*Weekly updates* "There are no leashes now, no bindings," she says, her voice a dark lullaby in the flickering candlelight, "and it is their sacrifice that gave us this. Nothing can ever repay it. No one can ever take it from us. So now, in this hal...
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There is premonition in the air as Caj follows Fae down the winding Tower stairs. A heavy knowing, portent and black, settling along the weary bridge of his shoulders, the bent crux of his neck. It's an animal knowing, built in the way the hair on his arms stand straight on pimpled gooseflesh, shivering with warning, with danger. Fae's words are ringing in his head, swirling, but that is not the only sign, the only indication. There's something in here that wasn't there before.
They are down deep in dungeons where they once held Grimes, and the light dwindling low in the torches, weak and uneven in the long, weighted darkness.
The door at the end of the hall is ajar, fire flickering in there too, and as they start toward it Fae reaches back, seizing his hand in hers.
It's an old friend, the shiver—so different than the ones he felt on their descent. It travels up from her touch, and it burns, burns bright against the wet stillness, the pulsing tension. He holds back just as hard and watches her, a pale beacon in the dark.
There are three people in the room when they enter: hollow-eyed Lei Chaudri, looking tired beyond his years; the Paragon, still and silent, the pulsing center of every fraught quiver in the air; and Keno who sits, stiff and blank-faced, on the opposite side of the table from the other two. The spymaster and the Protector exchange a long look, both expressions unreadable, though Caj can see that the thief's hands are clutched in white-knuckled fists behind the desk.
"Caj," the Paragon says, breaking the silence, "it is good to see you."
Caj forces himself to look at her, the thing occupying the small, wooden chair, legs crossed, arm laid almost casually on the rough desk in front of her. If he just glances at her she looks like his friend, but the Skill that swirls around her, the Skill that emanates from her in jittery, jagged edges, is wrong.
What did you do to yourself? he wonders, remembering the girl who joked with him about sleeping in trees, the girl who told him he had been her first pick for her team.
If his lack of answer perturbs her, Allayria does not let it show. She only gestures, with one pale hand, at the empty chairs across the table—beside Keno.
"Take a seat."
He feels Fae's hand—hidden from the three ahead of her, still entwined with his—shiver, and he squeezes her fingers before he lets go, moving his hand to the small of her back, pushing gently.
We have to do this, he thinks, he knows. Hold on a little longer.
They sit, Fae taking the spot next to Keno, Caj sitting down on the other side, bracketing her. It has, he realizes suddenly, been like this for more than a year: the three of them, the two dark-haired men on either side of Fae, facing whatever opponent chooses to challenge them. He spares the spymaster another quick glance, surprised to find a strain of relief in his feelings when he sees Keno staring back, calmly, steadily.
