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Summary
“As you said, nothing’s changed.” And, as if no time had passed at all, Blade grasps the silver metal fingers without hesitation and pulls Ashveil’s hand the rest of the way, fearlessly pushing it against his side. He’d done that before. Yingxing had.
He’d grabbed it fearlessly, brazenly, so tenderly, and said, “Mr. La Mancha, have faith in what Master Huaiyan and I made for you.” Yingxing had smiled, and the dim light of the embers in the Flamewheel Forge glowed like sun on his snowy hair and danced in his purple eyes, reflecting La Mancha’s grim expression. Yingxing had threaded their fingers together, and even dared to caress one of the nails piercing La Mancha’s wrist with his thumb. “I am not afraid.”
“Even if the events of my past had not happened, I would have been destined to die before you.”
Blade speaks so impassively, as if it’s just a matter of course, and yet Ashveil has neither the heart nor the mind to show Blade the pang his words send lancing through his chest. Perhaps so. Perhaps he’s right.
Still, Ashveil ignores it, and Blade lets him.