“Yes.” I scrubbed at my eyes with the heel of my hand. “It has to be me. The original caster. There’s a reversal spell. It’ll… unbind your tongue, so to speak.” I winced. “Poor phrasing.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “And if we do this… there’s no more magickal compulsion?”
“None,” I said. “You’ll be able to lie again.” My stomach twisted. “Or not. But it’ll be your decision.”
He studied me. “And what does it mean for you?” he asked quietly. “If the spell goes?”
I blinked. “For me?”
“Aye,” he said. “You’ve grown used to hearing exactly what I think, whether I want to say it or not. If that goes, you’ll have to trust me. Trust that if I tell you something, it’s because I chose to. Not because I had to.”
I swallowed, my stomach twisting. “I’d… like that,” I said honestly. “Terrifies me. But I’d like it.”
He nodded slowly, decision settling over his features like a cloak. “All right,” he said. “Do it.”
Relief and terror crashed together in my ribcage. “Right. Okay. Um, stand still.”
He obediently squared his shoulders, big hands resting loosely at his sides. The kitchen suddenly felt very small.
I stepped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. My hands lifted, hovering uncertainly near his chest.
“May I?” I asked.
“Aye,” he murmured. His voice had gone rough around the edges.
I laid my palms lightly against his sternum. His heartbeat thrummed steady and strong under my fingers. Closing my eyes, I pulled in a breath, calling up the feel of the original spell—the panic, the flare of power, the way it had snapped and latched onto him like a startled cat.
“Words I wound, I now unbind,” I whispered, voice trembling but gaining strength as I went.
“By star and breath, by heart and mind.
By your consent and my regret,
I unbind this spell…”
I hesitated, throat tight, then added, “From Torin Cattanach. By my hand, Liora Webster. Our fates reset.”
Power shivered under my skin, running down my arms in a rush. For a heartbeat, everything in the room hushed as if the house itself were holding its breath.
Then the air around Torin’s throat shimmered, faint as heat off a road. Something that had been coiled there, unseen, unspooled with a soft pop, like a cork easing free. I staggered, lightheaded, and his hands closed around my elbows at once, steadying me.
“Easy,” he murmured. “You all right?”
I blinked up at him. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
He flexed his jaw experimentally, like he was testing a muscle. “Feels… lighter,” he admitted. “Not sure how else to describe it.”
Relief flooded me so hard my knees wobbled. “Try saying something you don’t mean,” I blurted.
His brows shot up. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” I flapped a hand. “Something awful. Low-stakes awful. Not, like, manifesting your worst fears or something.”
He considered, then cleared his throat, eyes never leaving mine.
“I hate trees,” he said solemnly.
For a split second, I braced for the spell to recoil, for him to choke or for the words to come out twisted.