“Seraphina.” His voice was pleading, yet firm.
“Rune.”
“Please.”
She pursed her lips.
“Stay hidden. Once I reach the gate, wait for me to break it open, then run.”
Before she could argue further, he moved into the open courtyard. She pressed herself against the wall, her heart racing so fast she thought it might burst. The rain soaked through her dress, and she was shivering, but she moved along the perimeter, keeping to the edges where the shadows were deepest.
A shout rang out from the gatehouse.
“Stop right there!”
Rune didn’t stop. She could hear him moving forward with purpose, his steps steady despite the sloshing mud.
“Stand down, whoever you are!” Another voice, higher pitched. “We’ll shoot!”
The sound of muskets being raised and metal clicking into place made Seraphina want to scream at him to stop, to come back, but she pressed her lips together and kept moving along the wall. The watchmen couldn’t see well in the darkness and the rain. That was the only advantage they had.
The first musket cracked, impossibly loud in the enclosed courtyard. She heard the impact, heard Rune’s body jerk with it, heard his grunt of pain. But he didn’t fall. He kept walking.
The second musket fired. Another impact, another stagger, but still he moved forward. The guards were shouting now, fumbling to reload, their voices high with panic.
Rune reached them before they could shoot him again. She heard the first guard hit the stone wall with a sickening thud, then the sound of wood splintering and another body hitting the ground.
Seraphina couldn’t stay back any longer. She moved forward, away from the wall, her feet splashing through mud andpuddles. She reached the gatehouse as Rune struggled with the heavy beam that barred the gates from the inside.
One of the guards was groaning on the ground. The other was silent.
Behind them, the prison erupted into mayhem. The gunshots had woken everyone, and men were shouting, banging on their cell doors.
Fisting her skirt to keep the hem from dragging in the muck, she turned and tilted her head to the side, trying to determine if anyone was coming for them from that direction. The door that had been unlocked banged open, the metal handle hitting the wall. She heard the turnkey stumble out into the rain, and she braced herself for him coming at them, but nothing happened. It seemed that he was frozen in place, not knowing what to do, probably struggling to see through the unrelenting sleet.
With an unnatural grunt, Rune lifted the beam out of its iron brackets. It thudded to the ground, and he pushed his entire weight into the gates to open them. Seraphina was speechless. The beam was made of oak, and heavy enough that two or three men needed to lift at once to remove it in the morning and replace it at night. The fact that Rune could do it alone, the fact that he’d broken the lock to their cell with his bare fist… And the musket balls hitting him to no avail…
Seraphina filed this information for later, when she’d have time to ponder on how this man was so strong, when he’d survived on stale bread and gruel for more than a month.
“Run.”
She didn’t react.
He stepped away from the open gate, and she felt the rush of air as he waved his hand in the direction of the street. She caught it and pulled him to her, entwining their fingers.
“Together,” she said.
His fingers were warm and steady in her grip. Long, calloused, scarred. Again, she felt stitches, as if deep wounds had been sewn closed and the surgeon had forgotten to remove the thread. There was an echo of familiarity in the way their hands fit together. Hers was small, his was big and strong, enveloping hers with ease, with the gentleness of a man who knew that if he squeezed too hard, he could smash her bird-like bones.
Seraphina gasped, feeling her chest contract with longing. Rune’s touch reminded her of something she’d lost. She’d felt this pull before, had lived for years with the despair and craving of wanting more than to hold hands. She could see Matteo now, tall and handsome, with his long dark hair gathered at his nape in a silk tie, with his golden-brown eyes, holding her to him, yet keeping her at a respectful distance.
“Rune,” she pleaded.
She couldn’t lose him like she’d lost Matteo, even though it was different. They weren’t in love, and they barely knew each other, but they’d gone through so much, and now, her hand in his felt like a whisper from another time, another life.
Until he wrenched himself free and stepped back from her.
“What are you–” She tried to reach for him again, but he was too far and moving farther away. “They will kill you. Listen to me, they will–”
