Page 269 of Burn Her They Said
Because he is going to need to fucking run.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
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Tasch
My stomach plummets as Fray soars higher.
Was that him? Was that Varic’s voice I just heard?
Certainty swirls through me with the conviction that it had to be him. Swearing it must have been Varic’s voice I heard through all the screaming. Remembering how it felt to receive that warming sensation crawling over my skin. Knowing in the moment it had to be Varic sending his love to find me.
For I cannot deny the sensation of heat building beneath my skin—the same as every other time his gaze has traced my form. Yet he could not have seen me standing there, or else his shield would have covered me.
If it had just been the emotion, I would have no doubt that this clever sorcerer imbued me. I would have no reason to question whether or not he sent me this message in the same way we have communicated when needing to do so without detection.
I want to believe it was him. But the heat I felt brews a sort of doubt which twists my stomach, and I swallow against the pressure as it rises. No matter how much I want to believe it couldn’t have been my magic forcing me to re-experience an intensely visceral memory. I sensed it so distinctly, without his stare there to distract me.
How the warmth of his affection climbed steadily from where it began in the center of my chest—then my heart lurches—because this heat isn’t something my magic is capable of conjuring. Not even from such a strong memory. Meaning every other time I have flushed in Varic’s presence, it has been from the love he feels for me, sinking in beneath my skin, sent through our uncanny connection.
Fray holds my head against his chest, and I try to shift away from the fragile glass vial he wears beneath his leathers, his attachment to the object being something I intend to protect. A necessary bit of sentimentality we are too often forbidden from engaging in. I wriggle within his grip until the shape of the vessel can no longer be felt under my cheek, then let out a breath as I rest against his shoulder.
Pain stabs throughout my chest as I do my best to hold in every stubborn cry that refuses to die out. Each one clambers its way up my esophagus, where I appease the need to let them out in hurried whimpers. Then my chest constricts with the hope I haven’t alerted Fray to my distress, the wind buffeting around us.
He tilts his chin to look down at me. “You okay?”
An odd sort of laugh rends from my stomach, and it shakes against Fray’s.
“Of course you’re not okay. The fucking Throne Room exploded.”
“Oh! That’s not the half of it!”
“What do you mean?” He cocks his head to the side to look at me.
“Ha! Do you want the terrible news or the worst news?”
“Uh, the worst news?”
“Have you happened to notice how our ruler has been moving with exceptional grace?”
“Yes, and how he’s been oddly energetic and seems to be stronger and healthier than ever.”
“Well, would you believe he so proudly explained that he has achieved his goal and is now immortal?”
Fray halts his trajectory to hover above the pointed tips of the trees.
“You’re fucking serious?”
I nod, and he releases a heavy breath.
“Wait. When did he have time to tell you this?”
“When you were all fucking with the General.”
His brows furrow.
“When Malin, Varic, and Cirrin were all sending their magic up to mess with Sal.”
