I raked trembling fingers through my hair. “We need to clean this up. Pile the bodies on the barge. Sink it before dawn.”
“Now that’s the Emrys I remember,” Orren laughed, grabbing a corpse in each hand. “Let’s drag this lot to their second, more permanent death.”
I hoisted a Hollowborn onto my shoulder. “Just like old times.”
“You’ve always had a flair for messes.”
“And you always had the shovel.”
We worked in silence, the sickening thud of bodies dropping onto the barge interrupted only by the occasional grunt or curse. “We’re done.” I exhaled, trying to contain the tremble in my chest. The wound on my neck was already closing. “Let’s take the Dusk Roads.”
“You’ve got stories to tell, old friend. How long has it been?”
“Does it matter?” I kicked the last Hollowborn into the water. “It’s quite a way to reunite. Moving bodies again.”
He grinned. “Just like the good old times.”
“Just like the old times,” I agreed. “I’ll need your help to travel.”
He nodded, and we took to the sky.
Daphne
Tea and war plans
Camille poured more steaming jasmine tea into the delicate cups, the floral scent curling through the air. I wrapped my hands around the porcelain, letting its warmth seep into my fingers.
She was opening drawer after drawer. “There must be some biscuits somewhere.” She paused mid-rummage, head tilted like a hound catching a distant scent.
Without a word, she ran her fingers through her dark hair, adjusted her corset to scandalous perfection, and turned toward the door just as it burst open.
A massive man strode in. He wore a finely tailored suit, but no amount of skilled stitching could tame the wild energy that clung to him. The scent of pine needles and damp earth followed in his wake.
The stern line of his mouth cracked into a wide grin as soon as he saw Camille. In two long strides, he crossed the room, swept her off the ground, and spun her in a joyful arc, her delighted laughter echoing against the stone walls.
“I was gone for an hour,” she murmured into his shoulder as he set her down, “and you look like you’ve been lost in the desert for a year.”
“You were gone for an hour too long,” he growled, his forehead resting against hers. “Don’t make a habit of it.”
Her fingers brushed his jaw. “Still the poet.”
“Still the heart thief,” he said.
She gave him a sultry little smile. “You’re not even pretending to play it cool anymore.”
“I haven’t since you left my sight.”
She laughed. “You’re lucky I like my men big, brooding, and hopelessly obsessed.”
A soft thump beside me made me jump.
“Daphne.”
I turned sharply—too sharply—and nearly gave myself whiplash.
Emrys stood a few steps away. Blood streaked across his collar and smeared like war paint down his neck. His hands clenched, trembling slightly as if he didn’t trust himself to reach for me. His eyes burned like storm light, flicking over me as if confirming I was real.
Alive.
