Chapter 19 Song of the Heart
Song of the Heart
That evening, Auryn sat on a low stool inside the tent, wrapped in one of Thessia’s oversized nightshirts. The fabric slid over her skin like water—too long, too broad in the shoulders, but soft. Safe. Her limbs still felt hollow, as though she’d left pieces of herself in sleep.
The air was thick with warmed herbs and lavender oil. Beyond the canvas walls, the Blades sparred—grunts, the thud of boots in dirt. The rhythm echoed like a heartbeat she hadn’t yet found again.
“You’ll feel better once it’s brushed,” Thessia murmured, kneeling behind her with a small bowl of oil balanced between her knees. “Your hair’s gone wild with all that sleep.”
Auryn let out a breathy laugh. “It was wild before. Just…less obvious.”
Thessia chuckled low, a sound that barely disturbed the hush. Her fingers began their work—careful, slow—until the comb caught at a stubborn knot near Auryn’s nape. She winced.
“Sorry,” Thessia said quickly. “I forget you’re still mending.”
“My body aches like a raw wound,” Auryn sighed. “But too much feeling is better than none at all.”
Thessia's fingers moved without pause, but her voice tensed when she spoke next. "You should take more care," she said. "With your magic, I mean." When Auryn didn't interrupt, Thessia continued. "I'm the last person that'll tell you to hide your truth from men. But your magic…"
Auryn nodded. "It frightens those who dream."
Thessia chuckled. "Not that way I would have phrased it, but yes. You do things…say things…most aren't ready for. That puts you in danger."
"Will they be ready if I sit still and wait? How long must I stay silent?"
Thessia's hands paused. A breath escaped her like a silent laugh unchecked. "You're right. Of course you are. Forget I said anything, moonbeam."
She dipped her fingers back into the oil. Warmth threaded through each lock, her touch deliberate, patient.
“Your hair’s like starlight,” she said after a while, voice softer.
Auryn blinked. “Have you seen others with hair like mine?”
“I haven’t seen anyone like you before.” A pause, then a rough clearing of her throat. “It’s lovely. You’re lovely. But more than that—you carry strength. Courage.”
Auryn’s gaze fell to her lap. She twisted her fingers, her posture tight, nervous. “I want others to see it.”
Thessia hummed knowingly. “You mean you want the Shadeslayer to see.”
“Kailorien,” Auryn whispered, the name slipping out like breath. Her eyes unfocused, drawn inward toward the memory of him.
“As I said before, that’s not a name any of us call him. Only you.”
Auryn fidgeted harder. “He has many, it seems. But none that truly name him.”
Thessia let out a short huff—amused, not unkind. “You’re not his type of woman.”
Auryn lips tugged, wry. “Small, you mean.”
Thessia’s laugh was half a sigh. “No. You’re…special.”
The word caught in Auryn’s chest. Lingered.
Thessia’s hands paused at her crown, fingertips brushing her scalp. “No one is ever special to the Resh’Agar. We’ve all seen the way he leads. The way he fights. Even the way he lies with women—there’s purpose in it. Precision. But belonging? Never. Not truly.” She exhaled. “Until you.”
“I’m not—” Auryn began, but Thessia was already shaking her head.
“You are. And he’s afraid to speak it. Afraid that if he names it, he’ll lose his grip on everything else.”
Silence stretched, filled with lavender and oil. Auryn breathed in, breathed out. An ache pressed behind her eyes.
“He doesn’t…” she tried again, voice trembling. “We haven’t…” Her face flushed hot. Not out of shame, but because—in this moment with Thessia—she felt strangely naked. “We lie beside each other every night. And once…he…we…”
Thessia’s chuckle was soft, warm. “If you weren’t special, he’d have taken you already. He wouldn’t let you linger in his tent, in his bed. When the Resh’Agar takes a woman, it rarely lasts. And never like this.”
Her comb smoothed the last few strands into place. Not practical, not militant. A gesture meant only for comfort. Then, almost too soft to hear, “But you’re already there, aren’t you?”
Auryn swallowed. The braid slid over her shoulder like a comet’s tail.
“Let me braid it like mine,” Thessia said. “You’ve earned a warrior’s braid.”
Auryn nodded. “The Lioness’s braids are lovely, too.” She reached for the slender one that stood out. The one with the violet ribbon. "This matches your eyes. It's beautiful."
The tent flap rustled. Talia leaned in with a crooked smile. “Well, this looks cozy. Sorry to interrupt, but the scouts are back. Got a few things to report, Captain.”
Thessia didn’t pause. Her fingers kept weaving, precise and sure. “I’m listening.”
Talia shifted, then winked at Auryn. “Glad you’re on your feet again. All of us were worried. But none more than Thess here.”
Talia’s brown eyes were warm, full of adoration for her Captain. “You should’ve seen her during the battle,” she added, teasing. “Broke the line like a madwoman. Made straight for the tethering when that rift split. Serra nearly dropped her shield—and nothing surprises her.”
Auryn’s chest tightened. Her hands stilled in her lap.
Talia winked. “If she hadn’t, the whole camp would’ve drowned in shadows. But then again, that’s what we’re known for. The Riven Blades don’t break—we cleave.”
Auryn tilted her head. “Cleaving sorrow. I’ve heard several of the Blades say something like that before.”
Thessia’s hands stilled in Auryn’s hair, just for a moment. “An old saying,” she murmured. “From when the Blades were first formed, long before my time. A promise that if grief came for us, the Riven himself would stand in the way.”
Talia grinned. “Some still think he will.”
“Who is the Riven?” Auryn asked.
Thessia continued braiding. “Been so long since the legend was made, no one’s sure anymore. We say it as truth. The Riven cleaved through sorrow itself to save us. Or so the story goes.”
“Now I’m curious,” Auryn said.
“Captain’s just shy,” Talia smirked. “Maybe one day, she’ll tell you the story.”
Thessia said nothing. Only murmured, “Hold still. Almost done.”
Auryn’s hand crept back, brushing Thessia’s bent knee. “You saved my life,” she whispered. “I could not have held the rift without you.”
Thessia’s fingers froze mid-braid. She breathed once, long. “I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done. I just got to you first.”
Auryn turned, eyes flicking up. “You disobeyed the Resh’Agar’s orders.”
“I’d do it again,” Thessia said without hesitation.
Her violet eyes were steady, sure. “He’s already thanked me.
In his way.” She resumed braiding, slower now; every twist was deliberate, as though Auryn’s touch had unraveled something inside her.
“You didn’t just hold the rift, little moonbeam,” she murmured. “You held the whole sky together.”
Silence wrapped around them again, deep and warm.
Talia glanced between them, lips quirking, before backing out with a sly smile. “I’ll leave you two to it. Scouts can wait.” The canvas rustled closed. Outside, sparring grunts resumed. Inside, stillness reigned.
Auryn’s fingers still rested on Thessia’s knee. She hadn’t pulled back. "Little moonbeam,” she said. “You’ve been calling me that.”
“You were unconscious ten days,” Thessia murmured. “We were all worried sick. Forgive me if I started talking like a lunatic. Naming you things. Making up stories about how you’d wake and tell me I was wrong.”
Auryn swallowed. Said nothing. Only tilted her head into Thessia’s touch. The braid was nearly finished—loose, soft, laced with oil and care.
“I kept expecting him to storm in,” Thessia said. “Shouting. Weeping. Anything.”
Auryn exhaled. “He doesn’t do those things.”
“No,” Thessia agreed. “But I would have. If it were me.”
Auryn’s breath caught. The thought pressed against something tender, aching.
“Why did you come to the rift?”
Thessia tied off the braid, her fingers brushing Auryn’s nape. She rested her palm there, warm. “Because I had to. Because watching you fall felt like watching something…important break. I didn’t understand it. I still don’t. I only knew I couldn’t bear it.”
Auryn turned fully, bare feet brushing canvas, braid sliding over her shoulder. She touched Thessia’s wrist. The warrior flinched—then smoothed her expression, as she’d done a thousand times before.
“Do you not want to ask me about my magic? How I did what I did?”
Thessia’s storm-gray eyes held hers. “I think I’m past that. You’re you. Isn’t that what you told me before?”
Auryn nodded.
“So why should anything else matter?”
Auryn turned her hand, twining their fingers. “Your heart sings,” she whispered. “But I won’t listen until you tell me to.”
Thessia closed her eyes. Just for a breath.