Page 113 of Season Warriors & Wolves

“It is not about trust more than it is about truth.”

Kilian didn’t speak or look at me as we made our way back to the ship.

“You understood what he said?” I asked, trying to keep up with his heavy steps.

“Yes.”

“What language was it?”

“I don’t know.”

Thora jumped in my arms right the second we left Golgotha’s home. Her dark lashes were wet. “Kilian thought,” she sniffled, “the band on his finger…it faded and disappeared.”

I glanced at Kilian’s hand still wrapped around mine, the mark of our union was still bruised grey in places, not entirely the strong obsidian colour it usually was.

He wouldn’t look at me at all when we climbed back on the ship. Didn’t talk to me either on the way back. Not even blinked at all. But at least he didn’t let go of my hand or did not push me away when I tentatively rested my head on his chest.

Mal was not as forgiving as him. The looks he gave me were scalding. Maybe he wanted to take back what he told me the night before. He looked like he did hate me.

Visha was at the shore waiting for our return.

My witch looked hopeful. The first time she remotely looked close to feeling any sort of emotion.

“I tried,” I said to her. “Now you can let this go. Let me have those nightmares in peace.”

Her head lowered. “I will not stop.”

If Kilian had not pinned a dubious look on me, I would have ripped desire out of her entirely. “You will have to. I order it,” was all I said.

“When I was lead to you, when I walked for weeks through lands that should not have existed to come to you, I came with a promise. To serve you until I can’t. And until I can’t, I will serve you still.” She spun and then disappeared out of sight.

Narrowly. I missed finding Urinthia so narrowly that I was about to pluck my hair out one by one with tweezers.

Kilian opened the doors and strutted in, still flipping through countless documents, hardly even realising I was laying down on the bed. Or so I thought. When his eyes landed on me, they widened just a fraction—with happiness.

Cursed be my pride.

I had spent the night after returning from the Sea of the Dark in Thora’s bed, watching her sleep and snore softly. Then the night after in Nia’s, letting her tell me about all sorts of flowers she’d harvested from Aru that she was planning on making medicine with till she had fallen asleep with her head on my lap.

Tonight, both had refused to let me sleep in their beds. Apparently, they needed something called privacy and I’d avoided talking to him for much too long.

Guilt was such an odd sensation. Gnawing. Hollow. I’d barely realised I was feeling it from the hopelessness I’d encapsulated myself in. Which was an oddly filling sensation, I’d figured.

“You're angry,” he said, shedding his clothes, and I tried my hardest to keep my eyes trained on the book before me. Though nerves had strung so tight that no letter was making sense. What language was this?

He sighed, reached to grab my book and spun it round in the right direction.

Oh.

He sat on the edge of the bed next to me, his hand caressing my thigh and my toes curled under the blanket. “Love. My love. Won't you speak to me?” he asked, leaning to kiss my cheek and I almost burst a vein from struggling to not kiss him back. “Hm? Please? Punish me some other way.” His mouth dipped lower, and his hand slid between my thighs. “I missed you so much,” he said, kissing his way back to my lips. “So, so much.”

Me too. “I want to read my book.”

He slowly pulled back and nodded. “Alright, my love. I'll leave you to it.”

My heart ached and I really didn’t want to be stubborn about this, but this put fear back in my blood. I had…hope. So much of it. And I’d lost it.

It was my fault for hoping again in the first place.