Chapter Eight A Vow in the Dark #3
“You are shaking,” Morna murmured.
“I am not,” Caelan lied.
Morna lifted her head and looked at him. “You are. Not from cold.”
Caelan swallowed. “From relief,” he admitted.
Morna’s mouth twitched. “Relief is foolish.”
Caelan managed a faint smile. “So is love,” he said, then regretted it, because the word hung between them like a blade.
Morna went still. Her eyes searched his face. “Do you regret saying it.”
Caelan’s throat tightened. Love felt too big for this place. Love felt like a vow, and vows were dangerous.
But denying it felt worse.
“No,” he said, voice low. “I regret that I waited.”
Morna’s breath caught. She stared, as if she could not decide whether to believe him.
Caelan’s hand cupped the back of her head. “This is not what I imagined,” he whispered. “Not in straw, not with guards outside, not with hunger gnawing at us.”
Morna’s eyes softened. “I imagined nothing,” she replied. “I told myself I did not want.”
Caelan exhaled slowly. “And now.”
Morna’s mouth pressed into a line. “Now I have. And that terrifies me.”
Caelan’s chest tightened. “Because wanting makes you foolish.”
Morna’s lips curved faintly, bitter. “Because wanting gives someone else power. Valerius already has enough power.”
Caelan’s jaw clenched. “He does not have this,” he said, and kissed her forehead. “He does not own what we chose tonight.”
Morna’s gaze drifted toward the darkness beyond the cloak, toward the shapes of other prisoners. “He owns the camp. He owns the rations. He owns the punishments.”
Caelan’s voice went hard. “He does not own you.”
Morna looked back at him. “Do you believe that.”
Caelan swallowed. “I believe I will kill anyone who tries.”
The words came out colder than he intended. They startled him.
Morna watched him, a flicker of fear in her eyes, then something like acceptance. “That is the man you are becoming,” she whispered.
Caelan’s throat tightened. “Is that what you wanted,” he asked, voice rough. “A man who would kill.”
Morna’s fingers traced the bruise under his jaw. “I wanted a man who would live,” she said softly. “And I wanted to know that if you lost your code for me, you did not lose your heart.”
Caelan’s eyes burned. He turned his face and kissed her palm. “My heart is already yours,” he murmured.
Morna’s eyes widened slightly. She swallowed. “Do not give me that.”
Caelan frowned. “Why.”
“Because I cannot protect it,” she said, voice thin. “If you give it to me and then you die, what do I do with it.”
Caelan’s chest tightened. He could not promise survival. He could only promise effort.
“You keep it,” he said quietly. “You carry it like you carry your herbs. You use it.”
Morna’s mouth tightened, and her eyes glistened. “I do not know how to use love.”
Caelan’s voice softened. “You are using it already,” he said. “You used it when you held my hand in the yard. You used it when you kissed me first.”
Morna’s breath hitched. “That was not love.”
Caelan shook his head. “It was choice,” he said. “And choice is what love becomes when there is no safety.”
Morna stared at him for a long moment, then lowered her head back to his chest. Her voice came muffled. “Then I chose.”
Caelan held her tighter.
For a time they lay in silence, listening to the barrack settle. Caelan’s hunger returned, dull and persistent, but it did not feel as sharp as before. Morna’s warmth beside him anchored him, and for a few precious moments, he could pretend they were not prisoners.
Pretend was a small mercy.
At some point, Morna’s breathing slowed, slipping into sleep. Caelan stayed awake, staring into the dark, feeling her weight against him.
His mind returned to the future because his mind always did. Half rations for three days. Men collapsing. Valerius tightening his grip. Ivor likely planning the next move, his grin ready.
Escape would not come easily. It would come with another compromise, and another.
Caelan feared what he might do next.
He also feared what he would become if he did nothing.
He pressed his lips to Morna’s hair again, a quiet vow. Not clean. Not simple. A vow of thorns.
When dawn finally seeped into the barrack, Morna stirred, eyes opening slowly. She looked at him as if trying to confirm he was real.
“You are still here,” she murmured.
Caelan managed a faint smile. “Aye.”
Morna’s gaze softened, then she frowned. “We should not have,” she whispered.
Caelan’s voice was quiet. “Do you regret it.”
Morna stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head once, small and fierce. “No,” she said. “That is what frightens me.”
Caelan’s chest tightened. “Then let it frighten you,” he murmured. “Fear keeps you sharp.”
Morna’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Spoken like a man who counts everything.”
Caelan kissed her forehead. “Not everything,” he said.
Outside, boots thudded, and the barrack door scraped open.
The day returned, harsh and cold.
But when Morna stood, cloak pulled tight, she reached back and squeezed Caelan’s hand once, quick and steady.
A signal.
Not that they were safe.
Only that they were not alone.