Page 107

The west arcade reminds me of wet stone, moss, and old runoff when I reach it.

Corin is already there.

Of course he is.

He steps from the shadow near the broken ward tiles, glamour thin over his horns, eyes gold beneath his hood. The sight of him sends relief through me so fiercely that I hate Vaerith a little more for making relief feel dangerous.

He sees my wrists.

The air around him heats.

“Who?” he asks.

“Vaerith.”

The word changes him. His posture stills.

“What did he do?”

I lift my hands before his anger can decide where to go. “Temporary pinning ward. I broke it.”

His gaze moves over my wrists, my throat, my face. “Isolde.”

“I am intact.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“It is the answer I am giving first.”

His hands flex at his sides, then open deliberately. He is fighting himself before me, and the sight steadies me more than any promise could.

“Permanent wardship,” I say. “He threatened to invoke it by dawn if he can manufacture grounds.”

Corin’s voice drops. “Binding you to the estate?”

“Body, labor, and contractual output.”

The heat rolling off him grows fierce enough to warm the damp stone between us.

“He dies,” he says.

“No.”

“That sounded like a complete thought to me.”

“It was a stupid one.”

His eyes flash. “Isolde.”

“Do not growl my name like that unless you want me to start grading your impulse control aloud.”

He stares at me, fury and disbelief colliding across his face.

Then, absurdly, he laughs once.

It is rough. It is not calm. It helps anyway.

“You were pinned to a wall by ward magic and you’re threatening to grade me?”