28. Selis #2
The fire’s low. The sky’s colder than it has any right to be. And I’m too damn awake for sleep.
Naera’s curled up beside me. She didn’t ask before sliding closer. She just moved, quiet and instinctive, like she knew I’d keep her warm whether I wanted to or not.
I should’ve pushed her away. I should’ve kept the line between us sharp.
But I didn’t.
The line’s already blurred anyway.
Her glow’s faint in the dark now. Soft, like the memory of light instead of the thing itself. She breathes steady, soft. And it makes something tight in my chest pull tauter.
I keep my eyes on the trees.
Not because I think anything’s looking back. Not yet. But because I don’t know what’s coming next.
The Guild’s out. That door slammed the second I opened Veyra’s throat.
They’ll figure out she’s dead soon—if they haven’t already.
And when they do?
They’ll come. Not with questions. Not with offers. They’ll burn half the countryside just to make an example of me.
And then there’s The Garden. Still waiting. Still clawing to put their precious holy daughter back on the altar like a lamb too stupid to run.
And Naera…
I glance at her.
She’s half-asleep, cheek pressed to my shoulder. Her toes are tucked beneath my thigh now. Cold even in sleep. She’s got no shoes, no cloak of her own—just that too-fine dress the Guild wrapped her in.
My cloak’s draped over both of us now. I pulled it around her hours ago, but it doesn’t feel like enough.
And I let her sleep.
I want her to rest.
Even if I can’t.
Even if the world’s already catching fire around us.
She saved me in that place. Ran through a god-cursed mirror for me. And now she’s here, breathing soft and even, as if sharing body heat with me isn’t the worst idea she’s ever had.
I should hand her over.
The treacherous thought slithers through before I can stop it—sharp, cold, practiced.
I should walk her to the edge of The Garden myself, blade to her back, make the trade, take the coin…
But… I won’t.
And that terrifies me more than anything else .
Because the moment I didn’t drink that wine… the moment I killed Veyra… the moment I reached back for Naera’s hand and pulled her with me into the dark—that was the moment I chose her.
Not as cargo. Not as currency.
As something else.
Something I don’t have a name for yet.
Her fingers shift in her sleep, brushing mine.
I don’t pull away.
I’m going to burn for this.
And I think I’d let it happen if it meant she kept looking at me the way she does.
We should find another hot spring soon. Warm our bones. Let her soak some of the cold out of her skin before it settles too deep.
She stirs beside me, soft and slow. Her head tilts up just slightly, chin brushing my shoulder. Eyes still fogged with sleep, but focused on me.
“Are you warm enough?” she murmurs.
I huff a breath, more amused than I mean to be. “I’m not the one traipsing barefoot through a cursed graveyard in the snow, starlight.”
She hums—a little smile curling at the edge of her lips—and nestles closer like I just dared her to steal more heat.
And maybe I did.
There’s a pressure in my chest—like something tightening under the bone, just beneath where my armor would be if I still wore any.
Naera’s skin is warm where it touches mine, and her glow has steadied. Dim, yes, but not fading. Not failing. Like a banked flame beneath snow, waiting.
And damn everything… I want to kiss her .
The thought strikes with the same clarity as a blade drawn in the dark. I want to kiss her—not like I did before, not like something stolen in the heat of blood and breath. I want to do it right. Gently. Like she asked me to.
Only kiss me if it means something, she’d said.
And right now?
It feels like it does.
But what if I’m wrong? What if I’m confusing this softness for something it isn’t? I’ve lived so long in violence, I don’t always know how to read the quiet things. I’ve never cared to.
But I want it to mean something. And that… that feels new.
My fingers hover at her cheek, unsure. I hesitate—almost afraid to touch her, afraid of what it might confirm.
Then I tip her chin up with the lightest touch, as if she’s made of glass and I’ve never been gentle in my life.
Her eyes flutter open. Pale blue, rimmed in silver, lit from within like moonlight skimming the sea. She blinks once, lashes soft against her cheek.
“Hm?” she whispers, her voice still threaded with sleep.
And I—
I kiss her.
Soft. Careful. No rush. No pressure. Just a press of my lips to hers, reverent as prayer. No taking. Just being.
This is the kiss that should have come first.
And when I draw back, I swear I feel her breath still caught between us. Her eyes search mine, wide and wondering.
I almost pull away. Almost crack some joke. Almost ruin it.
But I don’t.
Because for once in my damned life, I don’t want to run.
The silence stretches. Naera doesn’t look away. She’s still curled close against me, her glow brushing my collarbone, flickering soft and steady. Her fingers, warm from the fire, rest lightly against my ribs.
Then she speaks—quiet, curious, but sure.
“Why?”
Just one word.
I stare at her for a second, mouth parting, but the words don’t come easy. They’re too big for the throat. Too fragile for a blade-bitten thing like me. But she waits. Like she knows I’ll find them.
“I don’t know how to be good,” I say finally, voice rough with the truth. “Never really tried.”
Her brow furrows, but I keep going—because if I stop now, I won’t start again.
“You’re the first person who’s ever made me want to be more than… this. Not for coin. Not for survival. Just… for you .” I glance away, jaw clenched. “I’m terrible at it. At softness. At saying what I mean. But I mean this. I meant that kiss. I mean you. ”
The heat that’s been sitting in my chest flares, unsteady and real, and I risk a look at her again.
Naera is staring at me like I’ve given her something priceless.
And then—wordless—she leans in and kisses me. It’s warm and grounding and soothing , like she’s trying to press the ache out of my bones with her lips. Her hand rises to cradle my jaw, thumb brushing where my cheek is starting to burn.
She kisses me like I’m something worth gentling.
And when she pulls away, just far enough to rest her forehead against mine, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath since the moment we met .
Maybe I have.
I wrap my arms around her, hold her against my chest, and whisper into her hair, “Gods, starlight… what are you doing to me?”
She just hums, content.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like a weapon longing for blood.
I feel like I belong.
And it’s fucking terrifying.