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All of her saints and all of her faith, but what had taken Inej to reach her freedom was the promise of her own soul and a guiding hand.
They’re not perfect. They fumble on their spilling shadows, on the trembling of hands meeting skin, caressing instead of owning, using or hurting. It’s a cut, all the same.
And they walk, side by side; ruling earth and sea together. The first thing she sees when she reaches port is a black figure kilometers away, an unshaped being that Inej knows all too well.
Kaz’s laughter is raspy and all too short, a muffled sound that hints at being unused, hidden behind a smirk.
What they build together isn’t perfect, but it’s trust, desire and worshipping.
They do not repent.