“Because you are human. Humans do not wear runes on their skin.”
“But I am the wife of a Fae. Doesn’t that make a difference?”
“Maybe to some, but not to me,” he growls, his voice low and unyielding.
“Arax took my rune. It vanished into smoke. I don’t even know where it is.”
“Consider it lost forever,” Daed replies with finality. “You can craft another.”
“Husband!” I say firmly, forcing him to meet my eyes, which he does reluctantly. “I never understood the consequences of losing my rune until it was gone, and I don’t want to feel that way ever again. Please.”
Daed studies me, his eyes narrowing, his lip twitching in contemplation. “Even if I said yes, we don’t have a runeweaver.”
Determination flaring within me, I loop the red ribbon around my finger, its presence strengthening my resolve.
“Yes, we do.”
“I won’t do it,” Solena states firmly, pacing the room.
“I need this, Solena,” I plead. “It will take me months to craft a new rune. I cannot afford to be without power for that long, not with everything feeling so ominous.”
“It’s forbidden,” she protests.
“And who will dispense justice? Lanneth? She wants us dead for reasons beyond this,” I argue.
Solena turns to Daed, who stands silently in the corner, his back against the wall, his chin pinched between his fingers. “Have you told her this is madness?” she asks.
Daed shrugs, his features obscured by shadows. “Of course I have. But you can imagine how well that went.”
Solena groans. “No. I will not do this. Not only is it against every rule of the runeweavers, but I’m not skilled enough. My hand could slip, or I could mix the ink wrong.”
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “As Princess of the Mordorin, I command you.”
Solena crosses her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow. Even Daed lets out a quiet chuckle at how foolish I sound. I exhale, abandoning the idea of forcing Solena to do it, as if I ever could. But my sadness creeps deeper under my skin. “I could have saved him if I had my rune.”
“Did you think for a minute that he didn’twantto be saved?” Solena counters. “That his death wasn’tyourfault?”
“No. It wasn’t,” I retort, my jaw clenching. “It was The Golden Son’s fault, and he will never take from me again.” I pull back my sleeve, exposing my wrist looped with the red ribbon. “Now, please, Solena. Do it.”
Solena takes a deep breath, her foot tapping anxiously on the floor. She glances at Daed as if seeking permission, and I let out a relieved sigh when he nods reluctantly.
“Very well,” Solena says, her voice weary. “I will need a needle and some blood.” She looks back at Daed. “Yours as well. If this is to work on a human, I need blood from a High Fae,and fortunately, we have a prince.” Her eyes scan my wrist. “And it won’t be going there. As you said, you’re a Princess of the Mordorin, so your rune should be placed somewhere that signifies your status.”
I narrow my eyes at her, curiosity piqued as I lower my sleeve. “Where?”
Solena grins wryly. “Have I ever mentioned you have a lovely neck?”
Under the amber glow of lantern light, Solena prepares. On the table beside her is a small bowl of thick, dark liquid. My blood and Daed’s blood mixed with coal. She sits behind me on the bed, brushing my hair aside as she prepares herself.
“Take a deep breath,” she says.
The first prick pierces through me, sharp and bracing, and I gasp, but I do not pull away. Instead, I focus on the lantern, on the flames dancing within, and I remind myself of my purpose. I will not be weak. I will embrace this pain as a testament to my strength.
Daed’s hand rests on mine, steady and reassuring, grounding me as Solena works, the pain ebbing and flowing, each line a reminder of my commitment to myself and to those I love. The rune takes shape. Hard, thick lines that feel alive beneath my skin. With every stroke, I feel something surging within me, something even stronger than my necklace.
Time blurs, the world outside fading away, leaving only the rhythmic punctuations of the needle and the warmth of Daed’s presence beside me. I breathe through the pain, letting it fuel my resolve.
Finally Solena steps back, her fingers black with the ink. “It’s done,” she announces, but there is no pride or joy in her voice, and for a brief second I wonder if I should have asked this favor of her.
