Chapter 22 #3
I swallow hard. The burn behind my eyes makes it harder to speak. I finally say the words I haven’t been able to say to him before this moment.
“But I’m terrified that if I let myself fall . . . it won’t be real. It’ll just be the bond.”
I look at him and say the part that terrifies me the most.
“And I don’t know if I’ll survive that.”
Because it’s not just about him. It’s about everything I’ve lost—everything that made me feel like me. And everything I’ve been forced to carry since.
I didn’t ask to be the Spiritborn. Didn’t ask for the bond. Didn’t ask for a destiny that carves my choices out from under me before I even know what’s mine.
So how am I supposed to trust this? How am I supposed to believe that what I feel for him—what he says he feels for me—isn’t just the bond whispering yes beneath his skin?
Because I want it to be real. Gods, I want it to be real. But wanting isn’t knowing. If I fall into him without knowing, I don’t know if I’ll ever find my way back out.
And I just—I can’t take any more heartbreak.
I’m suddenly aware of a bird singing above our heads—a soft melody, delicate and out of place in the charged silence between us. It must be perched somewhere in the tree canopy, hidden in the leaves. But I can’t look up to see what kind of bird it is—I’m pinned in place by Thane’s gaze.
I hear its song, and gods, I wish—just for a moment—for simpler times. Back on the farm. Before my parents died. Before this fucking prophecy.
Before I became the Spiritborn.
Thane inhales sharply like I’ve knocked the breath from his lungs. Like I’ve said the one thing he’s been afraid to name.
But he doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t step closer. Doesn’t try to wrap me in words or promises. He just stands there. Still. Fierce. Unmoving.
And somehow, entirely mine.
“Then let’s figure it out together,” he says.
His voice is low, rough at the edges.
“Slow. Messy. Flawed. Real.”
I stare at him, unsure of what to say. Because I’m still scared. Still aching. Still unsure.
I study his face. His expression is that Warlord mask of control—set jaw, steady breath. But his eyes . . . there’s a shift.
A quiet hope. A hand offered. A request to meet him halfway.
I inhale, slow and shaky.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Slow. Messy. Flawed. Real.”
But neither of us takes that final step forward. Neither of us breaks the space between us.
The sky has deepened to dusk by the time I find Lyra.
The training grounds are quieter now, fading into the hum of evening. Fires flicker in the courtyard, their glow licking the stone, casting long shadows. Soldiers and outpost staff linger near the flames talking, laughing, some with mugs of ale in their hands.
I spot her perched on a wooden bench, legs stretched out, absently twirling a dagger between her fingers. Her red hair catches the firelight, glowing like embered copper in the fading dusk.
Lyra doesn’t look up when I sit beside her. But I know she’s been waiting.
“Did you finally stop running?” Lyra asks, flipping the dagger once before smoothly sheathing it at her hip.
I exhale sharply, rubbing my hands over my face. “Yeah.”
She lifts one brow, unimpressed. “And?”
“And now we’re figuring it out.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “What exactly is the it you’re figuring out?”
I hesitate. Then, finally, I say it. “Thane is bonded to me—or at least that’s what he and Valen are calling it—like riders and dragons.”
Lyra goes completely still.
Then—”What the actual fuck?”
I throw up my hands. “Trust me—I know.”
A long silence stretches between us.
Then Lyra nods once, slowly—understanding settles over her like a blade sliding into its sheath. Her gaze sharpens, a knowing glint in her green eyes.
“You’re scared of this . . . bond.”
The words land like a verdict. I tense, but don’t answer.
“Mara . . . ” Her voice is flat, the same tone that always precedes a hard truth, and my stomach twists.
She leans back on the bench, head tipped, eyes piercing right through me.
“Why are you running from this?”
Thane asked the same question. I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “Because I don’t understand it—and I don’t want to.”
“That’s not the real reason.”
My chest tightens. She gives me the Lyra stare, the one I can never escape the weight of. The one that demands the truth.
I look into the fire in front of us, the flames licking at the wood, sending embers curling into the night.
Then—softly, barely more than a whisper: “Because if the bond is real, then I’m not just fighting for the realm anymore.”
Lyra doesn’t say anything. Just waits. So I keep going.
“If it’s real, then it means Thane isn’t just my commander.
He’s not just someone I have to work with, someone I have to trust on the battlefield.
” I swallow hard, my throat tight. “It means if I fall—if I fail—he feels it.” I exhale, running a hand through my hair.
“And I don’t know if I can carry that. Not after . . . everything.”
Lyra nods slowly, her expression softer now, more thoughtful.
“So,” she says, tilting her head, “you’re scared because if something happens to you, it’ll hurt him?”
A heavy sigh leaves my lips. “Yes.”
She stares at me for a long moment, then laughs. Not a quiet chuckle. A full, head-thrown-back, what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you laugh.
I blink, scowling. “What the hell is so funny?”
“Gods, Mara.” She grins, shaking her head. “You are so fucking dense sometimes.”
“Excuse me?”
She leans forward, elbowing me lightly. “You’re sitting here terrified of how much it’ll hurt him if you die—like he hasn’t been carrying that fear about you this entire time.”
I freeze. Because I hadn’t thought of that. Or maybe—maybe I had, and I just didn’t want to admit it.
“Mara,” Lyra says, softer now, “he already feels that way. He already worries. He already moves to protect you before you even need it. That’s not new.” She tilts her head, watching me carefully. “The only difference is that now you’re finally realizing it.”
I exhale sharply, gripping the bench beneath me.
“That’s not all of it,” I mutter.
Lyra waits, her silence expectant.
I swallow hard. “What if this bond is the real reason he’s with me at all?”
Her brows lift slightly, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“What if the only reason he feels this way about me is because magics has tied him to me? What if, without it, he wouldn’t have looked at me twice?”
The words feel too raw. Too ugly. Too small and petty.
Like I shouldn’t have said them out loud. Not when the fate of the realm is at stake. Not when he has so much weight to carry already.
But still—my heart squeezes when I finally say it to the one person who’s always seen through me. The woman who’s like a sister to me.
Lyra exhales, dragging a hand down her face. “Amara—”
I shake my head, my pulse pounding too fast. I’m not letting her talk me down.
“Everything in my life has changed in the past few months. Everything! I didn’t choose to be the Spiritborn.
I didn’t choose this war. I didn’t even choose to bond with Calryx—it all just happened.
And I understand what’s at stake so I accepted it.
I am the Spiritborn and I will fight for this realm until my last breath. ”
I take a shaky breath, forcing my voice to stay steady.
“But I can’t handle one more thing. One more decision made for me.”
I meet Lyra’s gaze, raw, aching, bracing for impact. “So tell me—what if Thane never actually chose me? What if the bond forced his hand?”
Lyra watches me for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then, finally, she exhales.
“You know, for someone who’s supposedly the strongest and most powerful of us, you are absolute shit at knowing when someone wants you.” She snorts, shaking her head. “You’d think after all your studies, all your training—after everything with Thane—you’d actually have a fucking clue.”
I scowl. “Ly—”
“No, shut up. You think he’s with you because of the bond?” She snorts, shaking her head. “Amara, that man has been circling you since the moment you met. You think magics is making him want you? You think it’s forcing him to touch you, to look at you the way he does? To act the way he does?”
I press my lips together, looking away.
Lyra grins.
“You need to stop thinking that everything in your life is happening to you, and start realizing that some things just are.” Her voice sharpens. “And Thane gets a say too. That man is like a godsdamned puppy trailing after you.”
She throws her hands up.
“For fuck’s sake, Mara—open your eyes. Stop pretending.
Stop trying to protect yourself from getting hurt again.
” Her tone softens just enough to hit harder.
“I know the loss of your parents leveled you. I know these past few months have been brutal—surreal. And I can’t even imagine what the weight of being the Spiritborn feels like. ”
She looks at me, no teasing or sarcasm in her expression. Just truth cutting through my fears like a blade.
“But for gods’ sake, stop pushing away the one person who might actually get it.”
I don’t answer. Because I don’t know what to say. She pats my shoulder, smirking. I groan, shoving her hand away.
“Gods, I hate you.”
She laughs again, standing, stretching her arms overhead. “No, you don’t. You’d be sobbing into your pillow without me.”
I huff, shaking my head. “I need ale.”
“And I need to see if Garrick’s done with patrols, so we’re both on a mission.” She turns, pausing just before she walks away. “Hey, Mara?”
I lift a brow. “Yeah?”
She smirks. “I knew you’d get there.”
I throw a rock at her. She dodges it effortlessly.
And then I sit there alone, staring at the fire, Lyra’s words looping in my head.
I decided to sleep in my bunk tonight. Thane doesn’t even question it.
The room is quiet, save for the soft sounds of breathing from the other women soldiers. The lanterns have long been dimmed, the light of the moon peeking through the drapes casting shadows against the rough stone walls.