Page 254 of The Reckoning of Starlight

Jassyn tapped the chair beside him. “Sit.”

Lykor glanced at the empty chair, then back at Jassyn. His jaw tightened before he dropped into the seat hard enough to make the floor creak.

The nearness registered too sharply, the scent of leather and frost, armor still carrying warmth from the sun. Details Jassyn’s mind cataloged when he should’ve been assembling his argument.

He pushed away from the table and rose.

Folding his arms, Lykor tracked him. “What’s this about?”

Jassyn circled the table, placing its carved breadth between them. The polished wood offered enough space to keep Lykor’s hands from undoing his resolve. A week apart, and one touch from Lykor would blunt every accusation Jassyn had honed over sleepless nights.

“We’re going to speak about the matters you’ve been attending to,” Jassyn said quietly.

Lykor shoved loose strands of hair from his face. “If you’re after apologies for my lateness,” he growled, yanking the leather cord free from his topknot, “take it up with Aesar. He’s been occupied clinging insufferably to his human.”

“Marrek,” Jassyn clipped. “You can say his name.”

Lykor’s lip curled, his fingers stilling in his hair.

“And don’t use them to dodge me.”

The cord bit into Lykor’s fingers as he retied the knot at the top of his head. His attention cut toward the jungle, then back to Jassyn. “Then what’s this about? Or can we take it somewhere that doesn’t reek of treaties and your fucking need to save everyone? You’ve probably been holed up in this trunk since sunrise.”

Jassyn didn’t deny it. He’d already decided to stand for another term. Another five years surrendered to trade routes and border disputes, to the patient work of teaching ruined realms that peace could endure longer than the violence that preceded it.

The work was unfinished. Jassyn believed that.

He feared he’d always believe it.

The Accord would celebrate his decision, and Lykor would hate it. He’d hear another piece of Jassyn’s life offered to a world that never stopped asking, and Jassyn had delayed telling him because he had no argument Lykor would accept.

That secret, at least, could be defended as duty. The other could claim no such dignity.

That afternoon, a druid delegate had opposed the relief measure for Kyansari’s poorer districts—food stores, clean wells, crews to repair cracked stone and shattered glass before the winter rains came.

The capital hadn’t earned rescue from hands it had once chained, she’d argued.

Essence had flared through Jassyn’s veins before thought could intervene. The chamber had gone so still that he’d heard the delegate draw her next breath. She’d blinked once and inclined her head.

He’d compelled her, and no one noticed.

And she hadn’t been the first.

Jassyn could’ve confessed the truth to Lykor, how more than one argument had tilted in his favor before he realized coercion had done the persuading for him. But Lykor wouldn’t condemn him, and Jassyn couldn’t afford the comfort of that response. He’d understand too much, trace the violation through every wound Jassyn carried, and call what he’d done necessary until it became permission.

Jassyn didn’t need absolution from someone who loved him enough to excuse what he’d done.

Instead, he said, “I had an…interesting encounter with Blossom.”

Lykor rolled his eyes. “Anyone would have an interesting encounter with Blossom.”

Jassyn studied him.

“She seemed to be expecting you.” He rounded the curve of the table and stopped behind Lykor’s chair, bracing his hands on the carved back. “Care to tell me why?”

Lykor’s jaw ticked, but he kept silent.

“I’ve let you keep your secrets for years, Lykor.” What Jassyn had withheld himself made the rebuke difficult to justify. “I saw the pattern. Maybe I always did, but I chose to ignore it.”