Chapter 24 Words Unguarded
Words Unguarded
Resh awoke to silence. Stillness. Not morning, but a new day.
The world around him breathed, and for once, he could breathe with it. No buzzing in his ears. No pain from the runes. No heaviness in his lungs. Like the first time he’d awakened centuries and centuries ago, with only his brother’s words to remind him of who he was.
Yet even then, the peace had never been this overwhelming.
This all-encompassing.
This wonderful.
His eyes focused on the canvas of the tent above him, watching it sway lightly with the wind outside. He hardly remembered closing his eyes the night before. Could recall no dreams. Just calm.
He blinked.
Once, then again.
Something shifted against his chest. His gaze dropped to a world of starlight. Before the thought even registered, his hand was already moving. Stroking through the softness, running it between his fingers like liquid mercury. Brushing aside the shining curtain, he made out a face.
Arching silver brows. Long white lashes. A delicate nose nestled in a constellation of faint freckles on velvet skin. Serene. As though the skies themselves had painted a portrait of their adoration.
Auryn.
His.
She was sprawled across him; one leg hooked over his hip. Limp. Unmoving. Her lips parted as she breathed shallow, halting breaths.
His hand…
Void.
His hand was gripping her thigh.
Cupping it.
Resh’s mind floundered. Memory of the night before was entirely absent. He let go of her. Then, with the same hand, he tipped her chin up so he could see her whole face.
He was still dressed save for his shirt. She was resting against his bare chest. What happened? He tried to retrace his steps, but the memories blurred into fragments: her voice, asking to stay. Her fingers in his hair.
He shifted, trying to extricate himself without waking her. Auryn stirred, her brow creasing in sleep. One hand lifted and moved in the air as though tracing invisible threads. Her fingers moved in cyclical patterns, and the runes along his side flared in response.
Serene—as though her touch had sung to them. Soothed them.
His heart went cold.
She had touched his runes while he slept. Had used that power.
He jerked upright. She was freezing. Her nightgown offered little protection, and no blanket covered her. His instincts screamed, but his mind went numb. The calm from earlier twisted into dread, into rage, until his own breath burned in his chest.
And finally—finally—he understood.
She would always bleed for him. Even in sleep. Even when he didn’t ask. Especially when he didn’t ask.
“You reckless little thing,” he hissed.
Her lips moved, a soundless murmur against his cheek. He didn’t need to hear it to know she was casting.
Still.
Even now.
Resh gathered her against his chest. Her skin was like ice against his sternum. Dark circles ringed her eyes. He didn’t need to check for the black veining—he already knew what he would find. He swept aside the blanket and stood, his bare feet finding the rugs beneath the cot.
Still, she whispered.
Still, her fingers moved.
Still, somewhere inside her, she was paying a cost he’d never asked for.
As though using this power was a part of her—natural as breathing. Except breathing didn’t lead to death, and using her power did.
He crossed the tent and sank to his knees beside a wooden basin on the floor.
The water inside was cool, but he added a touch of heat with his palm.
He pulled down a cloth hanging there and pressed it to her cheeks, her wrists, her neck—gentle strokes to warm her gradually.
To call her back. She stirred when he brought the edge of a pitcher of water to her lips.
“Auryn,” he said, brushing her hair back. “Drink for me. Just a little.”
She obeyed, lips parting enough to accept a few sips. When she sank back against him again, he held her close. The water had been enough to interrupt her cast.
His jaw clenched.
This can’t go on. No more of this. Not ever again. Even if I have to chain her. Even if I have to find some way to seal this power away from her.
She sighed, a soft flutter of breath against his collarbone. Her brow furrowed. And then her eyes opened. Glazed with fatigue.
“…Kailorien?” she rasped, blinking. Her gaze found his, dazed and half-dreaming.
Every part of him stilled. A strange lightness lifted in his chest, warring with the storm still building in his bones. Her hand slid up his bare shoulder, resting against the line of his throat.
“How did you sleep?” Her voice was barely a whisper. Exhausted. Innocent. Hopeful.
His chest heaved once. His hands shook. He rose without a word and started pulling on his boots, his tunic, an overcoat—anything to keep from snapping clean in half and shouting.
She noticed. Felt something was off.
“What’s wrong…?”
“What’s wrong?” His voice was low. Dead quiet. A warning. “Auryn, you were casting. All night. Don’t you understand? You’re still healing.”
She sat up, blinking, disoriented. “No, I’m all right—”
“You’re not.” He spun toward her. “You were freezing. Did you even consider the price? How it would hurt you?”
“I was helping you—”
“Help?” His laugh was hollow, harsh. “You keep doing this. Offering yourself like you’re disposable. Like your life is worth less than mine. And I—” His voice cracked. “I can’t take it. I can’t wake up one day with your body cold beside mine. I won’t.”
She reached for him.
He stepped back.
She froze, hand halfway to his chest. Her face crumpled. “Your runes were burning. You needed rest—”
“Stop breaking yourself to fix me. To fix everything.” His throat was so tight he could hardly speak. “Don’t do it again. Ever. I don’t care if the world is falling. I don’t care if the gods themselves demand it. You do not use that power again.”
“You cannot forbid me from—”
“Yes I can,” he said. “Because I’m not losing you. Not to this.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “But it’s mine, Kailorien. It’s part of me.”
“Stop pretending you understand what you are when none of us do.”
Her hands dropped. “I do understand.”
His ears rang. Blood thundered in his skull. “So, you chose to destroy yourself anyway?”
The silence was a void.
“Auryn, this isn’t courage. It’s self-destruction.”
“I’m just…growing used to it. If I wasn’t meant to use this—why do I have it? Why did you find me in the ice? Why did you release me?”
The words tore out of him. “I was selfish. You were safe in that ice. Taking you from that, pulling you into this world…into war and rifts…was a mistake.”
Mistake.
Mistake.
The word echoed like a slap.
He felt the instant he’d gone too far, the way her face stilled—as though he’d slammed a door between them.
She lifted her chin. “Is that truly what you think?”
“I think,” he snapped, “that one day your recklessness will kill you—and I—” he couldn’t finish the thought.
Her eyes shone, tears unshed, grief laid bare as though he’d ripped off her armor with her skin still attached. “I didn’t know you saw me as a burden.”
“Don’t twist my words,” he growled, but it was too late.
She turned her face away.
He raked both hands through his hair, body trembling from the brutality of what he’d just spoken. The shock in her silence filled the void between them. And he hated himself for it.
He shoved the tent flap aside, stepping into the chill of dawn. The cold slapped him, violent and welcome. He barely made it five steps before a shadow detached from the wagons. Zarrek. Arms crossed like he’d been waiting.
Resh didn’t stop. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.” Zarrek’s voice was even, but his eyes were wary. “That was low. Even for you.”
Resh stopped. Turned.
“You let her do it.”
Zarrek straightened. “She wanted—”
“I don’t care what she wanted.”
Zarrek’s jaw tensed. “Yeah. I can see that.”
“Why didn’t you obey me?” Resh’s voice hardened. “You were there. You saw how close she was to death. And you still let her burn herself out for me—”
“You were the one burning, Resh’Agar. She was trying to keep your runes from flaying you open in your sleep.”
“You should have stopped her.” His fists clenched.
Zarrek stepped forward. “I did watch her. I watched her save you. I watched her risk herself because you won’t admit you’re not made of stone.”
Resh lunged a half-step, fury crackling.
Zarrek didn’t flinch. “She loves you,” he said flatly.
Resh froze.
“All she wanted was to keep you safe while you finally—finally—slept.”
Silence. Deafening.
Zarrek exhaled, turned away. “I should’ve stopped her. But I couldn’t. Because she’d already made up her mind to protect the only thing she couldn’t live without.”
Then, quieter, “And maybe I thought you deserved to see it.”
He walked off without waiting for an answer.
Resh stood alone, fury still pounding in his ears, haunted by silver eyes and the pain he had put there. He had never meant to hurt her. Void. He only wanted her to know how precious she was. To those around her. To herself. To him.
Resh couldn’t stay still.
Running the perimeter, checking wards, and all his usual duties wouldn’t diffuse the roiling boil in his gut. The itching at his nape returned with a vengeance, and no amount of scratching soothed it.
He needed violence. Exertion. A way to scream to the sunless sky without unleashing an earthquake. As it was, his magic pushed against his self-control, mana leeching past his barriers and lashing out at the nearest victim.
A tent went flying, ripped from the ground, as he passed. Wind shifted around him. A fire pit cracked in half, the pot resting on a spit above it thrown backwards.
He went to the sparring ring, but none dared face him in this state. They made excuses. Wagon repairs. Patrols. Gathering supplies. He grabbed a practice blade and shifted through stances. Mindlessly.
Voids-damned cowards.
So what if he wanted to hit a little harder than he usually did?
So what if he went too far? He wanted to push them to fight back.
Hit him like they meant it. Maybe if one hit hard enough, it could surpass the gaping wound festering in his gut.
Maybe the sound of ringing steel could drown out the reverberations of her voice still echoing over and over in his skull.
I didn’t know you saw me as a burden.
The metal blade snapped in his hands like a twig. The pieces fell to the ground, but he didn’t hear their clang.
Rain fell in thin, needling sheets—sharp and icy. The torrents of water hissed against the blackened stone where a campfire had long since burned out. But Resh didn’t move. He stared at nothing.
…a burden...
Burdens could be carried. They just had to be controlled. Mitigated. Guided. If she would just stop using that accursed power, then everything would be all right. If she would just be with him, stay with him, live with him, smile with him—he needed nothing else from her.
Only the chance to see her.
The chance to touch her, even in passing.
To hear her laughter.
To lay beside her and name new stars.
You can’t cage her, Zarrek’s voice echoed. She’s too wild for that.
His breath steamed in the cold. His pulse pounded like a hammer in his throat.
Void preserve him, what was he supposed to do?
Just stand there and watch her destroy herself?
She’d bled herself for him. Again. Quietly.
Alone. And he hadn’t even noticed until morning.
Just like the first time, he’d nearly missed it as she faded from his sight.
What kind of guardian did that make him?
He paced along the edge of the armory crates, thunder rolling low above the grassland. Rain slicked his shoulders, soaked his tunic, plastered his hair to his scalp. He didn’t care. He needed to feel something that wasn’t this helpless, churning fire inside him.
How do you stop the wind from blowing?
You don’t. You can't.
Which meant he would have to watch her die.
The thought struck like a blade to the gut—pure and deep and sudden.
He staggered.
Scratched at the scar, digging so hard he drew blood.
A shout interrupted his dizzying spiral.
“Commander!”
A scout came barreling through the mist. He dropped to one knee, signing automatically in respect. “Resh’Agar, the horses—”
“What about them?”
“They’re agitated. Pacing the lines. One of the handlers thinks it’s the storm, but something is wrong—”
Resh didn’t wait to hear the rest. He was already moving, boots pounding mud as he cut toward the stables. Anything. Anything to stop the cataclysm inside him. If he could just do something, the world would stop unraveling beneath his feet.
But the moment he stepped under the overhang of the corral, he froze. He searched the tent, pitched in haste to keep the animals dry from the storm.
Astenos is gone.
There was no mistaking it. His massive black war steed wasn’t just missing from the line—his lead was cut.
His heart stopped.
She wouldn’t.
He bolted.
Through the pelting rain, past the stunned stares of the men, past tents and wagons and weapons half-oiled and forgotten.
Back to the tent.
He didn’t need to look inside to know what he would find.
Emptiness.
The cot was cold. Her satchel was gone. Her ribbon tucked beside his pillow.
She had taken everything she needed.
Everything but him.