Page 132 of Sword & Sacrifice

He almost didn’t hear it—the gasp for breath, the sudden thump of a heart startling back to life.

Penn blinked and sat up straighter so he could look down at Val’s face. His eyes were still closed, golden lashes fluttering rapidly like he was fighting off some dream.

Penn’s hands tightened on Val as he watched, waiting for the moment those eyes opened. He couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe, until he saw what color they were.

When Valerian’s eyes finally snapped open, his gaze immediately met Penn’s. The two warm, hazel eyes were the best thing Penn had ever seen.

Valerian gazed up into a pair of bright blue eyes. Neither icy, nor cold, nor crazed with magic, these were the blue eyes he’d longed to see for—damn, he couldn’t remember how long. He reached up and tentatively cupped the man’s stubbled cheek. “You’re …” he began, his voice croaking as if he hadn’t used it in months.

Something broke in the man’s gaze. “Val?” he said the name uncertainly.

Valerian blinked slowly, his mind a confused, black haze. “I …” he tilted his head to one side, feeling the man’s firm thighs beneath him, then to the other. Nothing surrounding them looked familiar. “Where the fuck am I?”

“Arnsveld,” the man said with a rough laugh. “You’re in Arnsveld.”

He said it so confidentially that Valerian didn’t have the heart to ask where Arnsveld was. He just went back to gazing up into those beautiful blue eyes. They were something he could focus on, at least. Black hair clung to the man’s forehead and blood smeared over his cheek, though it’d been clean before. Val looked down at his own hands in shock, finding them covered in blood. He spread his fingers wide, then furrowed his brow in confusion. Something felt … off, missing.

Carefully, he removed the silver ring from his right hand. Ah, there’s the problem. As soon as he did, he could see the dozens of scars covering his hands, and there on the left one, a gap where his last two fingers were missing.

Don’t remember that happening. Then again, he couldn’t remember much of anything. Every time he tried too hard to focus on something, it was like sticking his face into a pile of ashes—charred, dusty, and extremely unhelpful. “When did that happen?” he asked, holding his injured hand up to the man.

The man’s face crumpled in despair. “It was when Niall and Alistair … well.”

Niall? Alistair? Neither of those names meant anything to Valerian. But that wasn’t important. There was only one name he cared about. “What’s your name?”

The man stared at him in shock. “You don’t remember?”

Time to come clean. “No offense meant. It’s all a bit blank right now.”

The man hesitated before asking, “What do you remember?”

Valerian thought back, but all he could see in his mind’s eye were flames consuming everything. “Fire.”

“There was a fire,” the man said carefully. “But that was weeks ago. It was when your satchel burned.”

“My satchel,” Valerian repeated. Suddenly, an image flashed in his mind—hunching over a leather bag, back aching as if he’d been at it for hours. The pain didn’t matter, only the results. He was determined to perfect an expansion spell on a satchel before the next time he had to pack up his whole life again. “I’m a mage,” he said, wonder filling his voice.

“Yes,” the man replied, trying to smile even as tears dripped down his cheeks. “Yes, you’re a mage. You’re Valerian Sommers, mage and retired mercenary and—” his voice broke off even as he tried to suppress the sob. “I’m sorry, I—” He wiped roughly at the tears with one hand, the other still cradling Val’s head.

“Oh, don’t cry, darling, I’m really not worth the tears,” Val murmured, cupping the man’s face with both hands. It probably wasn’t pleasant to have the mutilated hand caressing him, but the man didn’t seem to mind.

“I thought I saved you,” he gasped. “I tried so hard, and I’m too late and I—”

Valerian leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips, not necessarily to shut him up, but just because he thought it might bring him a little comfort. Then in a low voice he said, “Penn, darling, I really don’t know how to handle your tears.”

Penn’s shoulders stilled and his eyes widened. “What did you say?”

“I’ve really never been good at it, that much I can remember.”

“No. You … you said my name.”

Val blinked at him, realizing for the first time that his thoughts had shifted from calling him ‘the man’ to ‘Penn.’

The flames in his mind died down slowly, the smoke clearing. There was still damage, still black patches of his own memories burned away, but he could think a little clearer now. If he focused on Penn, he could see the young man leaning against a counter, lips spread in a slow smile as he proposed a deal that would change Valerian’s life.

“Penn,” he murmured again, rubbing his thumb over Penn’s lips. The name only conjured one memory, but Valerian guarded it jealously, protecting it from any lingering fires. “I remember you.” Not much, not enough, but it was something to hold onto.

The tears flowed freely down Penn’s cheeks again, but before Valerian could panic about what set him off now, Penn pulled him into a tight embrace and kissed him deeply.