My legs crumpled beneath me, pitching me into the dreck of half-melted snow and soot and slag. Sunder caught me around the shoulders, then slid an arm beneath my numb knees and hoisted me like I weighed nothing.
“Bissot, send for the medic!” Sunder commanded. “Calvet, have the seneschal fetch water—hot water—and blankets from the cache! Armand, prepare a tent for the boy—”
But his orders were fading away beneath the persistent hum in my ears; the weight of my eyelids heralded a wave of blackness. I leaned my head against his shoulder. His soft fur kissed my cheek—it smelled like genévrier and ice. It smelled like him.
I closed my eyes.
I awoke on a hard cot to the creeping sensation that someone was watching me sleep.
I sat up too quickly—my head swam, dizziness threatening to pitch me back onto the cot. I closed my eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass, then slowly tried again.
A single candle blurred the interior of a low, narrow tent. A shadow hunched on the cot across from mine. His eyes caught the light from the flame and glowed unfathomable—Sunder. He no longer wore the emerald signat of the Loup-Garou.
“Where am I?”
“You mean to tell me,” Sunder drawled, “that you climbed a mountain without knowing where you were going?”
A flash of annoyance robbed me of my calm. “You know what I mean.”
His laugh carried an edge. “They’re calling it the Wolf’s Mouth. A mine—half a day’s ride from Belsyre.”
“What are you mining?”
“Diamond.” Sunder reached into his pocket and pulled out a lump of raw mineral. He tossed it to me. I caught it, but the impact jarred my palm strangely, and it fell away between my limp fingers. I shook out my hand, and picked it up. It didn’t look like anything special. Gingerly, I handed it back to Sunder.
“Keep it,” he said. “Consider it a welcome gift.”
I rolled it between my palms. My fingers tingled. I set it aside.
“The commune isn’t big.” The mining community outside of Piana had stretched as far as the eye could see, and the ambric lode had only been medium-sized. “The mine must either be very old or very new.”
“The latter,” confirmed Sunder. “The mineral is extremely rare—there hasn’t been a seam this big in centuries. My surveyor discovered the lode while I was still at court.”
“Is that why you really left?” My voice came out sharp.
“You know why I left. You seemed intent on pursuing a most fervent death wish.” Sunder’s smile cut like condemnation. “Something you seem no less bent on now.”
I took a deep breath. “Gavin—”
“I know,” he interrupted, careless. “Luca’s been awake for a few hours now. He told me what happened.”
“So—?”
“So we’ll leave for Belsyre at first Matin.” Sunder stood, his fur cloak sweeping around his boots, and lifted the door to the tent. “You begged for sanctuary. So sanctuary I will give. In the meantime, you should get some more rest.”
“Sunder—” I began.
But the tent flap had already whispered shut behind him, leaving me alone with creeping regret and a fading dream of what it felt like to be wanted.
Returning to Belsyre was like waking up into a dream I’d almost forgotten.
I remembered it—of course I did. But I’d secreted those memories away, into a still, silent corner of my heart—a frozen flower pressed between two panes of glass. Firelit revelations and chilled wine, red-vined pillars and ice-chased kisses—these were memories from another life. It had only been two spans, but I could almost imagine it was another girl who came here, and another girl again who left.
But seeing it now brought all those thoughts and feelings flooding back. The twin mountains looming dark against the vermeil sky were my own fears staring down at me. The pluming cascades of icy water were all my shattered dreams, and I stood on the slender bridge above them. And the château—those glittering towers clawing toward the sky were my own lofting ambitions, sharp and high and impossible to reach.
A host of blank-faced servants in Belsyre livery bowed us into the foyer. As always, the château’s stark elegance made me nervous, and I hunched deeper into my borrowed furs. Yet for once the stronghold almost felt …lived in. Ambric chandeliers and roaring hearths lent a quality of warmth. Furniture gleamed, free of dust or protective white cloths. Tapestries in luxurious tones warmed the walls, instead of being rolled to protect the dyes.
Heeled slippers chimed on the stairs as Oleander hurtled toward us. She flew past Sunder and flung herself into Luca’s arms. He wrapped his hands around her waist and buried his face in her hair.
