TWENTY-NINE
MEANT FOR ME
I found this passage in an old journal, from before the Shadow Wars. I strongly suspect it is the same as we are seeing now between Amara and Thane.
“This night, I partook of his sorrow and his joy alike. It seemed our very souls were [indecipherable], and through this sacred tether we communed in silence, known to none but ourselves. Such communion shall prove the very thing we require to cast down [indecipherable] on the morrow. The enchantment hath taken hold!”
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
Kieran is reclined against a stack of pillows, one arm wrapped protectively across his ribs. A bruise darkens the line of his jaw.
I rest my hand on Thane’s shoulder and lean in, voice barely above a whisper.
“I see Kieran. I’m going to check on him.”
Thane glances up and nods. “I’ll join you when I’m done speaking with Jon.”
I brush my fingers gently over Jon’s forearm. “Thank you for your service.”
Then I slip between beds, weaving through quiet conversations and the lingering scent of salve and blood until I reach Kieran’s side. As I draw closer, he lifts his head slightly, his blue-silver eyes finding mine. A slow, crooked grin spreads across his bruised face.
“There she is,” he drawls, voice rough but unmistakably playful. “Come to check if I’m still pretty?”
Despite everything, I smile.
“Pretty enough,” I say, stopping beside his bed. “But I had to be sure.”
He chuckles, then winces and presses a hand to his ribs.
“Careful, Spiritborn. Flattery might kill me faster than this injury.” His grin widens. “I’ve looked better, sure, but don’t act like the bruises aren’t working for you a little.”
I lower myself into the chair beside his bed and reach for his free hand. He doesn’t hesitate. Our fingers slide together without thought.
Up close, the bruises look worse. Darker. Sharper. But the mischief hasn’t dulled. Even now, humor lingers at the corners of his mouth as he shifts and immediately grimaces.
I glance at his shoulder. The bandages are thick and white, already seeping faintly at the edges. That’s where the bolt struck.
Black and fast.
Meant for me.
The words lodge in my throat, making it difficult to swallow.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I murmur, my thumb brushing over his knuckles.
He shrugs, then winces again. “What, I should’ve let the Spiritborn get skewered? Sorry, but that didn’t seem like a great tactical choice.”
Despite myself, I laugh.
“What did the healers say?” I ask.
His expression shifts, and some of the light leaves his eyes.
“The dark magics spread through my veins,” he says. “But the healers got to it fast. Said they were able to pull most of it out before it left anything permanent.”
He exhales, frustration sharpening the sound.
“Still stuck here for a week, though. Minimum.” He glares down at the sheets like they’re holding him hostage. “I’m going to lose my mind.”
The complaint is dramatic enough that some of the brightness returns to his face.
Kieran lifts a brow. “So you’re doing the rounds as the realm’s chosen one. That’s got to weigh on you.”
He studies me for a moment.
“Looks heavy.”
I nod.
“That’s the word.” My voice is quieter now. “Heavy.”
I release his hand and lean forward, folding my arms along the edge of the bed before resting my chin on them.
“I’m glad you stopped by, Thalor,” he says, his voice gentler now. “Made time for me.”
I snort and swat his good arm. “As if I wouldn’t.”
He grins. “Yeah, but you’re the Spiritborn now. I figured your days were packed with council meetings and world-saving.”
I roll my eyes. “Not quite. Or at least not yet.”
“And yet,” he goes on, with a mock sigh, “you still found time for the ones who knew you before the title.”
“I had the title when I met you at the outpost,” I reply, drawing out the title as though it should arrive with trumpets and fanfare.
Kieran snorts. “Sure. But now you’re also with the Warlord, so . . . things hit a little different.”
A familiar pressure brushes against my chest. Subtle. Unmistakable.
The bond tightens.
I look up and there he is.
The Warlord.
His hand settles against the back of my neck, and my skin prickles with heat and recognition. A familiar spark of desire flickers through me before I can stop it.
I rub my arms and force myself to focus. I’m in an infirmary after a deadly attack and this is neither the time nor the place.
“How are you feeling, Kieran?” he asks, voice even.
Kieran flinches with pain as he tries to sit straighter.
“Alive and properly scolded by the healers, my lord,” he says, offering a wry half-smile. “Apparently, I’m not allowed to fight dark magics with sarcasm alone.”
The respect in his tone is genuine, but the mischief remains.
“I’ll be on my feet as soon as they let me.”
The smile touches Thane’s mouth.
“That’s good,” he says quietly. “We need you whole.”
Then his expression sobers.
“Thank you. For what you did for Amara.”
His hand slides higher into my hair, fingers threading gently through the loose waves.
“You saved her life. And I won’t forget it.”
Kieran nods once, the movement slight.
“Thank you, sir. Would do it again.” He glances at me, quick and brief. “Especially for the Spiritborn.”
Something shifts in Thane’s expression so quickly I almost miss it. The silence that follows feels strangely weighted.
Thane’s gaze lingers on Kieran. Kieran meets it without looking away.
For a moment, neither man speaks.
Then Thane says quietly, “If you need anything, you come to me.”
Kieran doesn’t answer right away. He holds Thane’s gaze for a moment longer before giving a tight nod.
“Yes, sir.”
Thane looks down at me. “Ready to go?”
I nod. “Yeah. We still have to meet with Valen.”
The thought alone makes my stomach tighten. The bond is changing. My channeling has to be stabilized. And Thane wielded the Shadow Element when he finally let go.
None of it feels small.
I stand, then lean down and press a kiss to Kieran’s cheek.
He startles, and pain flashes across his face as he moves too quickly.
He pulls back into his pillows before catching himself.
A moment later, he relaxes, and his good arm curls around me, holding me there for a brief second before letting go.
I smile.
“Heal fast, soldier. The moment you’re cleared, you and I are sparring.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely, Thalor.”
Then he blinks, looking at Thane, realizing he just swore in front of the Warlord.
“Oh. Sorry, sir.”
Thane rests a hand on his uninjured shoulder, firm but gentle.
“It’s alright, Vael.”
I smile at Kieran over my shoulder as Thane’s hand settles at the small of my back, a quiet nudge. Together, we leave the infirmary and head toward Valen’s quarters.
“How do you feel,” Thane asks, his voice low as he threads his fingers through mine, “after all of that?”
I exhale, the sound heavier than I expect.
“It was a lot,” I admit, shaking my head. “I don’t know how you do it. Carrying all their fear and grief while still being the person they lean on.” I squeeze his hand. “I feel wrung out. Like there’s nothing left in me.”
For the first time since we stepped out of the infirmary, I see the strain behind his eyes. A weariness he would never willingly put into words.
He is quiet for a moment.
“Duty takes something from you,” he says at last. “Especially after days like this. It never gets easier.”
He draws me closer, one arm wrapping around my shoulders before he presses a kiss to my temple.
“You did well in there,” he murmurs.
When he pulls back, his fingers find mine again.
“Let’s go find Valen.” A faint smile touches his mouth. “We’ve got a lot to figure out.”