Page 135 of Unbound

Raith gives the slightest nod of his head, eyes shifting back to the quarry as sadness seems to take hold of him. “After they died… I swore I’d make surviving mean something. Whether I needed to be a shield or a sword, I didn’t care. I just knew I’d make absolutely fucking sure nobody I cared about could be taken from me again.Nobody.”

In that moment, I see past the walls he's built—glimpse the depth of guilt and grief he carries. I see how the way he keeps himself aloof isn't emotional detachment or coldness. It's to protect himself from how deeply he cares. He can't bear the thought of losing anyone else, and he's terrified of opening himself to more hurt.

Before I can stop myself, I reach for his hand, my fingers sliding between his.

His skin burns against mine, the unnatural heat of a fire affinity, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't even pull away when some of his fire starts to flow into me. With practice, I've learned to slow it substantially when I want, making the flow a trickle instead of a torrent.

The faint passage of power feels oddly intimate, like part of him is becoming part of me, temporarily joining with my essence in a quiet, private dance.

His fingers tighten around mine, just for a moment, before he gently disengages.

"There's more to see," he says, but his voice has lost some of its hardness. "There's a path down on the eastern side."

As we pick our way along the quarry's edge, I find myself watching him more closely than the terrain. There's a grace to his movements, an awareness of his surroundings that speaks of years spent looking over his shoulder. Whatever shaped him into the man he is now left scars deeper than the visible ones on his face.

"What about you?" he asks unexpectedly. "Your family. You never mention them either."

"There's not much to tell," I say reflexively. Protecting myself from the tragedy has become an instinct already—so automatic I hardly give it a moment's thought. I slow my pace, shaking my head. "Sorry. No. That's not true. Around the time I turned sixteen, I started to notice strange things would happen when my emotions ran high."

Raith gives a knowing nod. "Early signs of elemental affinity are strange like that. Sometimes the unmarked can briefly demonstrate power to rival a primal, even if they can't control it."

"I called a storm," I say as we walk. "I was mad over something stupid. My brothers and my dad were on the boat with me and I was fuming all morning. And then by the time I saw the storm coming, I couldn't stop it. Our boat got thrown against rocks and we were all flung into the waves. I tried to get to them, but everything happened so fast. I nearly drowned waiting out there on the waves hoping they'd come back up—diving as long as my breath would hold and trying to search for them.

"When I finally floated back to shore on a piece of wreckage, I was dumb enough to tell my mom and sister the truth about what happened. I guess I thought they'd understand and forgive me. They... didn't. They hated me for it. So I spent three years doing everything I could to make it right. I worked to get a new boat. I spent every day fishing to earn money like we would have if my dad and brothers were still around. I tried so fucking hard, and it never mattered."

I wipe at my stinging eyes, shaking my head and laughing at myself. "And I shouldn't feel sorry for myself."

"Fuck that. You couldn't control it. You didn't know."

"If I hadn't been mad that day, they would?—"

"People get mad, Nessa. Fuck the Empire for making people think powers are something they need to hide. Maybe if you weren't worried about being captured in the night for showing your abilities, you could've learned to control it. It's not your fault."

I look away from him, nodding even though I know I'm not letting his words through my walls. "Yeah. I know."

Raith cups my face, turning me toward him. His touch sends another wave of fire passing into my skin that pools and curls inside me until it feels like he's touching me all over. I know my cheeks are burning, but I can't stop the transfer of energy this time. "It's not. Your. Fault, Nessa."

I hold his eyes, and somehow I feel his sincerity passing through his touch, too, almost like a shadow of the way emotions move through my tether with Typhon. I know he means the words down to his bones.

"I think... I'm worried if I believe that, it'll mean I'm not paying for what I did. That I'm letting myself off the hook."

"You volunteered," he says softly, and I can see the realization dawning on him. "That's why. You were punishing yourself."

I can't meet his eyes anymore. Hearing it aloud makes me feel silly and foolish for it. "They were happy to see me go."

"They don't know what they lost," Raith says quietly.

The simple statement catches me off guard. Before I can respond, he stops, raising a hand in warning. His entire demeanor shifts, tension radiating from every line of his body.

"What—" I begin, but he places a finger against his lips, then points toward a clearing ahead.

Two figures are approaching—one tall and imposing. The other is a familiar silhouette that makes my throat tighten. Bastian and... I don't recognize the older man, but I do recognize his ornamental uniform. He's an air primal, and a high ranking one at that. There's also an uncanny resemblance between him and Bastian.

The primal has blonde, nearly white hair and regal features. He's similar height to Bastian and a similar build. I can’t be certain, but I would be shocked if I wasn’t looking at Bastian’s father.

Raith pulls me behind a massive fallen tree, his movements silent as shadow. We crouch together, hidden from view but close enough to hear their conversation. His arm wraps around me, protective and strong as he pulls me against his body. I do my best not to get distracted by the pleasant contact, focusing on the faint conversation I can barely make out.

"—wasting my time with these reports," the primal says, his aristocratic voice sharp with impatience. "I need something concrete, Bastian. Something worth reporting."

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