Chapter 26 · A Knife Under the Vows

"Get away from her." Varen's voice hit the room like a slammed door, and six spear points came in right behind it.

Seraph was still tangled in Kael's arms, half-burned sheets under her, his shirt scorched black at the collar where her fire had eaten through skin that should've been screaming and wasn't. She hadn't even sat up yet. She just stared at the men filling the doorway, torchlight throwing long shadows across a floor that still smelled like a funeral pyre.

"Lower those," Kael said, not moving, not letting go of her.

"Not this time." Varen stepped over the threshold like he owned it. "Not when I've got scorch marks up the whole hallway and a bride who lit up like a signal fire in the middle of the night."

"She had a fever."

"A fever." Varen laughed, short and ugly. "Commander. Look at your own arms."

Seraph looked. The burns ran from Kael's wrists to his elbows, red and raw, the kind of wound that should've had him on the floor screaming. He hadn't made a sound the whole time he held her.

"Get up," Varen said to her. "Slow. Hands where my men can see them.