Tharos
FORTY-THREE
We camp at the edge of the Heartgrove that night. Close enough to monitor the King, far enough to breathe without feeling its presence pressing against our minds.
The fire I build is small—just enough to heat water for Xela’s wounds. She lets me tend them without complaint, her body relaxed against mine as I work. The trust in that relaxation does strange things to my chest.
“You were bluffing.” Her voice is soft, pitched for my ears alone. “About the binding making me another prison wall. You don’t actually know if that’s true.”
“I know enough.” I finish wrapping her shoulder, press a kiss to the bandage before letting her shirt fall back into place. “The King believes it. That’s what matters.”
“And if it calls your bluff?”
“Then we improvise.” My arms wrap around her, pulling her back against my chest. Her body fits perfectly—curves settling into angles, warmth bleeding into warmth. “I’ve been improvising for a long time. I’m good at it.”
“Arrogant.”
“Confident. There’s a difference.”
She turns in my arms, faces me. The firelight catches her features, painting them in shades of gold and shadow. Scarred. Unbroken. The only person who’s ever made me want to survive this.
“What happens tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, we figure out how to end this permanently. The King is contained, but containment isn’t the same as destruction. As long as it exists, it’ll keep pushing. Keep testing. Keep looking for ways to break free.”
“Can it be destroyed?”
I consider the question. It’s one I’ve asked myself countless times over the years. “The King is... complicated. It’s not a creature in the traditional sense. It’s an accumulation. Centuries of rage and bloodshed, concentrated into something that can think and want and hate.”
“So how do you kill an accumulation?”
“Cut it off from what feeds it. Starve it until there’s nothing left.
” My hand finds her hip, traces absent circles on the curve of bone.
“The binding limits its feeding already. But there might be a way to sever it completely. Cut the King away from Briargrave itself—destroy the parasite without killing the host.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet. But we’ll figure it out.” I lean down, brush my lips across her forehead. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be long.”
She doesn’t argue. Just settles against me, her breathing evening out as exhaustion finally wins. I hold her while she sleeps, watching the fire burn low, feeling the forest breathe around us.