As reality snapped back, Corabelle realized it had been a decent amount of time since she’d stepped into this room.

  Her whole body stung and ached like she’d been attacked by a swarm of very large, very angry hornets. She felt feverish, a cold sweat coated her hot skin. A sharp migraine had formed behind her right eye but was beginning to slowly fade with the number of other unpleasant sensations scattered about her body.

  Her last memories were of the Fae creature ordering her own destruction. After that she couldn’t remember much of anything.

  The blood on her tongue told her an attempt had been made to enact that order, but she was still alive, so clearly something had changed. Though not quickly enough that she couldn’t feel the itch of slowly drying blood on her skin.

  Her eyes came into focus and she realized she was being propped up, leaning across Zaramir’s chest.

  Her body was stiff, not willing to move as she scanned the scene. The room was still and quiet. The voice, the glow, had vanished. The immediate danger was gone.

  Zaramir was bloody though some of his wounds were healing. The burns across his shoulders were pink and blistered but not oozing blood any longer and there seemed to be no source of the fresh blood on his face.

  The one injury she couldn’t place though was the one she could most easily see. At eye level, near where her locked fingers wouldn’t unfurl from his coat, she saw a printine scar from which blood had recently flowed. It was too clean to be from anything other than a blade, the wide diamond shape of a masterwork dagger.

  They tried to kill him. How are we alive?

  Her brain rushed over the possibilities, as she pried her cracking fingers free of the blood soaked material.

  The moment her jaw unlocked, she forced out words over her aching throat, “What happened?”

  “I’m so sorry,” The same muttered apology she hadn’t been able to process came first from him. “They wanted you destroyed.” His hand squeezed her waist

  She flinched as the soreness encapsulating her body radiated spikes from that point of light pressure.

  He didn’t seem to notice as he expounded, filling the holes in her limited memory, “They got distracted long enough for me to slip free of their influence. They tried to finish what they started but--” He hesitated, the whole truth hanging unspoken, just out of reach. “In short, we came to a new agreement.”

  “They tried to kill you too.” She wiped the blood away from the too-perfect, newly formed scar.

  He pushed her hand away, his own blocking her view of the healed wound, “No,” He said, face hardening as though he didn’t want to tell her the truth.

  “I’m sick of lies, Zaramir.” She pushed herself fully upright but his hold on her didn’t break.

  “I am as well.” His hand slid away from his chest hesitantly as he took a deep breath. “I’m not lying. I managed to buy us time.”

  Her eyes fell on a familiar bloodied dagger discarded on the floor of the lab. It was the same one he’d used when testing her protection spell during their first lesson. A magecraft blade, one made by humans, but strong enough to pierce his own magical protections.

  He didn’t speak as she slowly connected the pieces.

  “That was a terribly stupid idea.” She finally said gently, staring at the bloodied metal.

  She had suspicions he had little regard for his own life, but this was further than she ever expected him to go.

  But he did it to save her from true destruction.

  As much as she suspected she should be angry about yet another interference in her life, she couldn’t. She didn’t remember what her true destruction felt like; her brain was pushing it deep to the untouched abysses of repressed thought. Though her aching body, barely healed wounds, and the deep drain she felt on her power told her more than enough.

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  He’d been willing to risk not only his life, but the unbridled wrath of his masters for doing so.

  “I’m aware,” He replied softly. “But there were few options I could see. I figured teaching me a lesson was worth less than the resources to bring me back and I was correct.”

  “It was still stupid,” She murmured. “What makes you think they won’t change their mind?”

  What if they decided their ‘agreement’ isn’t worth it? His punishment will surely be far worse after a stunt like this.

  His jaw tightened, a shadow darkening his eyes, “They’ve decided you’re useful.” The words came out sharp, bitter. “Your existence set a precedent they had never considered.”

  Useful.

  He’d all but explained what ‘useful’ meant to a Faedemon. She’d extrapolated his disdain for being ‘useful’. Useful meant monitoring. Useful meant suffocation.

  But they couldn’t control her directly.

  She’d been controlled through him. She recalled the one time she suspected he’d controlled her on his own, by accident as he’d insisted. It was dizzying and uncomfortable, but gentle.

  The Fae’s control was hot malice. The pain could be avoided, but it was its own motivation. It was its own reminder of their power.

  “What precedent?” She questioned, anxiety clustering in her chest.

  His loose grip on her stiffened in a gesture that would have been comforting if the pressure of touch didn’t feel like Needleroot in her veins.

  “They seem to believe that I can bind others to me as I’ve bound you, and thus control me to control many, expending my energy over their own. If this theory proves fruitful…” He released a tight breath. “They will be able to command armies with as much effort as it takes to control a single Faedemon.”

  She felt the color drain from her face.

  This world could barely handle the rare Faedemon it was faced with. If there were legions all working toward a single cause, humanity would be doomed.

  “At least,” Zaramir spoke softly, treading carefully as he noticed the lightheadedness quickly consuming Corabelle. “Creating Faedemons is time and resource consuming. While theoretically they could control that many, amassing the forces won’t be quick or easy.”

  The words were comforting until a new problem crossed her mind. They didn’t intend on using their own time nor resources now that they had someone who could do it for them, “What does it take to create a Faedemon? What does it take to control us?”

  He finally retracted his hand from her waist, gripping the hem of his coat instead. While it was nice to no longer feel the prickly pain of the pressure, the removal of the sensation of being touched left her feeling eerily isolated as Zarmair’s expression morphed to that of torn deliberation, as though he didn’t want to tell her but he knew he had to.

  At least he had given up the lies.

  “Fresh bodies, ones who’s Spark hasn’t yet dissipated, to begin.” He said slowly, knotting the fabric around his fingers. “And a place to perform the ritual where it won’t be interrupted. This maze is a good place, but the--” His voice cracked almost imperceptibly as he continued. “The temporal effects of the Roses destabilize the body and Spark during the process, so I must create a subspace of natural time. Which is rather draining…” His attention drifted away, his words trailing off as though he were contemplating the proper science behind the phenomena.

  “I destabilized?” She questioned. Perhaps that was the reason for her overflow of power that needed to be tempered far sooner than his own.

  His attention snapped back, the pensive looking quickly replaced by alarm. Though the look vanished almost as soon as she saw it, settling back to the same grim calmness, “No, no. You were fine. With-- With Kyrian… I had suspected that might have been the cause of my-- the failure and I was correct. You were perfectly fine, or I knew you would be once the process was complete, as much as I constantly feared otherwise at the time.” He released a soft comfortable laugh, poorly trying to cover the sound of his voice breaking.

  Corabelle didn’t hear the rest of his explanation as the realization of her own obscene obliviousness struck her like lightning.

  She knew he loved Kyrian, as much he tried to insist he didn’t. Despite how awful he’d told her Kyrian was, she knew he still loved him.

  Despite everything Kyrian had done, he’d tried desperately to bring him back and his failure to do so haunted him greatly. When his plan didn’t work, he’d given him a beautiful burial when it would have been far easier to simply give the body to the maze. The same for her.

  He didn’t bring her back because he wanted a servant. He didn’t curse her with this, he didn’t complete this difficult ritual, solely because he didn’t want to be alone.

  She sat in awe at her own complete and utter idiocy.

  In that moment she realized he didn’t ruin her life, he didn’t face the wrath of his masters, because it was easier than making a new friend or finding a new servant.

  He brought her back because he couldn’t stand to lose another love.