Chapter 33 Neirin
NEIRIN
Sunlight streamed through the windows, stirring me from my sleep. It was early morning, and the fire in the hearth was nothing but coals. My left arm tingled, numb, tucked beneath Evera just as it was when I fell asleep. Our fingers were intertwined, and the marks of our bonds lay parallel.
Though the room held a faint chill, Evera’s body was warm beside me. I pulled the quilts up higher with my free hand so they cocooned us. With her in my arms like this, it felt like she was mine—just as I was hers. And would always be hers.
But what of Harlan? Fate and the cruelness of love and loss tugged me in two directions, wore me down, and strained at my soul.
Pushing aside my thoughts, I brushed my thumb against Evera’s cheek.
The curls of her hair framed her face, so peaceful in her dreams. I studied the slope of her nose and the soft pout of her lips.
The gown she wore hung off one shoulder, revealing countless little speckles that matched the ones across the bridge of her nose.
I could kiss each one and still not have my fill of her.
Evera’s chest rose heavily, and she cuddled into me, waking. I kissed her temple. “Good morning, love.”
She looked up at me through fluttering lashes, her eyes stunning this close.
They reminded me of a pond I visited once in the western lands, its surface so tranquil and flat that it mirrored everything above it.
Willows surrounded them, their sweeping branches painting the sanctuary in tones of blue and green.
Perhaps one day I could take Evera there.
Again, sadness clenched at my belly, the weight of our situation an ever-present cloak over us.
“Love?” She blinked sleep from her eyes and stifled a yawn. “You called me that last night, too.”
The corners of my lips turned up. My mate was bold. “Do you not like when I call you that?”
Rising to her palms, bracing herself above me, she held my eyes, studying, contemplating. The ginger waves of her hair fell over her shoulder. There was such brilliance in her, such cunning and wit. I waited for her retort.
But her tone was sober when she spoke. “It is not something to say lightly.”
My heart flipped. She was asking if I loved her.
Cupping her cheek in my palm, I studied her face. The early light of dawn poured into the room at an angle. It caught in her hair and lashes, illuminating the fire within her.
“I love you, Evera.”
She wet her lips, and her eyes betrayed her reservation.
I rose to my shoulders, cringing as the motion tightened my core and pulled at the stitches of my wound.
Moving my hand to the back of her neck, I drew her lips to mine.
If she was not ready to return the words, I didn’t want her to.
The kiss was brief but full of meaning. When I withdrew, I held her eyes and she smiled. One day she would tell me too.
A shout from outside broke the moment, and fear trickled through the bond.
“They’ve found him,” Evera said on a hush.
“Do you trust me?” I asked, a knot in my throat.
After a brief hesitation, Evera nodded, and my heart leapt.
“I will keep you safe. Nothing will happen to you as long as I live.” My words were a promise and a reminder of my fractured life.
“And what of you?” There was unease in her tone; it seeped into me. The voices outside grew in number, and a heaviness weighed me down. “What will happen if they take you? Will they—” Her voice wavered, broke.
Instead of answering, I kissed her again.
No response would ease her worries. I would not lie to her.
So I kissed her like it was the last time, and when she opened her mouth to me, I deepened it, intertwining our tongues and taking in all of her.
Giving her all of me. When the kiss broke, she was breathless, but at least she was smiling.
Leaving her in bed, I went to the window. Outside, the soldiers from the capital gathered around Cyan’s body. A few local soldiers stood beside Aaron and the garrison commander. In the rays of dawn, the metal rod jutting out of the fallen guard was a formidable mark facing the rising sun.
Evera rose and came to stand with me. She hugged my arm and rested her cheek against my bicep. My heart clenched at the position I’d put her in.
Turning from the window, I wrapped her in my arms, and she nuzzled into my chest. The stitches beneath my bandages itched when her body moved against me.
“Can you remove the stitches?” I asked.
Evera studied me with a crease in her brows. I traced the lines with my thumb, smoothing them.
“Not for at least a week—”
I shook my head. “Will you check them?”
She nodded and moved from my arms. The absence of her warmth sent a chill down my spine. When she returned with her bag in hand, she set it down and found the end of my wrap.
I remained still as she removed the bandage; her touch at my chest, torso, and sides was light. And the sight of her before me, the way her gown swept over her shoulder and revealed her neck and the upper swell of one of her breasts … I clenched my jaw.
“Does it hurt?” She raised her eyes to mine, with concern tugging at her brows. The bandage, stripped down enough to reveal a red stain on the cloth, trailed to the ground.
Releasing a breath, I sought constraint, calm. “No, it does not hurt.” My words came out thicker than I intended, and I swallowed.
A grin curled up Evera’s lips, and she hooked one of her hands at the band of my pants. Rising to her toes, she spoke against my lips. “I can feel your emotions too, Neirin.”
“That is valuable insight.” I swallowed the knot in my throat.
Evera stifled a laugh.
I raised a brow and huffed at her reaction, though in truth I was grateful for the lightness it brought.
“Temptress,” I teased.
She shrugged, not denying it, and turned her attention back to my bandages.
Once they were removed, she addressed the wound with a look of puzzlement, trailing her index finger just above the slash.
Though the skin remained swollen, the bruising had dissipated overnight, and the familiar discomfort that came with healing told me that if the thread was not removed soon, it would become embedded.
“When I was a boy, I cut open my leg climbing in the apple trees,” I explained. “The castle surgeon stitched the gash, and when I returned five days later to have it evaluated, he had to recut the wound to remove the threads.”
Shaking her head, Evera nodded to the bed. “Lie down,” she instructed and went to the nightstand to retrieve her dagger.
I lay back with my legs hanging over the side of the bed.
“Do not fidget.” Evera crawled atop the bed and sat next to me on her knees.
Placing my hands beneath my head, I grinned up at her. “I’ll be good,” I promised, voice husky.
Scoffing, Evera took the tip of the blade and caught the end of the thread. Though the pressure was uncomfortable and the swollen skin still tender, I held still as she discarded the blade on the quilts and turned her attention back to the threads.
“Evera,” I spoke her name to draw her eyes to mine, then pointedly tilted my head, gesturing.
When her glance turned to the unsheathed blade, she huffed through her nose. “You are insufferable.”
“Might I remind you that you cut me with that very—” A flash of hot concentrated pain made me snarl as Evera tugged at the thread. I narrowed my eyes but held my tongue, and the corners of her lips turned up in amused satisfaction.
Humming, she looked up at me once through her lashes before setting back to her task, gentler this time as she worked the remaining threads, cutting sections as needed to make the removal easier.
As her fingers moved with nimble confidence, I found myself enthralled by her.
Not just by her beauty—though that, in my eyes, was unmatched—but by her resilience and bravery.
Not only had she saved my life, she’d known how to handle Calix with only the barest of information about his condition.
She’d aided me without knowledge of the components that had led to Cyan’s death, and did not question me until we lay in bed, until all was cared for.
The words held in my throat, certain as I was that they would not be enough, would not express my feelings to their fullness.
Whatever lay ahead, I could not resent fate for the time it allowed me with her. These would be the moments I thought back to when death came for me. Whether that be in a fortnight or less, or, should life be kind to me, in old age.
I would cherish her for as long as I was given.