"The ice thing," she managed at last. "Was going to... kill you."
"I'm immortal, you idiot." But his hands were gentle as he pulled her closer. "You're not."
The warmth in her chest flickered weakly. His arms tightened around her, and she felt his power pulse. It wasn’t the careful control he usually showed, but raw forest magic pouring into her, trying to counter the cold.
"We need to get you warm," he said, already lifting her. "The castle—"
"Too far," she whispered. Everything was going dark at the edges.
"Then somewhere closer." He whistled sharply, and she heard hoofbeats, their mount responding to his call. "Stay awake. That's a command. I’ll send you to spend another night in the bone garden if you close your eyes."
But commands, and even threats of the bone garden, couldn't fight the cold eating through her or the way her body was shutting down.
The last thing she felt was him swinging up onto the mount with her cradled against his chest, his voice urgent in her ear.
"Don't leave me, little thief. Not like this. Not when I haven't figured out what you are yet."
Then darkness took her, and even the warmth in her chest went quiet.
Chapter twenty-seven
Briar became aware of her body in stages. The ache in her ribs where ice had struck. The rawness of her throat from swallowed river water. The strange tingling in her fingers and toes as circulation returned. And underneath it all, impossible heat surrounding her.
Not blankets. Not fire.
Skin.
Her eyes opened to unfamiliar cave walls glowing with moss-light. She tried to move, only to realize arms held her immobile, bare arms around her bare waist, a chest pressed to her naked back, legs tangled with hers beneath soft furs.
Eliam. Holding her like she was the only solid thing in the world.
"Finally." His voice rumbled through his chest into her spine. "I was beginning to think you'd decided drowning was preferable to captivity."
Memory crashed back. The frozen river. Ice-Malachar. The reflection pattern pulling her onto the ice. The crushing cold of the water.
She tried to sit up, but his arms tightened, keeping her in place.
"Don't," he commanded. "Your body temperature is barely stable. Moving away from the heat source would be remarkably stupid, even for someone who throws themselves at magical ice constructs."
"Where—" Her voice came out raw, throat burning. How much river water had she swallowed? "Where are we?"
"Sacred grove. Old growth hollow." His breath stirred her hair. "Closer than the castle."
"Why didn't you just..." She gestured vaguely, trying not to think about how much of him she could feel pressed against her. "Shadow thing. Transportation."
"Because you were unconscious." He sounded irritated, as if her near-death had personally inconvenienced him. "The shadow paths require a conscious will to navigate safely. Attempting to pull your senseless form through would have potentially scattered your essence across the realm. You're welcome, by the way."
"For what?"
"For saving your life." His hand splayed across her stomach, holding her firmly against him.
"I was trying to save you."
"From something that wouldn't have killed me." His voice dropped, dangerous. "You saw ice spears about to impale me and you didn't think, you just acted. Threw yourself at danger like your fragile human body could somehow shield mine."
"It worked, didn't it?"
"It put you exactly where Malachar's trap wanted you." His arms tightened almost painfully. "The reflection pattern was meant for whoever was in range. If you'd stayed back like I told you—"
