The Primordial Flame

Returning.

The bitter mountain chill bites through our cloaks as the horses pick their way down the frosty descent, but beneath the heavy wool and leather, my skin still hums with the memory of the thermal spring.

Just before the tree line thins, where the hidden perimeter scouts of the safe house usually keep watch from the pines, Vane pulls his mount sharply alongside mine. His gloved hand shoots out, catching the leather of my reins and tugging our horses close until our knees bump together in the narrow path.

Before I can offer a teasing quip, he leans across the saddle. His fingers catch the nape of my neck, tugging my hood back just enough to expose my face to the pale morning light, and his mouth crashes over mine.

It is a fierce, lingering kiss, stealing the cold air straight from my lungs, tasting of mint, leather, and desperate warmth. He pulls back just an inch, his eyes dark and heavy with unspoken promises, only to dive in twice more, planting soft, possessive pecks against my parted lips until my cheeks burn hotter than the frosty wind.

"Last chance before the masks go back on," Vane murmurs, his gravelly voice low and rough against my mouth. A wicked, crooked smirk touches his lips as he lets go of my reins, settling back into his saddle with that easy, swaggering grace. "Play nice, scout. And don't look at me like you want to devour me while Bram is watching."

"I could say the same to you, rogue," I breathe, steadying my horse as my pulse hammers against my ribs.

By the time we crest the final ridge and ride into the secluded courtyard of the fortified lodge, the masks are firmly in place.

The safe house is a hive of quiet, tension laced activity. Iron braziers smolder in the snow, grooms scurry to take mounts, and sentries nod with tight relief as we dismount.

The lingering cloud of my impending departure still hangs thick in the air, the entire squad had known I’d packed my kit, ready to sever ties with the Guild and disappear over the border after this mission.

Bram is already standing at the top of the timber steps, clad in dark commander’s armor, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

His sharp gaze sweeps over the two of us the second my boots hit the slush. His jaw tightens, his dark eyes lingering on me with that familiar, heavy ache, an intensity born of unspoken feelings he’s never managed to bury, despite his rank.

"Ame," Bram calls out, his deep voice carrying over the yard, laced with cautious relief. "You made it back in one piece."

"Barely, thanks to his reckless navigating," I shoot back smoothly, rolling my eyes and loosening the girth of my saddle, leaning into our well worn routine of sharp banter without missing a single beat.

Beside me, Vane lets out an exaggerated scoff, rolling his bruised shoulder as if purely annoyed. But as Bram descends the steps, his expression turns grim and guarded, his focus shifting heavily between the two of us.

"Vane. A word," Bram commands, his tone clipped.

He nods toward the sheltered awning by the stables, stepping out of earshot of the lingering sentries. Vane shoots me a brief, completely neutral glance before trailing after him with his hands tucked casually into his belt.

I linger by my mare, pretending to fuss with the saddlebags, but my scout's ears are tuned sharply to the low murmur across the slushy yard.

"Did she take the pass?" Bram asks immediately, his voice pitched low, raw with an urgency he can’t quite disguise behind his authority. He leans in closer to Vane, his knuckles white where he rests a hand on his pommel. "Did she confirm it? Is she still leaving the squad, Vane? Tell me you talked to her."

Vane stands there, slouching slightly, leaning back against a timber post with all the infuriating, easy confidence of a cat that has just swallowed the canary. A slow, infuriatingly smug smile tugs at the corner of his lips, the kind of look that usually drives our commander up the wall, but carrying a quiet, triumphant light beneath it.

"You can relax, Commander," Vane says smoothly, his voice rich and unbothered as he tilts his head back. "I had a long talk with her in the high pass. Broke down all her arguments. Sorted the whole damn mess out."

Bram blinks, caught entirely off guard, a sudden flare of hope and suspicion warring in his dark eyes. "What do you mean, you sorted it? She’s staying?"

"She's staying," Vane confirms with an easy shrug, his gray eyes glinting in the pale daylight like polished steel. "She's not going anywhere, Bram. Ame is right where she belongs."

From across the yard, as Bram exhales a heavy breath of profound, blind relief, Vane’s gaze subtly cuts over the commander's shoulder. His eyes lock onto mine across the snowy courtyard, a razor sharp, secret heat burning in the grey mist of his gaze, daring me not to smile.

The bitter mountain chill bites through our cloaks as the horses pick their way down the frosty descent, but beneath the heavy wool and leather, my skin still hums with the memory of the thermal spring.

The hot water in the basin barely begins to wash away the scent of cedar and sulfur, but slipping into a fresh, fitted woolen tunic and soft leather trousers feels like a breath of clean air.

My body still aches in the sweetest, most intoxicating way, every muscle humming with a quiet warmth as I lace my boots and head down the timber corridor toward the dining hall.

Before I can even reach the threshold, a sudden force catches my elbow.

"Not so fast, runaway," Collette’s voice purrs, hooking her arm firmly through mine with the seasoned grip of an assassin who refuses to let her mark slip away.

She steers me ruthlessly away from the crowded center benches, her sharp golden eyes scanning the room before dragging me to the shadowed, quiet end of a long trestle table near the hearth. Collette sits down, nudging a clay mug of spiced cider into my hands and leaning across the scarred wood, her gaze drilling into me with terrifying precision.

"You don't look half as upset as you did when you rode out of here," she murmurs under the din of clattering tin plates and raised voices.

She narrows her golden eyes, inspecting my face, looking for the storm that had clouded my brow three days ago. "Still planning on abandoning us for the southern border, or did Vane actually manage to melt the frost from his odious mistake?"

Collette is the only soul in the entire guildhouse who knows the truth, the agonizing, unsaid thing that had been festering between Vane and me for months.

I don't offer a single word of defense. I just take a slow, measured sip of the warm cider, lower the mug, and let an enormous, helpless, entirely unguarded grin spread from ear to ear across my face.

Collette, in the middle of taking a swig from her own tankard, instantly splutters. She hacks into her sleeve, coughing violently as cider sprays across the rough wood, her bright gold eyes wide as saucers as she thumps her chest.

"Yes!" she wheezes, dropping her voice to a furious, ecstatic hiss as she lunges across the table, grabbing my wrist with iron fingers. "I knew it! By the old gods, tell me everything. Now! Don't you dare leave out a single detail, Amelisse!"

"Let's just say..." I lean in, a breathless laugh escaping my lips, the heat rising straight back into my cheeks, "...it involved several hours in a hidden thermal spring."

Collette’s jaw literally drops, a scandalous gasp catching in her throat.

The heavy oak doors of the dining hall swing open, cutting off whatever interrogation she has prepared.

My voice evaporates instantly.

Vane steps through the entryway, casually ducking under the low lintel. He has scrubbed off every trace of the road.

Dressed in a clean, charcoal dark tunic laced loosely at the throat, the fabric clings to his broad shoulders and the taper of his waist in a way that makes my mouth instantly desert dry. His dark hair is still damp from the washroom, raked back carelessly from his rugged brow, a few rogue curls clinging to the line of his jaw.

He looks fresh, rested, and so utterly, devastatingly handsome it feels like an outright crime against the realm.

My throat works on pure instinct, and I swallow my mouthful of cider with a sharp, audible gulp that nearly chokes me, the mug shaking just a fraction in my grip.

Collette’s gaze darts from my frozen expression straight to Vane, a wicked, triumphant smirk carving its way onto her lips, her golden eyes flashing with sheer delight.

Across the crowded room, amidst the clinking tankards and the roar of the scouts, Vane’s eyes flick lazily through the hall. He ignores Jax by the meat spit, brushes past two sentries clapping him on the back, and cuts straight through the haze of smoke until his eyes lock dead onto mine.

His pace doesn't falter, but the faintest, most infuriatingly arrogant twitch tugs at the corner of his mouth. He lifts two fingers to his temple in a mock salute, his gaze dipping down to the flush spreading over my collarbones, entirely aware of the chaos he’s causing without saying a single word.

I drag my eyes away from Vane with supreme effort, turning back to find Collette leaning over the table, her golden eyes practically vibrating with predatory glee.

"Let’s just say," I whisper, leaning in close so my voice is lost beneath the ambient roar of the hall, the heat flaring hot across my neck, "it was the most incredible few hours... and I am utterly spent."

I take another quick, fortifying gulp of cider, my lips parting into a breathless, dazed little shake of my head. "That man. He knows exactly what he's doing, Collette."

Collette lets out a stifled squeal into both of her hands, her golden eyes dancing with scandalous delight. She kicks me lightly under the bench, grinning like a cat that just raided the high larder.

"I knew it," she hisses, her voice bubbling over with triumph. "I knew behind all that swagger and broody arrogance, the rogue had to have some lethal tricks up his sleeve.

Look at you! You're glowing like an altar candle, Ame. You practically look unhinged."

She shoots a sly, sideways glance past my shoulder toward where Vane is grabbing a wooden trencher of roast mutton, leaning against the counter while exchanging half hearted nods with Jax.

"Careful, though," Collette murmurs, leaning closer, her tone dipping into a sharper, conspiratorial edge. "Wipe that utterly wrecked smirk off your mouth before Bram finishes his rounds. If the Commander catches you looking like a well fed vixen, he's going to know someone melted that frost, and he'll hunt down whoever stole his prize before the night is out."