Chapter 13
I could go back.
The thought arrives before I'm ready for it. I could walk back into that kitchen right now and put my hands on her and—
Stone. Cold against my forehead. I don't remember the corridor. I don't remember my chambers. I'm standing outside my own door with her smell still hovering around me and I have no memory of how I got here.
I almost didn't stop.
I almost closed those inches and put my mouth on hers. Almost found out what sound she'd make if I licked the food off her lips instead of feeding it to her. Almost spread her legs right there on the counter and—
The hidden panel gives under my palm. The wall splits.
The stairs spiral up into darkness. Narrow. Uneven. I take them fast, not bothering with light. I know where the stone dips. Where the edges crumble. I've walked this path blind more times than I can count.
The bone blade is heavy at my hip.
Higher. The air thins. The city noise fades—all those lies, all that static, dropping away with every step until there's only stone and silence and the sound of my own breathing.
The tunnel opens.
The Cut.
Cold hits my face. The wind carries the smell of the city up from below—smoke and metal and too many bodies packed too close together. I step through onto bare rock and the world drops away.
Arkenhold spreads beneath me. Lights. Movement. Distant sound that doesn't reach. From here it looks almost clean. Almost honest.
It's not. Nothing down there is honest. Nothing except—
I sit at the edge. My legs hang over empty air. The drop is a thousand feet, maybe more. One shift of weight and I'd fall. Not that it would kill me. Just hurt.
The blade comes off my hip. I set it flat on the stone beside me. Parallel to my body. Close enough that my knuckles brush the bone when I breathe.
"I fucked up, Elyra."
My voice sounds wrong up here. Exposed.
"I know what you're going to say. That it was always going to happen. That I was never going to leave her alone. That you saw this coming from the moment I—"
I stop. Wait.
"No. You don't get to sound smug about this."
The wind picks up. My hair whips across my face and I shove it back.
"She smells like—"
My hand tightens on the blade.
"I don't have words. That's the problem. I don't have—fuck."
…
"What do you mean, obsession isn't the same? Since when do you get to lecture me about—"
I laugh. Sharp.
"When have I ever thought clearly? When has that ever been something I do?”
…
“Shove it up your ass."
The city pulses below. All those threads I can't see from here. All those lies happening right now, down in the smoke and the light, and I don't care about any of them.
She's down there. In my bed. Probably asleep by now. Probably dreaming. I wonder what she dreams about. I wonder if she dreams about me.
I wonder if I could train her to.
"I want to go back." My voice drops. Scrapes. "Right now. I want to walk into that room and put my hands on her and—"
My fingers curl around the blade's handle. The bone is cold. Familiar.
"What?"
…
"Say it again. Louder."
…
"That's what I thought."
I pull the blade across my lap. The weight settles against my thighs. I trace the edge with my thumb—careful, slow. The bone that was her spine. The weapon that is her.
"When she's in the room my head goes—"
My throat closes.
Quiet. The word I can't say.
"Centuries." It scrapes out. "That's how long it's been since anything was quiet."
My thumb traces the edge of the blade. Back and forth, blood welling up and dripping down to the city below.
"What?"
I go still.
"No. It's not—that's not what this is."
…
"Because she's mortal, Elyr. Soulbonds don't work that way. They never have. Mortals can't form marks—their souls aren't built to hold the connection."
…
"What do you mean, what if? There is no what if. It's not possible."
…
"Fine. You want me to say it out loud? If—IF—it were a soulbond, and it's not, but if it were—" My hand tightens on the blade. "She'd get my lifespan. Centuries. Millennia. However long I last, she'd last too. Her body would just... keep going."
…
"I know what that means."
…
"Yes, I know what the Houses would do. I know they'd come for her. I know Faith would call it an abomination. I know Coin would try to use her as leverage. I know War would put a price on her head just to destabilize me." My voice drops. Scrapes. "I know every single way this could get her killed."
…
"That's why it doesn't matter. Because it's not. Soulbonds are for gods. For Titans. Not—" I stop. Swallow. "There's never been a mortal. Not once. Not in all the centuries since the Rebellion. It doesn't happen."
The wind picks up. My hair whips across my face and I shove it back.
"So stop looking at me like that."
…
"No, I don't know why she makes everything quiet. I don't know why I can't stay away from her. I don't know why my chest feels like it's—"
I stop.
"It doesn't mean anything. It can't mean anything. She's human, Elyr. Fragile. Temporary. And I'm—"
A Titan wearing a god's face.
"Drop it."
…
"I don't care if it's dangerous. I don't care if it breaks something. I don't care about anything except—"
"Drop it."
…
She's not dropping it. She's just watching me with that look she always had when she knew I was lying to myself.
Fine. I don't have to keep talking about it.
Iowyn.
I say it out loud. Just to feel it in my mouth.
"Iowyn."
Again. Lower.
"Iowyn."
"She looked at me after. When I pulled back. She looked at me like she was trying to figure out why I stopped. Like she expected me to take more. Like she would have let me."
My hand tightens on the blade.
"She would have let me, Elyr. And I—"
…
The wind dies. The city goes still. Everything goes still except my pulse hammering in my ears and the blade against my legs.
"I want her to let me. I want her to choose it. Not because she's learned that compliance is safer. Not because powerful men take what they want and she knows better than to fight. I want her to choose me. Because she wants to."
…
"I don't know if she can. I don't know if anyone can want me without fear attached. But I—"
órhal.
My breath catches. My hand goes still on the blade.
The reason I continue.
I haven't thought that word in centuries. Haven't let myself. And now it's just—there. Sitting in my chest. Settling into the shape of her name.
"Don't look at me like that. I know what it means. I know what I'm—"
…
"Yes. Fine. You're right. You're always right. Even now you're insufferably right."
I close my eyes. The city disappears. The wind disappears. Everything disappears except the weight of the blade and the cold of the stone and the fact that she's down there, sleeping, and I'm up here.
"I'm going back."
Final.
"I'm going back and I'm going to be in that room with her and I'm going to—"
What? What am I going to do?
Watch her sleep. Count her breaths. Sit in the dark and listen to her heartbeat until dawn.
Make sure no one touches her while her eyes are closed.
"I'm keeping her."
I open my eyes. Arkenhold glitters below. Distant. Irrelevant.
"I don't care what that costs. She's mine now and I'm not—I can't—"
My hand shakes.
"I'm not letting her go."
I stand. My legs are stiff from the cold. The blade slides back onto my hip, the bone settling against my thigh where it belongs.
"Thank you."
…
"Don't enjoy this."
I turn toward the tunnel. The darkness swallows me whole.
Down. Spiral stairs. Stone underfoot. The static builds as I descend—all those lies bleeding back into my awareness, all that noise I can't shut off. By the time I reach the hidden door my skull is pounding.
Doesn't matter.
She's on the other side of that wall.
My hand finds the panel. The stone splits. My chambers open around me—dark, quiet, the bed visible in the corner where the lamplight doesn't reach.
She's there. Asleep.
I cross the room. Stop at the foot of the bed.
Her chest rises. Falls. Rises. The rhythm is slow. Deep. She's really out.
There's a thread loose at the hem of her sleeve. Gold. Catching the lamplight. I want to pull it. Watch the fabric unravel up her arm.
Her hair is spread across my pillow. Her face is turned toward me. The bruises are fading—yellow now instead of purple. Her lips are parted. Her hands are curled beneath her chin. There's a crease on her cheek from the pillowcase. Left side. Red. It'll fade in twenty minutes.
My knees hit the floor.
I'm level with her face now. Close enough that I can see the individual strands of her eyelashes. Close enough that her exhale hits my mouth when she breathes out.
I could put my thumb in her mouth. Feel the wet heat of it. See if she'd suck in her sleep.
I could wrap my hand around her throat—gentle, barely any pressure—and feel her pulse jump when she startles awake. See her eyes go wide. Watch her figure out where she is, who's touching her, what I could do if I wanted.
My hand is hovering over her face. When did that happen.
I pull it back. Slow. My fingers curl into a fist.
The cot I had brought in is four feet away. I should go to it. Should give her space. Should be something other than what I am.
I don't move.
The lamp burns low. Her breathing stays even. The loose thread at her sleeve catches the light every time her chest rises.
I stay on my knees. Watching her. Counting her breaths because I can't touch her and I have to do something with my hands or I'm going to—
I'm keeping her.
Her.