Chapter Thirty-Seven #3
My Guards’ excited yells grow louder in response, and tears stream down my cheeks as I weep for the way they are able to express their joy so freely, when they are required to stand still and say nothing more often than not.
The most powerful statues, relegated to be expressionless and opinion-less while managing the safety of the Imperial Grand Witch.
I allow my muscles to relax as much as possible in my current position, feeling oddly safe atop this Dragon. Especially while braced by the sorcerer who continues to show his care for me, regardless of the obstacles thrown at us—sometimes literally.
Varic’s body relaxes into mine, settling my nerves while stirring something I’m unable to name. A sigh sounds in my ear as he nestles his forehead into my temple, pulling in a breath so deep it’s as if he’s breathing me in, regardless of my obvious need for a bath.
“Thank you,” he says, and I shake my head, hoping he might understand. His cheek rises, shifting my hair braced beneath it. “For trusting me.”
I don’t mean to start crying. Not now. However, as it often is with Varic and I, the meaning behind his words excavates some of my deepest, most well-hidden sorrows.
“Tasch.” His use of my name only makes the sobs worsen. “Tell me, if you can.”
I shake my head while he nods into my hair, pulling his elbows in tighter, hugging me the best way he can in this position.
“I’m sorry if I made you cry. Let it out, mei waella; it’s okay. Give it all to me. I can take it. I want to for you. Always, for you.”
That does it. His words uncover the worst of me, unveiling the bones of my monstrosity—hidden away, yet failing to protect me from its evil history. The ancient term he uses so affectionately flitters around my chest before spiraling down to my stomach.
“Is it the fact we are going back? It’s not too late, I can tell the others—”
I shake my head with wracking sobs ripped from years’ worth of despair when the chill of Cirrin’s healing magic sinks in—meaning Varic and he found a way to communicate in order to part his shield to allow it in.
A kind gesture, yet the sort of pain overtaking me is soul-deep—the kind no amount of healing magic can remedy.
“I’m so sorry, mei meida,” he says, and I clench my eyes shut, forcing tears to fall as his hands find and squeeze my own. “I’m sorry for all that you’ve been made to endure, that you’ve had to become so strong in order to survive this long.”
Fuck. His words squeeze my heart, uncomfortably tight.
No one, not one single being, has ever shared this sentiment with me—an act of compassion I wouldn’t have guessed I needed.
Until now. Until he says it while holding me. Ardently protecting me over the back of this majestic Dragon, to whom he is blood-bound because of his vow to do this very thing.
Reality shatters the thin crystal veil of my reverie, remembering how he is simply returning the favor. A life for a life. His duty. His false sense of obligatory responsibility. How he took the vow in gratitude for all I did for him, and now my life and well-being are his burden.
Would I have saved him then, had I known this would be the outcome?
Yes. A thousand times, yes. Every smile, every spark of joy or burst of anger, the very life thrumming through his veins, is as vital as breathing is to my own survival.
Because had we not been successful, had he succumbed to his grief, I would be nothing more than a decrepit shell forced to do the Emperor’s bidding.
Because he is the lifeblood that pulses through my body.
The reason I wake every morning.
Fear courses through me, rattling every cell of my being. This realization is not all that revelatory, yet terrifying all the same. To know the sorcerer for whom I continue living is putting himself in harm’s way to save me. I can’t bring myself to accept it. Not yet.
The effect he has on me endangers us all, which is something I clearly cannot control. And perhaps I do not want to. Perhaps I selfishly revel in that heady mix of pain and pleasure, feeling enlivened by his very presence.
“Mei waella, I sense your fear.” My heart twinges. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
Oh, how wrong you are, Varic. How na?ve.
“Are you going to give me your distress, or am I going to have to take it?” he rasps.
I gather what I can—that tangled ball of chains, shackling me to a horrifying place filled with memories of every terrible thing I’ve done.
I follow the call of his magic, weakened from disuse—a form of power he shouldn’t be using, and yet it still tugs, begging me to loosen that which will ruin me if I keep it in.
I gasp as he pulls, siphoning all I offer him, relieving the pressure I’ve become accustomed to, feeling as if he’s hollowed out a certain part of my chest.
“Thank you,” I cry.
“This is so much.” His voice cracks as another tear escapes, hurtling down my cheek. “He makes you hold too much.” His chest shakes as his own tears fall over my hair.
“I mean every word of this: I will alleviate your hurt and pain, Tasch. I want to.”
His words tilt my inner axis, spinning me until I can’t tell which way is which, unsure what to do with this confession.
All I know is that I understand.
Because I feel the same way with him.