Chapter 71 – Azaria
AZARIA
After our meal, Kalias shifted and ran toward the palace to find Dain, just as he’d promised.
I went home, took a long bath, and settled in the sitting room with a glass of sweet liquor in my hand.
I wasn’t really drinking it. I just needed something to occupy myself.
I couldn’t focus on reading, so I waited for Quin, who would come without a doubt.
And sure enough, he did. The knock sounded not long after. I stood and opened the door.
“Hey, Sweetheart.”
“Hi, Quin,” I replied, opening the door wider and returning to my spot on the sofa.
He shut the door, toed off his boots, and followed me in. “You didn’t come back to the wing,” he said carefully, sitting close to me but not touching. I guessed his blood magic was already telling him to keep his distance. “Is something wrong?”
“What’s going on with your magic, Quin?” I looked him in the eye. “And please don’t tell me it slips out by accident, or some other version of it. I need the truth this time.”
My fingers found the silver band on my left hand, twisting it once. Twice.
“Do you think I haven’t felt it? The tingling at the back of my neck. Every time you look at me, speak to me, stand too close—I didn’t imagine it. It’s real. And I’m done pretending not to notice.”
Quinton didn’t turn. He was staring into the hearth, jaw tight, shoulders rigid.
“You always know,” I said quietly. “When something’s wrong. When I’m not sleeping. When I’m lying through my teeth. That’s not instinct. That’s not empathy.”
I waited. Silence.
“What did you do, Quin?”
Still nothing.
“Quinton.”
He turned then, slowly, and I saw it all in his eyes—guilt, regret, and something quieter. Dread.
“It wasn’t a spell,” he said. “Not something I cast. It wasn’t intentional.”
“Then what was it?”
“I felt something. This pull. It was subtle at first. I didn’t understand it. Blood magic—it reacts to people. To strength. To pain. Sometimes it latches onto something and doesn’t let go.” He paused, voice rough. “It latched onto you.”
I stared at him. “What do you mean, latched onto me?”
“It means it reaches for you, without my permission. It reads your feelings, your emotions—even your physical pain—and feeds it back to me. It wants you close all the time. I try to keep it back, try to stop it from being so insistent, but it’s difficult.”
He met my eyes. “It’s attuned to you, Azaria.”
The words rang in my ears. The silver band twisted faster under my fingers. “How long?”
Quin swallowed.
“How long, Quinton?”
“Since the day you found me in those woods. From the moment I realized who you were under that hood.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
All those months ago. From the very first moment he laid eyes on me.
I stood sharply. The silver band bit into my skin as I twisted it harder. “So your magic saw everything I felt. And fed it back to you.”
“Yes.”
“You felt my pain. My anger.” I was pacing now, unable to stand still. “Stars, the ball. You felt everything Callan and I did. Gods, that explains why you were such a prick that night.”
“Az—“
“Solmarin,” I said, and something in my voice made him flinch. “When you saw me in that doorway, all flustered—you knew. You felt it.”
He didn’t deny it.
“When I was grieving. When I was trying to rebuild whatever was left of me.” I laughed, bitter and hollow. “When I let myself feel, finally—when I let you in. You were already in. You’ve been in the whole time.”
He stepped toward me. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate you. I wasn’t spying?—“
“You knew, Quinton.” I backed away. “You felt me breaking and said nothing. You let me trust you while you were reading me like a map. Do you have any idea how exposed that makes me feel?”
“I didn’t want you to feel like this.”
“I asked you.” My voice broke against the silence. “I gave you the chance, more than once, and you lied. You looked me in the eye and told me it was nothing.”
“I know?—“
“Everything that happened in Solmarin,” I said, the words burning my throat.
“Every moment I thought I could endure in silence, you were there. You felt it and you said nothing.” The silver band dug into my finger, grounding me in the hard bite of metal.
“You let me believe it was mine to give. Mine to choose when to let you in. But there was never a choice, was there?”
“Azaria, please?—“
“You promised me honesty. You promised.”
The silence that followed was worse than any answer.
“I didn’t know what it was,” Quin said hoarsely.
“Not at first. I thought it was just my magic bleeding out of control. When I spoke to Elias, he explained what it was. That’s when I understood.
” His hands were shaking. “And yes, I should have told you. The moment I knew, I should have said it. But I was a coward. That’s on me. ”
“Your brother knew.” The words tasted like ash. “You went to him. You trusted him. But not me.”
“Don’t think I wanted this, Azaria.” His voice cracked.
“Do you think I enjoyed it? Do you think it was easy when my magic was tearing me apart from the inside every time I had to watch you break in front of me?” He dragged a hand through his hair, chest heaving.
“Every time you walked into the room, I had to wrestle it down. Force it into silence so you wouldn’t see.
I didn’t ask for this. I never wanted to steal from you. ”
“We promised, Quin. We said we’d help each other, tell each other everything.
” My hands balled into fists. “You didn’t just keep this from me—you lied to my face when I asked.
If you’d told me sooner, we could have faced it together.
But you didn’t trust me with it. You decided for me.
” I seethed the last sentence. “You took away my choice.”
“If I could cut this bond out of me and give you back that choice, I would.” His voice was raw and ragged. “I’d bleed myself dry if it meant undoing what my magic did to you. But I can’t. All I can do is beg you not to turn away from me now.”
“It’s too late. You already took it from me.”
“Azaria—“ His voice cracked, rough with panic.
“I need you to leave, Quinton.”
He flinched like the name itself cut him. “Sweetheart, please?—“
“Leave.” My voice was steady this time, cold enough to slam the final nail in.
For a long moment, he just stood there, chest rising and falling like he was holding himself back from breaking. Then he turned slowly, and the sound of the door closing behind him felt like a blade through my ribs.
My chest heaved. I could barely breathe.
Quin knew every single emotion since the day I intercepted him in those woods, and he didn’t tell me. All the arguments, all the good moments, all those times I slipped and felt something physical for him—he knew.
I sat back down on the sofa, trying to process it all. Everything Korr said to me that day evaporated. I’d been ready to be reasonable, to listen and forgive him for not telling me, but this? I wasn’t ready for this.
I don’t know how long I sat there before the door opened again. I’d recognize that gait anywhere.
Dain stepped inside. I’d sent Kalias back to the wing to tell him where I was, but from the look on Dain’s face, Kalias had told him more than just my location.
“Az?” Dain said as he stepped inside. His gaze settled on me. “What happened?”
I swallowed. “Quin’s magic has attached itself to me. It had been since the day we found him in the woods, all those months ago.” I looked at Dain. And froze.
“You knew,” I said in a low voice.
Dain exhaled. “I suspected, especially recently, that there was more to Quin’s magic than we could see.”
“And you didn’t tell me.” I was seething all over again. My best friend—my Dain—he knew, and he didn’t warn me. I stood, pacing, the silver band twisting under my fingers.
He didn’t flinch. “Not until I spoke with Kalias and he explained how attunement works. Then it made sense. I wasn’t entirely sure before that. You know I wouldn’t have kept it from you otherwise.”
“But you still did. Quin did. Elias did. Kalias did.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Every damn man in my life knew more about my own body than I did.” I stopped pacing and turned on him. “How do I shield myself from it?”
“Az—“
“How, Dain?”
He let out a slow breath. “You can’t. It’s not a soul bond or a mind bond. It’s physical. You can put distance between you, or try suppressing runes, but the bond itself will always be there.”
I swore under my breath, pacing faster. Hot fury coiled in my chest.
“I thought it was my choice,” I said, heat prickling at the corners of my eyes.
“My choice to open up to him, to let him in, to be with him. But he was already there, and I never even knew.” My hands shook as I pressed them to my chest, the silver band digging into my finger.
“Every time I take something back, someone rips it away. First Torven. Then the sickness, stripping me of the choice of whether I can ever have a family. Now this.”
Dain didn’t move. Didn’t try to soothe or argue.
He just stood there, taking the brunt of it, as always.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low.
Rough. “You’re right,” he said simply. “You deserved the choice. All of it. And I can’t give it back.
” He paused, jaw tight. “You don’t have to take it, Az.
You can rage. You can break things. You can hate every single one of us if that’s what you need to survive this.
If you want to scream, I’ll listen. If you want to be alone, I’ll stand guard at your door.
If you want to tear this whole world apart, I’ll help you do it.
” His hand flexed at his side. “You’ve lost too many choices.
But you still have this one—I’m yours, Az.
However you need me. Even if that means just letting you hurt.
” He held my gaze. “Because I can feel your pain.”
“Your bond,” I said quietly.
“Yes. Since I understood what it is, I can feel your emotions more clearly when you’re close. And I can feel that you’re hurting, right now.”
I choked up. My pacing stopped. I staggered back. “I can’t feel it.” My breath caught. “I can’t feel anything, Dain. I can’t feel your pain, I can’t feel your anger—“ My voice cracked. “I want to feel whatever it is you feel too, but I can’t. Why can’t I feel you?”
Dain didn’t let me spiral. He closed the distance in two strides, wrapped me in his arms, and pulled me tight against his chest. I felt the soft silk of his shirt, the solid warmth of him, the strength that never wavered.
He held me there, unmoving, while I shook. His chin settled on the top of my head, breath steady. I didn’t realize I was crying until his hand cupped the back of my neck, grounding me.
He didn’t say a word. Just held on, tight enough to keep me from coming apart, gentle enough to let me breathe.
After a moment, he pressed a kiss to my hair, so light I barely felt it. One hand slid gently through my hair, over and over, soothing—grounding me with every slow pass.
I pressed my face to his chest, voice barely a whisper. “Why can’t I feel you?”
His arms tightened around me, grieving for me in a way I couldn’t touch or sense, but knew was there all the same.
He just held on. As if by sheer strength alone, he could anchor me in a world that kept slipping from my grasp.