Erisen listens with rapt attention, his golden eyes fixed on the metal gleaming in the fading light. I show him how to hold it properly, his small fingers mimicking my grip with surprising precision.
"Balance is key," I tell him, guiding his arm through the motion without releasing the blade. "Feel how it wants to move."
When I'm satisfied he understands the basic principle, I set up a piece of driftwood against a rock and stand behind him, my hand over his, controlling the throw. The knife strikes with a satisfying thunk, and his face lights up with triumph.
"Again!"
Esalyn watches from the doorway, her expression softening in increments. The tension in her shoulders eases slightly as she leans against the frame, dark hair falling loose from her usual tight knot. Each time Erisen's aim improves, she allows herself a small smile.
We continue until his small arm trembles with exertion, the determination in his face so fierce it almost masks his fatigue. Almost.
"Enough for today," I say, retrieving the knife one final time.
"One more," he insists, stifling a yawn that contradicts his demand.
"Tomorrow," I counter, sliding the blade back into its sheath. "A tired arm makes poor decisions."
He doesn't argue further, his eyelids already drooping. When he sways slightly on his feet, I lift him without thinking, his small body fitting naturally against my chest. His head drops to my shoulder immediately, tiny fingers curling into the collar of my shirt with instinctive trust.
The weight of him—so slight yet somehow monumental—anchors me to this moment in a way I can't articulate. His breath warm against my neck, his heartbeat a rapid flutter compared to my slower rhythm. I approach the door where Esalyn waits, her eyes tracking us with an emotion I'm afraid to name.
I don't speak. Words would only complicate what's happening between us. Instead, I meet her gaze and give a single nod—asking permission, offering reassurance.
She steps aside to let me enter, the gesture so simple yet loaded with meaning. As if allowing me to carry her sleeping son across her threshold is the most natural thing in the world.
As if letting me in always has been.
16
ESALYN
With Erisen safely tucked beneath our threadbare blanket, I open the door and slip outside. The night air carries the metallic tang of cooled volcanic rock, the heat of the day finally surrendering to darkness. Domno follows, his movements nearly silent despite his size—a predator's grace that should frighten me but somehow doesn't anymore.
This has become our ritual. These quiet moments after Erisen sleeps, when the walls between us thin like smoke. I try to ignore how it makes me feel, that he has special time for both of us.
"He's exhausted," I say, settling on the rough-hewn bench Domno dragged here three days ago. Another small conquest of permanence I haven't allowed myself in years. "You're good with him."
Domno leans against the wall beside me, arms crossed over his broad chest. The night casts shadows across the planes of his face, softening the battle scars but highlighting the sharp gold of his eyes. Eyes that miss nothing.
"He's easy to be good with."
I trace a finger over a splinter in the bench, wondering when exactly I stopped planning our escape routes whenever Domno appears. When his presence became something I anticipate rather than endure.
"I've never seen him take to anyone like this," I admit, the words feeling like pebbles in my mouth—small, hard truths I'm not used to offering. "Not just Erisen. Me too."
Domno shifts, his attention sharpening. I can feel the weight of his gaze without looking up.
"I've never..." The words stick, and I force them past the tightness in my throat. "We've never had someone like you. Someone who stays." It comes out almost like an apology, this confession of our isolation. "Someone who shields without caging."
I finally look up, needing him to understand. It wasn't just Vorrak who taught me to keep the world at arm's length. It was everyone. The servants who looked away. The guards who followed orders. The travelers who never questioned why a woman and child always slept with their backs to the wall and bags packed.
"It's not just what happened with Vorrak," I say, voice barely above a whisper. "It's everything since. Everyone since. I've never let anyone in."
Domno doesn't respond with words. Instead, he pushes off from the wall and crosses to me in two silent strides. His hands find my shoulders, strong and sure as he pulls me up and against him. The contact sends warmth cascading through me, despite the night's chill.
He rests his chin atop my head, his breath stirring my hair. "You should both know how to protect yourselves."
The rumble of his voice vibrates through his chest against my cheek. I close my eyes, allowing myself to absorb the solid heat of him, the security of arms that could crush but choose to shelter.
