Chapter Ten
All stories of true relics are horrible.
Seraphina bled for three more days. While Rune never said anything to her, she could feel his impatience, his restlessness as he schemed in his head. He was committed, she realized. He’d decided to get her out, and there was no changing his mind. She didn’t try. She waited, listening to him scratching on the wall, humming to himself, or tapping his fingers on the floor in rushing patterns. These were noises he made that she’d gotten used to. They were his, part of him, habits and quirks that made Rune who he was. She tried to memorize them all.
“Tonight,” he said to her when he noticed she wasn’t changing her cloths anymore.
They were sitting at opposite ends of the cell. Seraphina knew he had her back to her, because he was busy carving something into the stone below the window. She crawled to him and pressed her spine against his, perfectly aligned. She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
She felt him shrug. “I will break the lock, walk ahead of you, knock down anyone who stands in my way. I’ll take you to the gate.”
“Across the courtyard?”
“Yes.”
Seraphina inhaled sharply. “There will be watchmen at the gatehouse.”
“Two,” he confirmed.
“Out in the open, they will shoot at us.”
“At me. You will stick to the shadows, close to the walls, where they won’t see you. I’ll take care of them, open the gate, and you’ll run as fast as you can.”
“Rune, they will shoot you, and you’ll drop dead.”
“No.”
“No?” More words wanted to tumble out, but she pursed her lips. This wasn’t an escape plan, it was a fool’s ramblings. “How?”
“I’m strong,” he said. “Stronger than I look, stronger than I let them believe.”
Stronger than he looked... Except she didn’t know what he looked like. She bit her lip and made a decision.
“Before we go...” she hesitated. “Because you’re going with me.”
He swallowed, his throat clicking, and she felt him nod. Or maybe he was hanging his head in shame because he was lying to her and she knew.
“We should meet properly,” she ended her thought.
“What do you mean?”
“I would like to know your face. And I’ll let you see mine.”
He shifted, pulling away from her. Where his back had been pressed to hers, she felt a rush of cold air.
“No, you can’t look at my face,” he said, his voice low and tinged with sorrow.
Or disgust. It could’ve been both, Seraphina thought as she tried to decipher the tone of his voice. He started carving again, the sound of the rusted nail running over the stone sharp and maddening. She wanted him to stop and pay attention to her, talk to her about what they were about to do like she was involved in it – because she was, she could be, if he let her – not like she was a damsel who was supposed to wait on the sidelines as he got beat on and shot at, then run and leave him behind.
But more than anything, she wanted him to... look at her.
She wanted him to see whom he was putting himself in danger for.
“Rune.”
He ignored her and scratched more harshly at the wall.
