Briar knew, but Briar was a woman. And the sisters at Saint Vivia’s had seen the marks on her body as they’d cared for her and made her drink their special tea. Rape, when it happened, was something to be kept hidden, and if there were whispers about it, they were between women. It was a woman’s thing,a woman’s misfortune and humiliation to carry. Men wouldn’t understand.
Seraphina let go. Rune took the stick from her and stepped between her and Hartmann. She hung her head, letting her blond hair fall around her face, and her arms dangle at her sides. She was breathing heavily and hadn’t even noticed. Now that the burden of revenge had been lifted from her shoulders, she realized how winded and shaken she was.
Rune didn’t speak, just handed the walking stick back to her. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out, so she nodded her permission instead. She then pressed back against the cold stone wall of the tunnel, making herself as flat as she could.
The relic showed her Rune’s shadow kneeling over Hartmann, whose groaning soon turned sharp and desperate. A wet gasp caught in his throat, and he began struggling. Hartmann’s heels scraped and drummed against the ground, his hands scrabbling uselessly. Rune’s massive hands were around his throat. And as he strangled him, Rune didn’t speak, didn’t even grunt with effort. The only sounds Seraphina could hear were of Hartmann choking, his body thrashing, and then a sickening crack that echoed off the walls.
It was over. Rune hadn’t had the patience to suffocate him. It would’ve taken too long, and someone might’ve walked by and seen them. So, he’d snapped his neck.
Relieved, Seraphina moved forward, but then she heard another sound. A different kind of crack, not clean like the breaking of a neck, but deeper and messier, like more bones splintering at once. She stopped. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized Rune wasn’t finished. He was still bent over Hartmann’s body, and the sounds that came next made her stomach turn.
There was the wet pop of a joint wrenched from its socket, the ripping of flesh. Another crack, and she understood with creeping horror that Rune was tearing Hartmann’s body apart with his bare hands.
Seraphina pressed harder against the wall, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. She could sense Rune’s shadow moving, pulling and twisting, and the shape of Hartmann’s body coming apart piece by piece. There was a long, wet sound as an arm separated from the torso, the tearing of muscle and sinew, and the crunch of ribs being broken, splintering under powerful hands, then the softer, wetter sounds of organs being eviscerated. Blood gushed and dripped, and the smell of it filled the tunnel, so pungent that she could taste it in the back of her throat.
She focused on Rune, trying to determine what he was feeling, why he was doing this. Creature, they’d called him. The watchmen were cruel and stupid, but had they known something she didn’t? No. Rune had lied about murdering that woman in the street. He’d told her that, and she’d believed him. Still did. Seraphina trusted him. He’d never been anything but kind and gentle to her, but this...
This...
Rune’s breathing remained steady and controlled. He didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate, just went through the motions as if he knew perfectly well what he was doing and how to be efficient. Another joint popped free, another bone snapped, and the sound of flesh tearing was all Seraphina could hear, her senses invaded and flooded with the gurgling and the squelching, with the brutal dismantling of a man who’d once walked, talked, and breathed.
And Hartmann had deserved to die, but had he deserved this?
She wanted to tell him to stop. She wanted to turn away, run, but her feet stayed planted, her spine rigid and pressed tothe wall. This was happening because of her, so the least she could do was bear witness to it. She swallowed hard, fighting the nausea that rose in her throat, and forced herself to keep listening. She’d caused this, so she wasn’t going to vomit.
Then she heard the rustle of fabric and inclined her head in hopes the relic would help her see better. It seemed that Rune was spreading Hartmann’s cloak on the ground and dropping body parts on top of it, stacking them in a wobbly mass. Seraphina breathed shallowly through her fingers as Rune wrapped everything up, tied a knot, and lifted the bundle in his arms.
“Wait,” she said when he was under the arch of the postern gate.
He stopped but didn’t turn toward her.
“His weapons,” she said. “We might need them.”
He hesitated. She sensed him start to lower the bundle, the wet weight of it settling back on the ground, and realized how idiotic that was. They couldn’t walk around Ingolstadt carrying watch-issued weapons.
“No, what am I thinking? Get rid of him. All of him.”
Rune picked up the bundle again, and she heard his footsteps moving toward the river. There was a heavy splash, and she imagined the current taking the bundle with it. As she stayed behind, hidden from view, Seraphina hoped that he’d been careful, and no one had seen him.
When he came back, she heard water dripping from him.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I washed my hands,” he said. “But my clothes...”
“Do you have a cloak?”
“Yes.”
She heard him smooth down his clothes and pull his cloak tighter around himself, and then it hit her that his footstepsweren’t as muffled as they’d been when he’d helped her escape. Because he was wearing boots.
A thousand thoughts ran through her mind. Rune was here, with her. He was alive, and he was standing in front of her, when she’d been certain she’d never see him again. Before she knew what she was doing, she dropped the walking stick, stepped forward and reached out, her hands finding the front of his cloak. She grabbed it by the lapels and pulled him toward her, making him bend his back to make up for the height difference.
“How are you here? What happened? Did you escape?”
“No,” he said.
“Then how? They let you go?”
