“Yes. Or it chose them.”
We passed a herb shop tucked between two domed residences, the scent of crushed thyme and dried lemon rind drifting on the wind. Beyond that, a square opened before us, quiet now, though I could still hear the whisper of water from the central fountain. I paused for a moment there. Let the night breathe around us.
Callis’s fingers curled a little tighter around mine.
“You’re not taking me to the docks, are you?” he asked, teasing gently.
I smiled. “Almost.”
The descent grew steeper as we left the upper city behind. The streets widened. Laundry hung between windows on high wires, and cats lounged on warm steps. A boy was singing to himself near a bakery’s back door, kneading dough with clumsy fists. The smell of sea salt and fish brine crept in from the wind, stronger now.
At the final turn, the city dropped open before us—broad and dark and restless. The docks stretched out like fingers into the bay, torches flickering along the piers. Boats rocked in their moorings. Sailcloth snapped against wooden masts. I led him all the way to the end of the third pier.
The ship waited there.
It was modest, with pale sails bound tight and the name Velona’s Grace etched in curved script on the hull. Deckhands moved about with quiet efficiency, securing crates, checking ropes. They nodded to me as we passed.
Callis stopped walking when he saw it.
“This is bound for?—”
“Your island,” I said. “Yes.”
He looked at me, stunned.
“I asked the captain to wait a few extra days. Just until the rite is complete. There’s a berth reserved for you, if you want it.”
Callis was quiet for a moment. The torchlight gilded his face, caught in the loose curls at his temples.
“And the crates?” he asked, voice barely audible.
I turned slightly. The crew had stacked them neatly by the loading ramp—ten in total, sealed and marked with my sigil.
“They’re yours,” I said. “Or rather, for your temple. Glossaries, monastic records, first-cycle scrolls, a few interpretive texts. Even a replica of the old maps of the southern archives. I know your chapel had scraps at best. I wanted you to have more.”
He stared at the crates. “You copied them all?”
“I gave what I could spare from my own shelves. And paid scribes for the rest.”
His brow furrowed, his mouth parting slightly like he meant to speak—but no sound came.
I stepped back from him, just a little. Let my hand fall from his.
“I know this bond will end. I’ve known it since the beginning.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but the ache behind it betrayed me. “But I wanted… I wanted you to leave with something that might make the return easier. Something lasting.”
He turned toward me then.
I met his eyes.
And it hurt.
Gods, it hurt.
I had tried to play the part of the gracious host, the elder Thorn, the wise man preparing his young bondmate for his next chapter. I had done everything right. Given freely. Loved gently. But still—it was Callis’s eyes that nearly undid me.
There was something swimming in them I couldn’t name. Wonder. Guilt. Grief. I didn’t know. I didn’t ask.
I just smiled like it didn’t kill me. Like it didn’t feel like the tide pulling away from the shore for the last time.
