Chapter 58 #2
His detached stare was an echo of the governing council meeting, when his father’s outburst had left him a hollow shell. All the anger had drained out of him, but so had everything else.
“Do me one favor, Taran,” he said quietly. “When you start the ceremony . . . make Zalaric go first.” He turned to leave, and the crowd awkwardly averted their eyes, his pain no longer a thrill for them to see.
“Aemonn, wait,” Zalaric called out. “You might be an asshole, and you badly need to oil those nails—what is it with you Corbois and your hands? Callouses everywhere, it’s atrocious.
” He let out an exasperated huff. “I cannot let Taran blame you for believing a lie I’ve worked so hard to tell.
There’s something I need to say that is long overdue. ”
Aemonn hesitated, eyeing him with palpable distrust.
“I grew up in the Umbros markets,” Zalaric said.
“For us, loyalty was just another thing for sale. I watched newcomers give up fortunes for a person who swore to love them back, and they always got left behind for someone with more gold in their pouch. I swore I wouldn’t be that fool.
I would never let myself care about anyone more than I cared about myself.
That served me well. It made me rich and kept me safe.
Although . . .” He looked across the crowd to the Lumnos half-mortals he’d sheltered at his inn.
“I was better at keeping my heart hidden than keeping it closed. So that became my way of life: love only in secret, where no one else can see. If Aemonn believed me indifferent, I take that as a compliment.” He flipped his robe. “It means I haven’t lost my touch.”
Zalaric turned to face Taran. “Do you know why I chose to be called the Jaguar? They’re covered in spots, and every jaguar’s pattern is different—but a black jaguar’s spots are hidden.
In the shadows, you can’t see them at all.
The very thing that makes them unique disappears.
Only when a jaguar steps into the brightest light are they truly seen.
” He set a palm against Taran’s chest. “I thought concealing my heart would keep me safe, but you and I have never been safe, have we? Not before we met, and not a day since.” He paused.
Smiled. “I think this Jaguar is ready to show its spots.”
My hand squeezed around Diem’s as I realized what was about to happen. She looked up at me, an adorable wrinkle in her brow in silent question. I answered with the widest smile as I kissed her hand and held it to my chest.
Zalaric looked around. “Where are our dagger-bearers?”
“Here,” Aemonn said. He pulled out a small knife that looked to be made of solid gold, though its edge revealed a hairline sliver of Fortosian steel. “If you truly mean what you say, use mine.”
Zalaric wrapped his hand around the gilded handle and slowly slid it out of Aemonn’s grip. He let it linger, pointed at Aemonn’s chest, with a predatory glare that would make a jaguar proud.
Aemonn gulped.
Zalaric turned back to Taran. “I’ve spent a lifetime keeping to the shadows.
You came into my life, and you saw me for who I truly am.
No matter your last name, or how dreadful your hair, this will never change: my heart is yours.
” Tears began to stream down Taran’s face.
Zalaric brushed them away with a tenderness that had my chest burning and my arms pulling Diem close.
“Taran Bellator, you are my brightest light, and I will love you, unconditionally and eternally, for as long as love exists.”
Zalaric raised the dagger and drew its edge along the jagged line across his neck. His crystal-blue eyes flared with a dazzling golden light, and a familiar symbol shimmered on his skin: two hearts entwined into a dagger, resting atop the scar that once marked his darkest day.
And now, his brightest.
Aemonn’s chin dropped to his chest with a deep exhale. His lips moved with words I couldn’t hear as a spark of light flickered over his palm, rose high, and vanished.
Taran burst into a blubbering, wet-cheeked mess. He collapsed to his knees and wrapped his arms around Zalaric’s legs, burying his face against his thigh. “Yrh mr mhhit,” he cried, the words muffled by Zalaric’s robes.
“Yes, I am your mate,” Zalaric said, swiping away a trace of blood from his mating mark, “but I will murder you if you stain these robes. Silk is a nightmare to clean.”
Beside me, Diem sucked in a breath. “Zalaric’s wound—it’s gone.”
I nodded. “If the mating bond is successful, the place where the blood was shed heals instantly.”
She looked down at her chest, fingers grazing her heart.
Taran gasped for air between sobs. “The dagger—” He reached for Zalaric’s hand. “Give me—I wanna—”
Zalaric held it out of reach. “Absolutely not. You’ll wait for the ceremony. We spent a fortune on this day, and I will not let it go to waste. Now let’s go fix your hair.”
Taran’s whines were drowned out by well-wishes as the crowd closed in around them to offer congratulations. I doubted anyone needed convincing that their bond would be complete by day’s end. With Taran still pleading for the dagger, Zalaric might only be a stranded mate for a few minutes more.
Diem laid her head against me, the fabric of my coat bunching in her fist as she clung to my chest. I stroked a hand over her hair. “Is something wrong, my heart?”
“I’m just happy for Taran,” she said, barely audible. She didn’t sound happy at all, though I knew she was pleased to see him mated.