Chapter 91: A Token of Strength

Cherion stood in the doorway for a heartbeat, his fingers curled so tightly around the small, lumpy object in his pocket that his knuckles actually ached. Ahead of him, Zarius stood so still he looked less like a person and more like someone who had accidentally pressed the pause button on himself. With his back to the door and his heavy fur cloak billowing like the bruised wing of some ancient, fallen bird, the Duke looked... very majestic. Not just alone, but painfully, terribly distant, as if he were already halfway into the mountain passes where the light couldn’t reach.

"You should be inside," Zarius said. He didn’t turn. He never had to. It was a recurring frustration for Cherion, the man seemingly had eyes in the back of his head, or perhaps Cherion’s nervous breathing had its own recognizable theme song. "The air grows colder with each passing moment."

"I could say the same to you," Cherion said, his voice wobbling for half a second before he pulled it together. He stepped forward carefully, the stone under his boots so cold it felt like the floor personally hated him. He stopped at the railing, leaving a polite amount of distance. Up close, the heat coming off Zarius was ridiculous, like standing next to a very large, very intimidating space heater. "That was... quite the speech, down there. Very serious."

"It is a serious business, Cherion." Zarius finally turned his head, moonlight outlining his face like he was posing for some overly dramatic portrait. His red eyes were heavy and tired, the kind that made it obvious he was carrying far too much on his mind. "I am leading hundreds of souls into a meat grinder. I do not have the luxury of being cheerful."

Cherion looked at him, and felt that familiar tug in his chest. The Duke wasn’t just a "grumpy ice cube." He was a man who carried every potential death like a stone in his pocket.

"You’re going to be fine," Cherion said, his voice dropping into a softer register. "You’ve done this before. You’ll do it again. And I’ll be there, remember? I’m following you. I’m the insurance policy."

Zarius’s jaw tightened. "Which is precisely why I am twice as concerned. I told you, do not force yourself."

"I’m not that fragile, Your Grace. Though, honestly? You should still be careful. I can heal a lot, but I’m not entirely sure I can put a finger back on if a monster decides to swallow it whole. Knock on wood." Cherion actually reached out and tapped the stone railing, a small, superstitious gesture that felt absurd and necessary all at once.

Zarius didn’t laugh, but the tension in his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. Then, his expression shifted. The exhaustion didn’t go anywhere, but now there was something sharper in his gaze too, darker, like he’d just remembered something and wasn’t thrilled about it.

"And what of your other correspondence?" Zarius asked abruptly. The change in topic was so sudden it felt like a physical shove. "Have you finished your reply to the letter from the Palace? To... Yerel?"

Cherion blinked, the name catching him off guard like a splash of cold water. "Yerel? I...why are you bringing that up now?"

"I know you miss him so much that you say his name in your sleep. I suppose you’ve been busy writing back to him? I imagine it was quite... lovey-dovey?"

Cherion’s jaw dropped. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"You don’t need to pretend," Zarius growled, his voice a low vibration of suppressed frustration. "You clearly hold him in high regard to speak of him in the dark to the point you even said his name in your sleep."

A wave of pure disgust washed over Cherion’s face. He looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon. "I said his name? Ugh, my brain just rejected that." He groaned, rubbing his temples. "Your Grace, the first thing I did with that letter was toss it in the fire. Ask Reiner if you don’t believe me. It’s ash. And I was having a nightmare about him."

He looked at Zarius, finally connecting the dots in his own way.

Of course

, he thought.

Zarius hates Yerel so much that even hearing the man’s name feels like an insult to him

. "Ah, no wonder you’re furious," Cherion muttered. "You hate this guy so much, even saying his name makes you see red."

Before Zarius could process what Cherion said, Cherion reached into his pocket and pulled it out.

The sapphire-blue charm looked humble in the moonlight. It was, by all objective standards, a bit of a mess. The silk was frayed in one corner, and the knots were uneven, some too tight, others a bit lumpy. He held it out, his hand shaking just a tiny bit, not from the cold, but from the sheer vulnerability of the gesture.

"I made this for you," Cherion whispered.

Zarius looked down at the charm. He didn’t move. He didn’t reach for it. He just stared at the blue thread as if it were a strange, magical artifact he was afraid to touch.

Cherion’s face began to burn. The silence stretched too long. "I know it’s ugly," he started, his voice cracking as he began to pull his hand back. "I’m not exactly a craftsman. I don’t know why I thought you’d want a piece of this..."

Zarius’s hand shot out, wrapping firmly around Cherion’s wrist. The grip was steadying, warm, like a warning wrapped in a hug. Zarius didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled Cherion’s hand back toward his own chest, closing the distance between them until Cherion was forced to step into the Duke’s personal space.

"It is not ugly," Zarius rasped. He took the charm from Cherion’s hand like it was priceless treasure. "You made this? Truly?"

"I put a prayer into every single thread," Cherion admitted, his voice barely audible over the wind. "Every time the needle slipped or I messed up a knot, I just thought about you. I thought about the victory. I thought about the strength you’d need."

Zarius moved even closer, and Cherion felt it like a living shield pressing around him. He was so close now that Cherion could see the fine lines of exhaustion around his eyes and the way his dark lashes were dusted with frost.

"What did you pray for, Cherion?" Zarius asked.

Cherion glanced up, catching his breath. Not from the words... from Zarius’s voice, which somehow managed to be both terrifying and... weirdly distracting. "I prayed for the storm to move for you. I prayed for the monsters to fear your name more than they ever have before. I prayed that you stay as unyielding as the mountains." He paused for a moment, his thumb grazing the edge of Zarius’s cloak like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. "I want us to win, Your Grace. I want you to be invincible out there."

Zarius let go of Cherion’s wrist but kept his fingers lightly on the charm, close enough to make Cherion’s chest bump unexpectedly. He leaned in, that rare, teasing smile lighting up his face. Cherion’s stomach betrayed him with a jolt, he wasn’t sure if it was excitement or danger. Probably both.

"For this," Zarius said against his skin, "I would fight my way through a thousand hells. Do not doubt that, Cherion. Not for a second."