CHAPTER 35 #3
He quickened his pace, his stomach in guilt-ridden knots. He shot Veyra a look, suspicion gnawing at him. He didn’t trust this woman.
If Kara’s hurt, I’ll bring this city down on their heads.
Veyra led him to a row of black-stone houses, stopping in front of one near the end. Candlelight flickered in the window and smoke curled from its chimney. Sebastian frowned. That wasn’t what he’d expected.
Veyra pushed the door open. “Go on. She’s inside, but sleeping.”
And then Veyra was gone. Sebastian stepped into warmth.
The hearth glowed low, Fatàn magic glimmering around it.
He scoffed. The shield was the least they could do.
That would never make up for them being the reason she was terrified of flames in the first place.
There was food on the table too, the bread half-eaten.
And on the bed lay a sleeping Kara. She was okay.
His legs nearly gave out as he drank in the sight of her.
Her dark hair was damp, loose from her braid, falling across the pillow.
She’s so beautiful.
She looked as though the last month had been erased, like she’d never bled or burned or broken. So peaceful. He wanted to go to her but–
Don’t wake her, Thorne.
So instead he looked to the wash basin, saw a pile of clothes – a fresh tunic, trousers, boots.
His own arms were streaked with dirt and grime, his knuckles split and bloodied.
He should wash too. It was the least he could do.
Sebastian leaned his sword against the wall, dropped the Shard satchel on the table, and moved to the basin.
He dunked his hands into the water as quietly as he could and scrubbed hard at his face. It stung like a bastard.
Fucking hells.
The water seeped into the open wounds on his hands – but the cold chased away the last of the fire in him.
Water streamed from his hair and ran down his chest as he straightened, so he stripped off his cloak and tunic, leaving only his trousers.
He caught sight of himself in the small mirror propped beside the basin and his gaze dropped to his ribs.
Where a jagged scar had once been. Where by rights more should be, after everything in Vallenna City.
Nothing.
He touched the smooth skin, almost disbelieving.
Her magic. Undeniable proof her hand had been there, saving his life.
He looked up, meeting his own gaze in the reflection.
He was harder-edged than he remembered. Older.
His face showing lines of exhaustion, fury, loss.
His eyes still showed the scars that his skin no longer held.
Except, he noticed, a small mark beneath his eye.
From the Earth trial. He didn’t know she’d left that one.
But even with that, he didn’t fully recognise the man staring back at him.
I don’t deserve her. I never will.
The thought came unbidden, but painful in its clarity. That’s what all this had really been about, hadn’t it? Not Fatàn. Not whether Kara’s feelings were real or manufactured.
It’s me.
He didn’t believe she should choose him.
Kara was extraordinary. So inherently good. Full of light and compassion. Everything he wasn’t. He carried a darkness in him. Deeper than he wanted to admit. How much he’d enjoyed killing Cade – the satisfaction he felt watching the life drain from him – had reminded him of that.
And it was poisoning her.
Before him, she’d followed the path laid out for her. Predictable, maybe, but safe. Now she’d taken a life. Was a fugitive wanted for execution. She’d lost everything.
Because of me.
His mind flashed with her face after killing that soldier. To save him. The shock in her eyes, the way her hands shook. She carried that now. He knew better than most how killing changed you. Even if it needed to be done. He looked back at her – asleep, peaceful – and something broke inside him.
Her life would have been better if she’d never met me.
And yet he was sure that if he asked – before what happened tonight – Kara Hale would have offered him her soul. She hadn’t been horrified by the thought, as she should have been. He’d seen it on her face. Considering it. Looking... willing.
Well, she had been.
Until he opened his mouth and ruined everything.
Now she probably saw him for exactly what he was.
No. Stop it.
And Gods, he wanted it. Of course he did.
A way to claim her as his? Completely, irrevocably?
He wanted it more than anything. Wanted their souls bound so tightly that no one – not Fatàn, not the Council, not even his own doubt – could tear them apart ever again.
But wanting something didn’t make it right.
How could he risk ruining her soul when he’d already ruined everything else?
I won’t tie her fate to mine.
He threw himself back into washing with more vigour than necessary, water sloshing over the sides of the basin, until finally, he was clean. When he turned back to the bed he was surprised to find Kara watching him, bleary-eyed and half asleep.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said too quickly. “I was just washing.”
She can see that, you idiot.
Kara reached out a hand towards him. “Come here.”
“Look, maybe we should–”
“Not to talk,” she said firmly.
He crossed the room, glanced at the bed, then lowered himself onto the floor beside it.
“What are you doing?” Kara asked.
He looked up at her. “I thought – after what I said, I didn’t think you’d want me to–”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not–”
She grabbed his wrist. “We’ll talk about it. Tomorrow. But right now you hold me. Please.”
Sebastian hesitated, confused. He’d expected anger, coldness.
Not this. But he could never have said no to her.
He let her pull him up onto the bed beside her.
He was tense and awkward at first, but as she settled her cheek against his bare chest his arms came around her of their own accord.
He was holding tighter than he meant to but he couldn’t bring himself to loosen his grip.
I love you, Kara.
“Mmh, that’s better,” she murmured, almost asleep already, “you’re comfortable.”
She really was. Totally comfortable with him.
And apparently far more forgiving than he had any right to expect.
Lying like this he could almost convince himself that she would have chosen him anyway.
Without Fatàn’s games. Almost. But not quite.
Her breathing steadied, deep and even with sleep, and her hand relaxed.
Sebastian forced his own eyes closed – pointless really – he knew sleep wouldn’t come.
So he lay in the dark, systematically cataloguing his multitude of failures, until something warm on his chest pulled him from his thoughts.
He looked down. There was a faint glow, a small pulse beneath her palm, where it rested on his bare skin.
What–
It spread, soft emerald light seeping from her.
It threaded slowly through his chest, through locked muscle.
Sebastian tensed automatically, ready to tear himself away.
His memories of her sleep magic weren’t kind.
He braced for that same drowning pull he’d felt before, the kind that took control from you.
But it never came. Her face was still completely peaceful.
She wasn’t doing this consciously. This magic wasn’t forceful.
It was an invitation, demanding nothing.
Just offered peace. He knew instinctively he could shake free from its grip with a single thought if he decided to.
Only... he didn’t want to. The storm inside him dulled under her magic.
The fury and panic and guilt slipped away to the edges of his consciousness.
He hadn’t known silence could feel this good.
Hadn’t known how much he wanted it until it was offered.
His breathing deepened. His eyelids felt heavy.
Finally, Sebastian slept.