Her name—spoken in that deep, familiar voice—cracked through her like a lightning strike. She turned, her curls whipping around as her eyes widened. Reynnar. He was here.
The sight of him hit her like the first breath of dawn after a long, endless night, warmth flooding her veins, chasing away the cold that had settled in her bones. He stood there, across the cell, bathed in the flickering light of a roaming orb, casting him in a soft, glowing halo. Elara’s eyes swept over him, frantic, searching for any sign of injury—anything that might say he wasn’t whole. But he was… he wasokay. Her breath caught, then released in a shaky rush, relief flooding her chest.
But then something shifted, a flicker of movement that pulled her gaze toward the tunnel. Her heart lurched as her vision cleared, revealing figures slowly taking shape in the cells across from hers. The Sidhe.They were all here.
A sob lodged itself in her throat. How had she not seen them before? She’d been so lost—dragged down by the crushing weight of defeat when they’d hauled her back—that she hadn’t even lifted her eyes. Hadn’t cared to look beyond the fog of her own grief.
The Hunter had done it. Somehow, he’d gotten them moved.
Elara blinked through the blur of tears, lifting her gaze to Reynnar. "Are you all right? Aoife, is she . . ."
She glanced outside her cell, searching for her, but his response to the name cut through the air, pulling her gaze back to him. "Aoife," he uttered,“Tá sí breá cumasach.26” He then hesitated.“Ach is eagal liom nach mairfidh a neart go deo.26”
Reynnar scrubbed a harsh hand down his face before his eyes found hers again."Tank yeh."
Elara’s heart gave a small leap, the corners of her lips twitching into the faintest smile. Was he starting to pick up Latherian? The idea sent a flicker of hope she hadn’t dared to feel.Maybe, just maybe, they could understand each other. Teach each other more than words, how they had ended up here—whythey were here.
Reynnar held his hand to his chest. “Tá mo bhuíochas ag dul duit as an mhéid atá déanta agat. Tá sé... muise, is rud faoi leith é, an cineál sin misnigh, an cineál sin crógachta a fheiceáil i nduine daonna.27”
The meaning hummed through her, more feeling than sense. His voice seemed to reach into something deep, something that didn’t need words. But then the moment broke when his eyes fell on her dress, drawing a snort of amusement.
“An gúna sin ... tá tú cosúil le maisiúchán ar bharr císte.28”
A twisted smile tugged at Elara’s lips, a broken laugh slipping past. He was mocking her gown. It was clear in the way his eyes lingered on the absurd mess of layers she was wrapped in. Ridiculous as it was, at least it kept her warm. The thoughtcrossed her mind to tear off a layer and offer it to him, but the risk of him being caught with it . . .
Her throat closed up.
She shouldn't be this close, shouldn't even bespeakingto him.
It wasn't safe.Shewasn't safe.
Elara squeezed her eyes shut. Distance. She needed distance from him. Her mere proximity was a threat to him. She should have the Hunter move her to a different cell. She would?—
A jolt pulsed through her as a warmth brushed her skin and all those spinning, frantic thoughts halted. Elara's eyelids fluttered open to find Reynnar's gaze—intense, deep, filled with concern. He had breached the cold space between them, just as he did on that first day in the Pit, reaching out with a touch so surprising in its tenderness. With his thumb, he gently brushed away a tear and her heart stumbled, lagging behind her racing thoughts.
This is wrong.
She grasped his hand and pushed it back, distancing herself as she shook her head. "Being near me, caring for me—it's a curse, Reynnar. You have to stay away. If they hurt you," her voice splintered, "I couldn'tbearit."
Reynnar went unnervingly still, as if he'd stopped breathing. Her skin prickled, the reminder of his otherworldly nature slamming into her—an aspect she'd somehow managed to overlook after everything they'd gone through. His gaze skimmed her features, delving deep, seeking truths hidden within her countenance. Then, as if breaking from a spell, he came alive, every line and angle of his face sharpening into something decidedly formidable.
“Stad.29” Reynnar shook his head. “Ná lig dóibh do bhriseadh.29” He stepped closer, the light catching the golden specks in his eyes. “I mo thír dhúchais, agus duine i bpian,ní thréigtear iad chun soláthar dóibh féin. A muintir féin a choinníonn iad, a thugann aire dóibh.29” He gestured to the surrounding cells. “Agus más olc maith leat é, a Eilíara, sin atá ionam anois. Atá ionainn. Muide do mhuintir.29”
Reynnar’s hand slipped into his pocket, and when it emerged, her necklace dangled from his fingers. The bloodstone caught the dim light, glinting like a drop of fire. Elara’s heart stuttered, the air leaving her lungs. She must’ve lost it in the chaos of the riot. And he’d found it. He’d grabbed it for her.
Without a word, he extended it through the iron bars and returned it to her. Before she could even muster a thank-you, he turned and scooped up the sorry scraps of fabric from his cot, bringing them back to lay against the bars with a soft scrape of metal. Then he stretched out, settling easily, muscles flexing in an inadvertent display of strength before he rested his head on his arms.
A wide grin broke across his face, aimed at her. How he could still smile after everything was beyond her.
“Goitse.30” He motioned toward her own cot. “Bíodh an diabhal acu agus ag an mhéid a raibh siad ag súil leis.30”
Elara wrinkled her nose. Was he suggesting she sleep next to these bars, right beside him? His gaze lifted, full of expectation. Yes, that's exactly what he wants.She bit her lip, conflicted. Keeping her distance was the smart choice—but the way he looked at her, with that unflinching, brazen strength, made her hesitate. He had become her backbone in this nightmare, a pillar of stubborn resilience. And she didn’t want him to think she was weak. She couldn’t stand the thought of faltering in his eyes.
A small smile tugged at her lips as she turned, her heart thudding in her chest like the sea crashing against the cliffs of Aewora. Every beat seemed to echo through the cold stone of her cell, matching her steps as she crossed the distance. She grabbed the thin, worn blanket and the pillow that had offeredlittle comfort, pulling them toward the bars with a quiet sense of purpose.
She placed the pillow down, its edge brushing the cold metal, then laid herself along the line that separated her from Reynnar. The chill of the stone beneath her faded as she exhaled, her gaze drifting to meet his. And in that moment, the world outside their prison ceased to exist.
Reynnar's smile grew as he relaxed further into his makeshift bedding, an image of contented triumph. Then, in a move that caught Elara completely off guard, his voice rose in a song.
