Page 210 of Elemental Becoming

Then, softly, almost as though he is still trying to convince himself:

“Okay . . . okay. Let’s take it day by day.”

ZEPHYR

TWENTY-SEVEN

I think I finally understand. Hope can power a realm as surely as fire or steel. If we are to survive what comes next, we must give them hope.

—VALEN’S JOURNAL

AMARA

These past few hours with Thane have been a rare kind of refuge, breathless and consuming. A world where only the two of us exist.

We’re tangled in the sheets after another lingering round. Sweat cools on our skin. My body aches, in the best way, from everything we’ve shared. I can’t stop touching him. Can’t stop needing him. But I know it won’t last.

The truth presses in like a bruise: the attack was only last night. Thane reaches out and brushes a damp strand of hair from my face, his touch achingly gentle.

“Will you come with me to see my father?” he asks softly. “And then visit the injured in the infirmary?”

His gaze drifts toward the window before returning to mine.

“It will be good for the people to see the Spiritborn.”

I nod. “Of course I will.”

Thane’s eyes search mine, something shifting behind the smoke-gray. Pride and worry war there in equal measure. He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“They need hope,” he murmurs. “We all do.”

We share a bath, and somehow, miraculously, we show restraint. The water is warm, easing the soreness from our muscles and washing away the sweat, the lingering heat, and the chaos left in the wake of last night. Beneath the surface, his fingers find mine more than once, and each brush reminds me how easy it would be to forget the rest of the world exists.

The bond hums between us, a gentle pull I have already come to rely on. It steadies me in ways I never expected and feels as familiar as something I’ve known my entire life. It reminds me of home. Of safety. Of the quiet reassurance that no matter how far I wander, there is always a way back. Like a thread wrapped around my wrist, impossible to lose. I never expected the bond to feel this natural, or to realize how much peace it would bring me.

The heat curls around us as we soak in comfortable silence.

Once dry, we both pull on soft tunics and pants, our more formal gear left untouched. I slip on my boots and hook the belt around my waist, fingers moving on muscle memory. Thane runs a hand through his damp hair and gives me a small, tired smile.

When our eyes meet in the mirror, the bond gives a quiettug, as if reminding me that neither of us walked away from that conversation alone.

THANE

Air.

That was unexpected.

Earth would have made sense because she’s of Earth Clan. A wall of stone rising between her and danger. Something solid. Defensive. Immovable.

But Amara chose air.

I drag my shirt over my head and glance toward her as I pull on my boots. Morning light spills through the tall windows in pale ribbons, catching against the dark waves of her hair as she stands before the mirror.

I close myself off from the bond because she asked me not to listen. Amara is still new to this and has not had enough practice blocking. Even now, I can still feel her beneath the surface of it all, though her thoughts no longer reach me.

And still, after everything, she stands there with her chin lifted.

Amara was thrown headfirst into the cesspool of politics required to rule a realm, and somehow she has not let it consume her. No matter what is placed at her feet—prophecy, scrutiny, bloodshed, impossible expectations—she keeps moving forward.