Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
The world around him came back in pieces.
Heavy limbs. Glass scraping his throat with every breath.
Light—too bright—stabbed his eyes as they fluttered open.
He cursed, pain lancing through his ribs as he shifted.
But when he looked down all he saw were layers of thick white linen draped over his torso, the tang of antiseptic sharp in his nose.
He’d survived. Someone had Healed him and brought him back to Ithralis, tucking him into his bed like a child. But that didn’t make sense. If dara’el hadn’t killed him, how had Araya—
Loren forced himself upright, ignoring the pain that ripped through his torso. His shadows were there—curled like cats under the furniture, draped in the corners—more content than he had ever seen them. Light streamed in the windows,
But she wasn’t there.
He reached inward, clawing for the bond. Nothing. No pull. No warmth. Only a hollow silence that terrified him more than any pain. Had she already broken it? Left him behind without even a goodbye? Or worse—had she died?
Had he failed her? Failed them all?
“Araya,” he rasped, her name scraping against his raw throat.
The door to the bathing chamber slammed open.
She burst out barefoot and breathless, her robe clutched hastily around her body and her damp hair clinging to her skin. Her eyes found his, wild with fear and disbelief.
“Healer!” Her voice cracked as she shouted toward the hall. Footsteps scrambled outside, muffled voices rising just outside the door.
“He’s awake,” Araya said, her silver gaze locked on his. “Go get Thorne!”
She crossed the room without waiting for an answer, halting beside the bed. Her hand hovered over his chest, trembling, like she wanted to touch him but was terrified he would shatter under her fingers.
“Lay back down,” she ordered.
Loren scowled, forcing himself further upright despite the searing pain. “I’m fine—”
“You are not fine,” Araya bit out, her silver eyes flashing. “You’ve been unconscious for five days. They couldn’t even tell me if you were going to wake up—”
She snapped her teeth shut on the last of her words, looking away as she blinked back tears.
“You gave up,” she whispered. “You were just going to let them kill you.”
“Araya—” Loren reached for her, but a fresh wave of pain lanced across his chest, his hand curling uselessly in the blankets. “You spent five days at my bedside?”
She scowled, swiping the tears from her eyes. “Lay. Back. Down.”
Her hand landed on his chest this time—shoving him flat against the mattress. Loren tried to resist for all of a second before the pain dragged another hiss from between his clenched teeth. Reluctantly, he let himself sink back into the pillows.
“Ael’sura—” he tried again, only for the door to slam open.
Thorne strode in, his expression a storm of relief and irritation. “Of course you wake up the moment I leave to eat something,” he muttered, dropping his bag at the foot of the bed. “How long has been awake?”
“Just a few minutes,” Araya said. She took a quick step back, tugging at the tie of her robe. “He’s in pain. But he was trying to get up.”
“Of course he was,” Thorne muttered. “You better not have ripped out my stitches, Your Majesty.”
“Thorne—” Loren struggled to sit up, to look at his friend. Goddess, the last time he’d seen him he’d nearly killed him. “What—”
“Lay back down,” Thorne ordered, yanking the blanket back. “Trust me, Loren.”
Loren gagged as Thorne peeled back the wrappings, the pungent reek of necrotic flesh overpowering the sharp sting of the antiseptic.
Dark gouges crossed his chest and shoulders, the places where the shadows had flayed his flesh puckered with neat lines of black stitches.
Bruises in every color mottled whatever skin was whole, shadowmarks writhing beneath them in an echoing reminder of how dara’el had tried to crush the life from his broken body.
“You nearly died,” Thorne murmured, his voice pitched for Loren’s ears alone. “I thought you were going to die—more than once. She saved your life.”
“Is she hurt?” Loren rasped.
“Worry about yourself,” Araya snapped. She wasn’t crying anymore—but she hadn’t moved. She stood behind Thorne, her arms wrapped around herself like a shield. “Do you have any idea what it was like? Sitting here, not knowing if you were ever going to wake up?”
“We both knew we could die—” Loren hissed as Thorne pressed his fingers into his side, pain flaring across his ribs like lightning.
“We,” Araya snapped, fire blazing in her silver eyes. “We knew that we could die. You sacrificing yourself was never part of the plan, Loren.”
“It was the only way to keep you alive—ah!” He hissed, jerking as Thorne probed the edges of his wound, digging his fingers into a particularly tender spot. “Do you mind?”
“Do you?” Thorne retorted. “You think what you did to me was bad? We spent an entire day sewing you back together. Every rib cracked, both lungs punctured—not to mention the magical trauma. And the only reason you lived long enough to even make it to us, well—” he shot Araya a pointed look.
“I’ll let her explain that part. But she’s the only reason you’re still breathing, so I suggest you stop arguing with her. ”
Loren froze, his pain forgotten as he stared at Araya. “What did you do?”
“It was the only way to keep you alive,” Araya mimicked his earlier words, a pink flush spreading across her cheeks all the way to the tips of her ears. “And you said it was my choice—”
Loren stared at her, his chest rising and falling with short, uneven breaths. She’d spent so much time insisting she had to leave, that it was the only way. But now…now she wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead watching Thorne’s hands as his friend draped fresh pieces of soaked linen over his wounds.
“Well it looks like the two of you have a lot to talk about.” Thorne dried his hands, picking up his bag. “Keep him in bed,” he said to Araya. “No strain—magical or physical. I’ll be in to check on him daily, but send a for me if anything changes.”
“Thorne—” Loren rasped, reaching for his friend. “Thank you. You didn’t have to—”
“We’re good, Loren.” Thorne caught his hand, pressing it gently back to the bed. “You scared the life out of me—and her. Don’t make a habit of it.”
Loren closed his eyes, sinking back into the bed as Araya walked Thorne to the door.
The bond he’d thought was gone in his panic sat right where it had always been—no longer a painful wound in his soul, but something quiet and steady.
Peaceful. So different from the clawing ache he’d grown so used to that he hadn’t recognized it at first.
“You really did it,” he said hoarsely.
“You said it was my choice,” Araya repeated. She still didn’t look at him, busying herself pouring a cup of water from the pitcher on the bedside table.
“It is,” Loren said quickly. “It is your choice. Always. I never wanted you to feel forced—”
Araya slammed the cup down, water sloshing over the rim. “You forced me to watch you die.” She rounded on him, her silver eyes bright with furious tears. “How could you do that to me?”
Loren opened his mouth—but he had no defense, not really. He wasn’t sorry. He’d do it again, if it came down to it. Without hesitation.
“I didn’t want to die,” he said finally, staring up at her. “But I would have—gladly—if it meant you lived.” His throat worked, but he forced the next words out anyway. “And if you still feel you have to leave…I won’t stop you—”
Araya’s expression cracked, her shoulders sagging. “You are a fool, Lorendrael,” she whispered.
And then she kissed him.
Her hands framed his face, her fingers threading into his hair as her lips smashed against his. For a moment, Loren couldn’t move, the press of her lips against his stealing the air from his lungs and every thought from his mind.
But then her tongue swept the seam of his lips, hot and demanding, and something inside him broke.
He surged up into the kiss, groaning against her mouth as his hand found her waist and dragged her onto the bed with him, heedless of the pain that flared in his ribs.
She tasted like salt and heat and everything he’d thought he lost. Nothing mattered but her and the way her mouth moved against his, as fierce and unrelenting as he was, like she was trying to breathe him back to life.
He clung to her when she finally pulled back, stroking his fingers across the tear tracks that marked her cheeks and winding them into her damp hair. She laughed, catching his hand and clasping their fingers together.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “And it’s not about some bond. It’s because I’m choosing to stay, Loren. I want to stay here—with you.”
She lifted her other hand and gently touched his face, her fingers slipping down to trace the terrible scars that still marked his throat where the Arcanum’s collar had sat for so many years.
“I’ve made choices before,” she said softly. “To protect myself. To survive. But I can’t walk away from you. Not now. Not after everything.” Her fingers lingered over the scar at his throat. “I’m choosing you, Loren.”
Loren tightened his arm around her waist, tugging her closer until their foreheads touched. He wanted more—Goddess, he wanted everything. But his body had already begun to tremble with exhaustion and pain.
“Stay,” he begged.
Araya curled into bed beside him, her hand resting over the steady beat of his heart, their bond quiet and whole between them. “Always.”