Chapter 23 · Claws at the Gate

The war horns hit the chamber like a fist.

Three long blasts. Then three more. I felt them in my teeth.

My tear was still sitting on Vane's scar, and he was staring at it like I'd branded him.

"Don't," he said. His voice was gravel. "Don't cry on that."

"Don't tell me what to do." I shoved the decree against his chest, the parchment crackling between us. Blood-brown ink. His signature. The Elders' seal. "Two years, Vane. Two years I thought you looked me in the eye and threw me away."

"I did."

"You carved yourself open for me!"

"I carved the bond." His jaw flexed. Sweat ran down his throat into the furs. The fire behind him made him look like something dragged out of hell. "It was the only way they'd drop the treason charge. You were supposed to hate me. Hate keeps people running."

"Hate almost killed me."

His eyes flicked to my mouth. Gold bled into the gray. The fever was climbing again, and I could smell it, smoke and iron and something wild underneath.

Outside, boots hammered the corridor. Fast. Too many.

He heard it too.