Chapter 10 Remember This
Remember This
The cold doesn’t leave when we’re back on deck.
It stays under my skin, dulling everything into something slower, heavier, harder to hold.
The wind moves between us, carrying the salt of the sea and the faint, distant pull of the water below.
I keep my eyes on it, letting it hold my attention a moment longer, because turning back to him means stepping into everything I have already decided I cannot bear.
“Asharin.” His voice is low and careful.
I don’t answer.
The silence stretches, the ship rising and falling beneath us in a slow, uneven rhythm. When I finally turn, it is with care, my body still heavier than it should be, my hand leaving the rail only when I’m certain I won’t lose my footing.
“When we reach Alarna,” I say, “you will not come with me.”
He watches me for a long moment. There is something measured in it, something held back, as though he is deciding which part of himself to respond with. “You don’t understand the risk.”
“I understand it well enough.”
“It will be worse without me.”
I smile bitterly. “That isn't possible."
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, his attention shifts, as if something else has surfaced that he cannot ignore.
“The child,” he says after a moment. “Let me check.”
“No.” The answer comes immediately. It is not just that I don't want him touching me. The truth is I do not want to know the answer.
He exhales, and something passes across his face that I have not seen before, something that doesn’t fit with the rest of him, too unguarded to belong there for long. “Alarna is dangerous,” he says. “Me not being there makes it worse.”
“I don’t care.” The words come easily.
“I can’t stand to see you like this.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop lying.”
His hands close around my shoulders, holding me in place. The grip isn’t rough, but it does not allow for distance, and I feel it more than I want to. “Promise me,” he says, his voice lower now, controlled in a way that feels strained rather than effortless. “If I let you go, you will live.”
I look at him, really look this time. Water still clings to him, to the strands of his hair, to the edge of his jaw, to the collar of his shirt where it darkens the fabric. The circlet remains in place, untouched by any of it, as though it belongs to something separate from everything else he is.
“I can promise you that if you force your presence,” I say, “I won’t.”
The words sit there between us, final in a way that leaves little room for interpretation. He does not let go immediately, his hands still at my shoulders, his attention fixed on me as though he is seeing something he did not expect to find.
Then something in him gives. “I will get you there safely, but I will not cross Alarna’s wards.” The words come low, controlled, but they carry something heavier than anything he’s said so far.
The wind pulls between us again. This time, I let it.
“Good.” It comes out quieter than I intend.
Neither of us moves.
Then I draw in a breath and let it out slowly. “Give me my pendant back.”
His eyes change, just slightly, his attention narrowing onto that single request as though it carries more weight than everything that came before it.
“How will I find you without it?”
I want to laugh. “That’s the point.” The answer comes easily. Fuck him.
His hands remain where they are for a second longer before they fall away, leaving the space between us open again, colder than before.
The ship rises beneath us and falls again, the water stretching out on all sides, dark and endless.
And still—
he doesn’t reach for it.
The wind presses between us. He still doesn’t move.
Something in me tightens. It builds slowly, drawn inward until there is nothing left to give it except release. “Give me my pendant.”
He doesn’t answer.
I am not in the mood for patience. The force leaves me before I think about it, clean and immediate, crossing the space between us in an instant. It strikes him and throws him back across the deck, his body hitting the wood with a sound that carries through the night.
For a second, everything holds, and even the air feels pulled taut. I am already reaching for what is mine. The pull turns inward, guided by something clearer than anything I have felt in days. I don’t step closer. I don’t need to. The motion answers me as soon as I call for it.
The pendant tears free from where he kept it hidden and crosses the space between us, drawn straight into my hand.
The weight of it rests in my palm, familiar in a way that feels almost jarring after everything that’s been taken.
For the first time in days, something that belongs to me is back where it should be.
Across the deck, he pushes himself up more slowly than he should, one hand coming to his mouth as he wipes at the blood gathering there. When he looks at me, there is a look in his expression I have never seen from him before. One I cannot quite name, although I know it isn’t anger.
“I am done,” I say, my voice low and even. “With things being taken from me.”
The pendant rests against my skin now, the chain slipping between my fingers as I close my hand around it, holding it there.
I lift my head and meet him fully. “Remember this, Teorin Rathmor.”
The wind moves between us, pulling at the distance that remains. “From this moment on,” I continue, quieter now, but certain, “everything that is mine…” I hold his eyes. “I will take.”