We picked our way through the overgrown path, the tower swelling larger with each step until it swallowed the treeline entirely. Roots jutted from the earth, forcing us to slow as we neared the sagging entrance.
Thistle pressed her palms to the door and shoved. The wood groaned, then gave way with a sound like a dying animal, the hinges screaming as it swung inward. A stale gust met us—dust, rot, and the cloying scent of damp stone. The entryway was bare save for a threadbare rug leading to a staircase.
“Well,” Branrir began, eyes darting around the space. “This is…homey.”
Vesper scoffed. “I think you meant sad, creepy, and depressing.”
Thistle shot him a glare.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. The quiet reminded me of battlefields after the smoke cleared. That awful pause before you count the bodies. Every instinct screamed to turn back, but this was the only place we could keep her hidden and safe while we figured out how to bring her back.
My gaze caught on the banister as we approached the stairs. A thin, uneven line cut through the dust—fingers trailing for balance where someone had descended.
Quinn.
She’d walked these same steps, only a fortnight ago.
Before she pulled me out of that tavern brawl, I hadn’t realized how empty I’d become. How surviving had replaced living. She’d walked into the dark void I’d been calling a life and madeit feel like something worth fighting for. She was worth fighting for.
Looking down at her in my arms, I wished her eyes would open—those impossible, bright-blue eyes that always saw the best in everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it. Her hair brushed against my sleeve, and I thought about all the ways she’d changed me without meaning to. The way she laughed as if she’d stolen the sound back from the Saints themselves. Her resilience and ability to stay hopeful were braver than any knight I’d ever known. At her core, she wasgoodin a way I hadn’t believed existed anymore.
She made me want to be better, to be the kind of man who deserved to stand by her side. The kind of man she’d be proud of. Now, I worried I’d never get the chance to prove it to her. The cracks in my broken heart widened into canyons. I swallowed the ache rising in my throat and tightened my hold.
The top of the staircase spat us out into a small, harrowing room. A single window let in a shaft of dull, dust-dappled light. A narrow, sagging bed was warped from weather and time. A brittle quilt lay folded at the end. Leaning against the far wall, a crumbling dresser hosted a worn-down comb and a glass bottle filled with dried lavender.
I stared in complete disbelief.
“This is where they left you?”
For centuries.
Alone.
It was no more than a prison cell with drapery. Reluctantly, I laid her upon the narrow bed. Then I climbed in beside her and gathered her in my arms.
“Quinn, please wake up.” I buried my face in her hair. “I love you,” I whispered, over and over. “I love you. I should’ve said it sooner. I should’ve told you every damn day since we met.”
She didn’t stir.
My throat burned. My eyes wouldn’t stop stinging.
I shifted back enough to brush her hair from her forehead, my fingers trembling. I kissed her there. Then her cheek. Then her lips—cooler than before, but still hers. Still Quinn.
“I don’t care what magic it takes—what bargain or sacrifice.” I pulled her closer, my voice fraying. “I’m coming back for you, Quinn. I’ll always come back for you.”
***
ONE HUNDRED YEARS LATER
51
QUINN
Iwoke with the unmistakable weight of grief. Tears sprang to my eyes before I had the chance to open them. The ache arrived at once, sharp and merciless, as if my heart had waited behind a locked door and someone had flung it open without warning.
I should have said it sooner.
I love you.
