"No." He shakes his head firmly. "Domno wouldn't let them get close enough."
Her eyes lift to mine again, something shifting in their depths. Not forgiveness—not yet—but understanding, perhaps. She knows what I risked. What I chose.
"Come," she says finally, rising to her feet with Erisen in her arms. "You need to sit before you fall."
I follow her into the temple, boots crunching on fallen leaves that have blown through the broken windows. Inside, she's created a makeshift camp—a pallet of blankets, a small supply of food, a lamp burning low beside what looks like a nest for Erisen. It's barely adequate shelter, but she's made it safe. Made it theirs.
Erisen stays close to her side but keeps glancing back at me, as if making sure I'm still there. His small hands twist in the fabric of his shirt—the same one I dressed him in after rescuing him, now dirty and torn at the sleeve. Despite that, despite the shadows under his eyes, he seems more animated than I've seen him since I found him in Vorrak's stronghold.
"Show Mama your new rock," I suggest, nodding toward his pocket where I know he stashed a piece of obsidian I'd given him during our ride back here.
His face lights up, and he digs into his pocket, producing the glossy black stone. "Look, Mama! It's from a volcano."
Esalyn takes it from his small palm, examining it with exaggerated interest. "It's beautiful. Where did you find it?"
"Domno gave it to me. He says it's the same color as his heart used to be before he met us."
Her eyes flick to mine, surprise written across her features. I don't look away. Let her see the truth of it.
Erisen continues chattering, describing our escape in the fragmented, breathless way of children. Esalyn helps me as he does, making sure that my wounds are taken care of and helping me clean up with water she's brought in. I'm almost good as new, and clean thanks to some clothes that were in the carriage, by the time Erisen starts to run out of energy. I notice his eyes growing heavy. He sways slightly where he stands, exhaustion finally catching up to his small body after the terror and excitement.
Esalyn notices too. "Time for sleep, little one."
"But I'm not—" His protest is interrupted by a massive yawn.
"You're asleep on your feet," I murmur, the corner of my mouth lifting despite the pain throbbing through my body.
Erisen blinks up at me, then turns to his mother. "Can Domno help tuck me in?"
Esalyn hesitates for just a heartbeat before nodding. "Of course."
Together, we guide him to the nest of blankets she's prepared. I kneel beside him, ignoring the fresh wave of agony from my wounds, and pull the blanket up to his chin.
"Will you stay?" he whispers, small fingers catching at my wrist.
"Yes," I promise, brushing dark hair from his forehead. "I'm not leaving."
His eyes drift closed almost immediately, the day's horrors no match for a child's exhaustion. I remain kneeling beside him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, until I'm certain he's deep asleep.
When I finally stand, Esalyn is waiting near the temple entrance. "Outside," she says softly, gesturing toward the fire. "We need to talk."
I follow her into the night, the cool air a shock against my fevered skin. The fire throws dancing shadows across her face as she settles beside it, and I lower myself carefully across from her, my body protesting every movement.
"Thank you," she says after a long silence, the words hanging between us like smoke. "For bringing him back."
"I didn't do it for thanks." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
"I know." She stares into the flames. "You did it because you love him."
My wounds throb beneath the bandages she applied, her touch clinical and distant as she worked. I welcomed the pain.It's familiar territory, unlike the ache spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with physical injury.
I nod, unable to find words that don't sound hollow. What does a man like me say to a woman like her after everything that's happened? After the lies, the half-truths?
"He wouldn't let go of that wooden bird you carved him," she continues, a slight tremor in her voice. "Even after everything."
My throat tightens. "Esalyn?—"
"Don't." She holds up her hand, the firelight catching on old scars across her knuckles—remnants of her life before, of survival through servitude. "I don't know what to say to you, Domno. I don't know how to make sense of any of this."
