The Primordial Flame

The confrontation.

Bram stares at Arden for a long, heavy moment, watching his friend unravel in silent agony. Then, he lets out a quiet, tired sigh, his posture hardening back into that of a cold, pragmatic Blackhand commander.

"If she’s frightened or starting to piece things together, turning down this contract won't change a thing, Arden," Bram says, his voice dropping into a firm, commanding whisper. "The job has to be done. The Guild won't take 'no' from you, especially not right now. If you refuse, they’ll send someone else to check on why our top blade has suddenly gone soft and that will put a target directly on her back."

Arden’s golden eyes flash with a sudden, lethal rage, a low growl rising in his throat, but Bram doesn't flinch. He steps even closer, lowering his voice until it's barely a breath.

"You take the contract," Bram orders quietly.

"Four days. You do the job, you collect the silver, and you get back to her. While you're gone, I'll keep an eye on the cottage from the tree line. I’ll make sure no one comes near this place, and I'll figure out exactly who that old man at the market was."

Arden clenches his fists so hard his knuckles turn dead white, his jaw working as he fights the overwhelming urge to tear the Guild apart himself. He looks up at the ceiling, his heart breaking at the thought of leaving you alone for four long days while you're holding back such terrifying fear.

"Four days," Arden finally rasps out, the words tasting like poison on his tongue. "Not a single hour more, Bram. If anyone so much as breathes near her while I'm gone, I will burn the Guild to the ground."

"Understood," Bram nods grimly. "We ride at dawn."

The heavy front door clicks shut downstairs, followed by the quiet sound of the latch sliding home. For several long, agonizing minutes, there is only silence from the floor below until I hear the familiar, light thud of Arden’s boots on the wooden stairs.

My chest tightens, every nerve ending firing as the bedroom latch lifts.

Arden steps inside, closing the door softly behind him. The flickering candlelight catches the deep shadows etched into his sharp features. He looks exhausted, the weight of a thousand secrets pressing down on his broad shoulders. His dark golden eyes immediately lock onto mine, raw with a mix of overwhelming tenderness, desperation, and a profound, aching sorrow.

He doesn't stay near the door. He walks slowly over to where I sit on the edge of the bed, dropping heavily to his knees right in front of me so he is looking up into my face.

He reaches out, his large, warm hands gently taking mine. They are shaking ever so slightly, but enough that I can feel the tremor against my palms.

"Amelisse," he begins, his deep voice raspy and choked with suppressed emotion. He swallows hard, his eyes searching mine frantically. "Bram, he came with news of a job. A large commission two towns over."

He pauses, tightening his grip on my hands as if afraid I'm going to slip through his fingers.

"They need specialized work, and Bram insists I oversee it," he lies, the story coming off his tongue with a smooth, practiced ease that terrifies me, knowing I just watched him whispering with Bram in our own entryway. "It’s a long journey, Ame. I have to leave at dawn, and, I won't be back for four days. Two days ride there, two days back."

He leans forward, resting his forehead against my knees, a heavy, ragged breath escaping him.

"I don't want to leave you," he whispers into the fabric of my nightdress, his voice raw with a sudden, desperate vulnerability. "Gods, Ame, I hate the thought of leaving you alone here for even a second. If I could say no, I would. I swear to you, I would."

I sit frozen, looking down at the dark, thick hair resting against my lap.

Four days. Four days of him riding off into the dark with Bram, a man who carries himself like a phantom in the nigh to do "specialized work." Four days of me sitting in this house, wondering whose blood he's spilling for silver.

A wave of cold dread washes over me, but right behind it comes a fierce, survivalist instinct. If he knows I am terrified, if he knows I suspect what he and Bram really are, everything will break. I force my hands to turn beneath his, wrapping my fingers around his broad, calloused palms.

"Four days?" I echo softly, my voice miraculously steady, though my heart is hammering like a trapped bird inside my chest.

Arden lifts his head slowly, his golden eyes wide and searching, desperate to gauge my reaction.

I force a small, melancholic smile onto my lips the picture of a young, dutiful wife saddened by her husband's sudden departure, rather than a terrified woman staring at an assassin.

"We've only just settled in," I say gently, reaching out with one hand to brush a stray lock of hair from his brow. My skin pricks where it touches his, but I don't let my hand shake. "But, I understand, Den. If Bram brought the work and they need you, you must go."

I lean down and press a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead, closing my eyes tight so he can't see the sudden prick of tears behind them.

"I'll miss you," I whisper against his skin, hiding my face in the curve of his shoulder as I pull him into an embrace. "Just, promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you'll come back to me in one piece."

Arden wraps his powerful arms around my waist, burying his face in my neck and squeezing me so tightly I can barely breathe. He holds me as if I am the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, completely unaware that behind my soft embrace, I am counting down the hours until dawn.

Arden pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his grip on my hands tightening until it borders on painful. The sharp, hyper-vigilant assassin is gone, replaced entirely by a man terrified that the woman he loves is slipping through his fingers. His golden eyes shine with unspoken panic, searching every inch of my face for the truth.

"Ame, please," he pleads, his voice cracking slightly as he drops his forehead against our joined hands. "You're holding your breath. You won't look at me. You flinch when I touch you. I know you, my darling, I know every beat of your heart. Something happened today at the market. Please, don't hide from me. Tell me what happened."

The air in the room grows impossibly heavy. The candle on the bedside table flickers, casting long, swaying shadows across his sharp jawline and the dark, deadly hands holding mine.

My mind races frantically. I could lie again. I could tell him I'm just tired, that I'm nervous about being alone for four days. But looking down at him, at the agonizing sincerity in his golden eyes, at the way his chest heaves with genuine fear of losing me, the lie dies in my throat.

"Arden." I whisper, my voice breaking as a single, helpless tear slips down my cheek. "On my way back from the market a traveler's cart was stuck in the mud."

Arden's body instantly goes still as a statue. The breathing beneath his ribs stops completely.

"I tried to help him," I continue, my hands trembling violently in his grasp now, unable to stop the sudden, terrifying spill of truth. "I tried to pick up his apples. But he pushed me away, Arden. He shoved me into the mud. He told me to stay away from his food."

I swallow hard, my voice dropping into a small, terrified, fragile hush that shatters the quiet room.

"He said I live with a Blackhand. He said you were part of an organization of assassins. Men who spill blood for silver."

I look directly into those striking golden eyes, my heart slamming against my ribs like a caged beast as the question finally hangs naked in the air between us.

"Den. Tell me he was wrong."

The silence that follows stretches out, suffocating and vast, eating up the quiet space between us.

He doesn't deny it. He doesn't laugh it off. His dark golden eyes just fix on mine, a terrible, agonizing storm churning in their depths, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitches under his skin.

A sharp gasp rips from my throat as the silence seals the truth like a heavy blade falling. I snatch my hands back from his grip as if his touch has suddenly turned to fire, scrambling backward on the mattress until my spine hits the headboard.

"Did I know?!" my voice cracks, high and hysterical, tears finally spilling hot and fast down my cheeks. "When I had my memories, did I know?! Or did you lie to me then, as well?!"

Arden stays frozen on his knees by the side of the bed, his empty hands hanging in the air where mine had been just a second before. Slowly, he lowers them, his head dropping as if under a physical blow. When he looks back up, there is no smooth lie left, no practiced cover story, only a raw bleeding honesty that terrifies me even more.

"You knew, Amelisse," he rasps, his voice barely a hollow whisper, rough and scraped raw.

"You knew everything. And you chose to be with me still."