His fur is matted with blood, and there is a burn across one shoulder in the shape of bars.

“They just had to choose a cage, did they not?”

“It’s okay, Father, really. It was almost like the exposure therapy we’ve tried before.” His paw comes up to rest over the wound. “And there was something about his magic that felt almost… apologetic.”

“Sit down so we can clean those wounds.”

“I had him,” he says. “In the maze, I had him, and he—” His jaw tenses. “He turned it around on me.”

“I know.”

“I let him.”

“It’s over, Ørvahn.” I grab a basin of warm water and a clean cloth from the side table. “I got you some more honey; you were running low. It’s in the cupboard when we’re finished.”

He stops.

“... What?” His honey-brown eyes widen, blinking at me as though I have started speaking another language.

“Honey. In the cupboard.” I gesture with two fingers. “Second shelf. Behind your raspberry tea. You have been in the forest for a full day, and you did not eat anything before you left. Now you are standing in my study bleeding on a rug I am rather fond of. So I would like you to sit down so I can get you patched up.”

“But I failed. It was the first time you sent me on a mission, and I failed.”

“You did.”

“I messed things up. The bond is sealed, everything you’ve⁠—”

“Ørvahn.”

I cross the room, and he braces. The same way he did the night I found him chained in that pit with his muzzle wired shut. He had flattened himself against the stone and waited to be struck—or worse.

“Sit down,” I say quietly, brushing my thumb once across the fur beneath his eye. “I will grab the honey.”

He lowers himself onto the floor next to the fire.

“You’re not angry?” he asks eventually.

“No.”

“You should be angry.”

“Mm.” I hand him the jar. “Eat.”