4. Bond, Rekindled
Bond, Rekindled
Kailorien caught her hand and swept her into motion, guiding her out of the Umbral Archives with an urgency bordering on madness. His steps were sure, but his grip was tense and too tight—like he expected her to change her mind at any moment.
She squeezed back and followed without a word.
Even when they passed brown-robed Attendants carrying trays of oils and scrolls.
Even when stray eyes followed their path.
Through the side halls. Through shadow-drenched archways long abandoned.
And into the Resh’Agar’s wing, colored crimson, black, and gold.
The crystal changed texture beneath her bare feet, Polis shifting to marble.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and his hand stayed wrapped around hers like a second pulse.
When they reached his private quarters, the door closed behind them with a soft scrape of crystal against stone. He raised his hand, letting a flare of mana illuminate the Polis-lanterns in the room.
A single crystal-carved bed stood in one corner of the massive chamber, draped in black silk curtains, onyx sheets, and golden pillows.
A fur rug adorned the floor. Weapons of all shapes and sizes hung along the walls, and tables and shelves bordered the room, covered in trinkets, statuettes, and reference tomes of magic.
One circular table stood beside the fluxhearth, covered in journals, books, and scrolls.
When Auryn shivered, Kailorien walked to the table and picked a crimson stone out of a sealed jar.
It shimmered red-gold as he tossed it into the hearth.
With a snap of his fingers, a heating rune flared to life over it, the magic pulsing and glowing with an orange light.
The stone hissed as it bonded with the rune and blazed awake.
Within moments, the chamber was filled with an infectious, cozy warmth.
Steam curled from the adjoining chamber—spiced, subtly floral. Scented oils, likely prepared in anticipation of the Resh’Agar’s evening bathing ritual.
Auryn lifted a brow.
“The Resh’Agar enjoys his luxuries. Phiros stones and rare oils. Good thing you have an unlimited stipend.”
“I’ve earned a luxury or two after spending years in a blighted swamp,” he said, reaching for the fastenings of his chest plate. His voice was quieter now. Rougher. More himself.
She stepped forward and helped him undo the clasps. One by one, the pieces came away. The weight of war peeled from his frame. Until it was just him. Just Kailorien. Warm, bare above the waist, breath held.
Auryn’s hands skimmed his chest, the planes of his torso, the faint pink scar above his ribs from a battle he’d never spoken of. She leaned in, pressing her lips there. A kiss. A blessing. A brand.
“Into the broth,” she murmured, the corners of her mouth lifting.
He chuckled hoarsely.
“I’ll never hear that word the same way again.”
Kailorien reached for the tie at her waist, but his fingers paused.
She looked up at him then reached for his hand and guided it.
He worked through clasps, hooks, and buttons with the same expertise he showed in battle.
In moments, her dress loosened, slipping from her shoulders like falling moonlight, pooling at her feet.
She stood before him without shame, body pale and quiet, wrapped in fluxlight and the years he had not been there to hold her.
He exhaled like he’d been struck.
“You’re still…” He shook his head.
“Still…?” she asked.
He stepped forward.
“Still like a dream.”
His hands brushed her hips, then slid around her back to pull her to him, chest to chest, breath mingling.
Her fingers reached for the leather cords at his waist, tugging, pulling. The fabric dropped, and with it, the last of the weight between them.
She lifted up on her tiptoes, and he bent down. She pressed her forehead to his.
And for a moment, they simply breathed.
“Come,” she whispered. “Before your bath grows cold.”
Auryn placed her hand in his, already anticipating his touch—yearning for the things to come.
They stepped into the bathing chamber and approached the wide private pool.
The water lay as still as ice, not a single ripple wrinkling its surface.
Steam rose from the aquamarine depths. Fragrances crafted to relax the body and soothe the mind.
Kailorien guided her down the wide steps of the tub until the water rose around her thighs, then her hips.
Heat suffused her limbs. He moved through the water with practiced ease, sitting against the smooth stone ledge built into the curve of the tub, then spread his big arms, resting them on the surrounding stone.
The hypnotic runes on his skin reflected the light like mirrors—molten lines in obsidian that stole her breath. Muscle rippled like living marble. Bronzed skin seemed to shine, appearing soft and velvety even in the places where scars marred its pristine surface.
His long, onyx hair tumbled past his shoulders and floated in the water.
When he turned to offer her his hand, his gaze was darker.
Fuller. She’d only read of the ocean in books and stories, but if there was truly something so vast and endless, it must have been what shaped the color of his eyes.
In this faint light, his irises glowed a faint azure, and for a moment, Auryn was stunned.
“I forgot how beautiful you were,” she confessed.
The line of his sensual mouth softened. He pulled her close, the water lapping at her navel. His eyes never left hers.
“Let me see you,” he rasped. His large hands traced her form, fingers caressing the strange glowing freckles on her arms and shoulders. Then her belly. Then her waist. She held her breath.
“This was taken from me,” he said. “Your warmth, the feel of your skin, the way these stars map the world's sky. And yet…”
Her throat went dry when he looked up at her.
“Even if I had remembered, my recollections could not have done you justice.”
She stepped closer. Her fingers slid through his damp hair, brushing it back from his face. Her thumbs traced his cheeks, jaw, lips. Each caress seemed to steal just a little more of his breath.
He didn’t stop her. Didn’t rush. With uncanny patience, he allowed her to explore all of him.
“You haven’t changed,” she murmured. “Time hasn’t stolen you from me.”
He leaned in and kissed her chest. Once.
Twice. His hands rose to her waist, gripping her with aching tenderness as his lips trailed farther—over her ribs, the base of her sternum, the hollow between her breasts.
Callused fingers brushed over the thin golden braid resting on her shoulder, caressing the violet ribbon woven into the strands.
"This braid… " he said, careful. Gentle.
"You don't remember," she sighed.
He shook his head.
"It was a price we paid… at Stonewake."
A furrow cleaved his brow. "There are flashes. Of the battle. Of Astenos with silver wings. And Zarrek…" he paused, his throat tightening. "Zarrek covered us so we could escape."
"Not just," she said, covering his hand with hers over Thessia's braid. She'd Woven it. Preserved it. Ensured it would never fall. "There was a greater price as well."
"Tell me," he murmured, leaning in and kissing the violet ribbon.
She cupped the back of his neck, threading her fingers into the hair there. Gathering a group of silver strands, she tugged them forward.
Long ago, she'd Woven a ribbon into his hair with her magic, just like she'd done with Thessia's parting gift.
A promise between the Resh'Agar and a girl from the ice.
He glanced at the silver strands, but again, there was no recognition in his eyes.
Pain bloomed in her chest. Mourning for yet more pieces of him taken. More pieces lost.
He sensed it. Opened his mouth to speak. But she stopped him with a finger to his lips.
“In the Moores, you always told me stories of your travels. I was relentless in asking for them, but you never complained. Not once.” She smiled, though her eyes stung. "From this day forward, until you remember, I will tell you stories. Of us. Of every piece the magic took.”
She brushed her thumb along his bottom lip.
“But not now… now, I simply ache. Too long have I been without your touch. Too long have I wondered if I would ever partake of it again.” Her voice softened. “Please. Do not make me wait another moment.”
He looked up at her, blue eyes burning. “Then come to me, starlight.”
She straddled his lap, her knees sliding along the smooth underwater ledge. He reached beneath the water, lifting her and lowering her into place until she perched on his thighs, their chests nearly touching.
One arm encircled her back. The other cupped her cheek.
“I promised to behave.”
“I won’t hold you to that,” she breathed.
His arms shook. He hugged her tighter. The oceans of his eyes churned with a new storm. His hand traced her jaw, slipping down to cradle the back of her head. She shivered. They both did.
A bloom of heat, deep inside her. Like liquid lightning, it flashed through the very core of everything she was. And then need. A hunger long unsated, tugging inside her, scratching at the walls, scraping past all the armor she’d donned over half a century.
His hands smoothed down her waist as they shared first one breath.
Then another.
He adjusted his hold on her, his hands squeezing the supple flesh of her thighs as he pressed her against his swelling length.
Together, they breathed.
His thumbs pressed into the flatness of her belly, and she gasped. One by one they spiraled upwards until his fingertips grazed the underside of her small breasts. A wave of dizziness, and she careened towards him like a wounded bird in flight.
Their lips met, two breaths finally becoming one. Now molded into singularity, they pushed and pulled. His tongue pressed against her mouth, and she needed no coaxing to let him sweep over her senses. His heat. His scent. His hands. His strength.