Layer upon layer of mud, stones catching my skin, tearing it as I give everything I am to freeing her.
They can have it.
Have every piece of me, every drop of blood in my body.
For her, I give it freely.
Finally,finally, my fingers scrape against rough, coarse wood.
The seconds crawl as I rip away the last of the dirt, clearing the edges away until I can grip the edges of the makeshift coffin lid, the planks roughly nailed together. My arms shake, withexertion and adrenaline and soul crushing fear as I yank it away, pulling it up with a grunt and heaving it to the side.
She curls on her side as though sleeping. Rope covers her, rough and coarse, folding her legs up, binding her wrists.
Ice, and heat, and ice again, as I take in the cloth over her head.
Caterina, Caterina, Caterina—
Her name is a silent chant inside my head, the pulsing movement of whatever blood is left inside me, the prayer on my lips as I reach in, careful to keep my balance. My arms slide beneath her so easily; my little, broken crow, in her iridescent gown of feathers.
But she does not move as I lift her out, her limbs limp and dragging along the floor.
Out of habit, I look for the knives to cut her free.
But there are no weapons. They took them from her, separated her from the blades that make up part of who she is, vibrant and warm and so fucking alive, and they put her under the ground, in the cold and the dark.
She feels like air in my arms, as I fold my body over hers, curling myself over her in an attempt to transfer some of my warmth into her cold body.
The rage is a storm, building inside my chest.
I don’t want to look, don’t want to have the knowledge in my head of what her eyes look like with the essence of her soul stripped away from them. But I won’t leave her in the dark.
The moan hovers on my lips as I gently, so fucking gently, tug the strings at the bottom of the bag around her head, lift it up and off, her hair spilling out across my arm. As I see the swollen injuries, the darkened skin as bruises form where somebody took out their anger on her face.
But it catches before it reaches the air, as I look into her eyes.
Caterina Corvo gazes back at me. And as I watch, her eyelids close slowly, and open again.
My voice breaks on the words, relief and fear and anger fighting for dominance. “Little crow.”
Her lips part, but no words come out. But her chest rises and falls, the smallest, smallest amount.
And when I press shaking fingers against her neck, her pulse is strong, thumping slowly underneath my touch.
I sit back hard on my ass, keeping her with me, my arms tight around her as I hold her close. “I’ve got you, Caterina. I’ve got you.”
The words I want to say all wrestle for space inside my mouth, until all I can do is press my lips against her cold hair. “Just breathe. I have you.”
And slowly, she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath of the fresh air and turning her head to press her cheek against the warmth of my chest.
She doesn’t speak.
But she’s here.
Chapter forty-five Caterina
Ifocus on breathing.
Slow, steady.
