Chapter Thirty-Three
Connor
The fire sparked. The valley trembled. And the bond between them pulsed quiet but unmistakable.
The castle should’ve been quiet. Night had smothered the valley in deep indigo, and every sensible creature had retreated indoors. Even the magical lights under the fault lines had dimmed to a tired, muted pulse.
But Connor couldn’t sleep. And Adrian apparently couldn’t either, so he’d joined him in the study.
The Chronicle of the First Two lay on the table between them, the black stone tablet laden with more truth than they had ever asked for. The carved sigils glinted faintly in the lamplight, as if drinking in the shadows around them.
Connor stared at Adrian. “You’re thinking too loudly,” he muttered.
Adrian blinked. “I’m simply sitting.”
“And overthinking while doing it.”
Adrian chuckled. “You think all problems can be solved with less thought.”
Connor shrugged. “Most can.”
Adrian smoothed his fingertips over the edges of the tablet. “This one can’t. Surely it’s a story, a legend.”
Connor shook his head. “No legend drops rifts, fault lines, and ancient bloody lore tablets at our feet.”
Adrian lowered his gaze. “The First Two died sealing the rend.”
“They aren’t us.”
“But what if we repeat their end?”
Connor reached out, cupping Adrian’s jaw. “We’re writing our own story. Not theirs.”
“Yet the Veil keeps comparing us.”
“The Veil doesn’t know us,” Connor growled. “We decide what we are.”
Adrian sighed. “You make it sound simple.”
“It is,” Connor said with a shrug. “Because it’s this,” he tapped the centre of Adrian’s chest over the mark, “and you and me.”
Adrian went still. The mark answered with a soft pulse of gold and violet. Connor felt it through his fingers. The air shifted, and the study darkened. Not ominously, but as if the room itself leaned in to listen. Connor reached forward, lifting the stone tablet in both hands.
“Their vow,” he murmured. “It saved the world once.”
Adrian looked away. “It killed them.”
“No.” Connor shook his head. “The Council killed them. Not the vow.”
Adrian closed his eyes, frustration flickering across his face.
“Adrian,” Connor entreated. “Look at me.”
Adrian opened his eyes to see Connor holding the tablet between them.
“We don’t need their vow,” he said. “We need ours. Xiathen said as much.” Connor leaned forward. “Whatever we choose will shape the valley. Strengthen the bond, fortify the mark, shield you, and shield me.”
Adrian swallowed. “And if we choose incorrectly?”
Connor’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then we face the consequences together.”
Adrian’s fingers curled into the table. “What if our vow makes things worse?”
Connor reached out and took Adrian’s hand, warm, solid, and certain. “Every time your mark surged,” Connor said quietly, “every time the valley shook, every time you were pulled under, do you know what steadied it?”
Adrian shook his head.
“You holding on to me,” Connor told him. “And me holding back.”
“You saved me in the Spiral Grove,” Adrian said. “I felt myself slipping, fading, and you dragged me back.”
“You did the same,” Connor murmured. “That grove would have swallowed me whole if you hadn’t pulled the mark through us both.”
Their foreheads touched. The tablet between them glowed faintly.
Adrian sighed. “So what do we say?”
Connor let out a shaky breath. “Xiathen said vows shape the bond. They aren’t magic words. They’re truth.”
“Then tell me our truth.”
Connor pulled back slightly so he could see Adrian’s eyes. “Our truth,” he said, his voice low, “is that they marked you because you’re strong enough to shake two worlds.”
Adrian blinked.
“Our truth,” Connor continued, “is that I would tear the Veil apart with my bare hands before I let them take you.”
Adrian’s fingers clutched his tighter.
“And our truth,” Connor said, “is that together, we are stronger than the First Two ever were because we know what’s coming.”
Connor touched Adrian’s mark. “So say it with me.”
Adrian stared at him. “Say what?”
“A vow that belongs to us.”
Adrian swallowed. “Connor, if we vow incorrectly—”
“There is no incorrect vow,” Connor said. “Only an honest one.”
“Very well,” Adrian said. “Let’s speak our truth.”
The room seemed to shift. Connor nodded once. “Repeat after me.” He grinned. “I had some time to think about this so let’s hope my words aren’t a pile of shit.”
Adrian laughed. “You’re no poet but I trust your honesty.”
Connor’s voice dropped to a soft rumble, primal and intimate. “I stand with you.”
“I stand with you.”
“I guard your life.”
“I guard your life.”
“I take your burden.”
Adrian hesitated. Connor squeezed his hands.
“I take your burden.”
“I walk beside you.”
“I walk beside you.”
“Against fate.”
“Against fate.”
“And against those who fear what we are.”
“And against those who fear what we are.”
Connor cupped Adrian’s face. “For as long as I exist,” he murmured.
Adrian inhaled deeply. “For as long as I exist.”
The mark ignited—not violently, not painfully—but with a warm, shimmering light that wrapped around them both like a veil of gold and violet flames. Connor leaned in, pressing his forehead to Adrian’s.
And together, with steady breath and joined hands, they spoke the last line in unison:
“Bound by our choosing, unbroken by fear.”
The flames vanished. The room fell silent. Adrian exhaled in a whoosh. Connor stayed close, his breath ghosting Adrian’s cheek.
“Did it work?” Adrian asked.
The answer came instantly. The valley pulsed. A deep, resonant thrum echoed through the stones of the castle. Behind them, the fault lines glowed softly and evenly. No longer chaotic but beating in a gentle rhythm. The Veil had heard them and accepted the vow.
Connor murmured. “You okay?”
Adrian pressed a hand to his heart, his eyes wide with wonder. “The mark. It’s warm.”
Connor touched Adrian’s chest lightly, then his own. He grinned. “It’s ours now.”
“I think the Veil recognised us.”
Connor smirked. “Then the Council’s about to have an unexpected night because there are things I want to do to you that will make them blush.”
Adrian laughed and let himself fold into Connor’s arms. Connor held him like a vow itself. And outside, the valley listened.