“You command his power,” Lady Zinnia breathed, gaze flicking between Alora and the kneeling god. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t understand it myself,” Alora murmured, pressing her fingertips to her temples as the last flicker of magic ebbed. “But as you can see, I have the matter in hand. My husband will behave… won’t he?”
Rune bared his teeth in something like a smile, fury glinting beneath it.“Yes, dear.”
Zinnia’s eyes narrowed. She studied Rune like a scholar examining a cursed artifact, taking in the absence of magic around him. A tremor shivered down her spine. “Then… you’re not the voice who answered Salvia in the ruins. No being of that power would be so easily stripped by a girl untrained in magic.”
Rune held her gaze, harsh as the frost in winter. His smile thinned to a line edged with contempt.
“A minor lapse,” he purred with smug arrogance. “Your niece is rather adept at making a man lower his guard. I misjudged how thoroughly she’d consume me.”
Alora kicked his boot and he chuckled.
Ignoring her blush, she nodded for her godmother and Caelum to follow her into the cottage. They stepped inside, glancing at the broken table, the disheveled bedding, and the faint scorch marks on the floorboards. Alora pretended not to notice their shared look as she briskly gathered food, a cloak, and the bloodied spindle into her satchel. Nexus watched from where he was perched on the mantle, tail flicking lazily.
“I feared you would not survive the night,” Zinnia murmured as Alora yanked the Sunstone dagger free from the wall. “I summoned my armies and made my way back as soon as I was able.”
She smiled feebly, warmed by this show of care. “You were ready to face the wrath of a god?”
The Thornbearer—no, heraunt, looked at her with rare affection. “I feared your mother’s wrath more if I failed to keep her daughter safe.”
Alora smiled, despite the ache in her chest. She sat on the edge of her bed to slip on her boots. “Rune was cross with me for leaving, but he would never harm me.”
And she knew it was undoubtedly true.
No matter how enraged he was, how rough and violent he could be, Rune had always been careful with her.
Alora’s gaze fell on something glinting atop the nightstand.
Her wedding ring.
It sat neatly in the center of the table, ruby glinting like an offer.
Her stomach tightened.
Rune must have placed it there. Quietly. Carefully. A gesture without words.
A ring returned not as possession but… a proposal. Of him. Of them. Of the bond she hadn’t asked for and yet kept tangling herself in.
Because last night, it had been clear how much he wanted her. Not merely her body, but her. It was a foreign feeling to be wanted. So much that he had burned to be with her again.
Alora’s gaze slid outside.
Rune was exactly where she had left him, hands resting casually on his knees. The Midlands stood guard, still surrounding him by a forest of leveled arrows, yet he held himself with the quiet focus of a predator at rest.
Did he remain because her magic held him? Or because even now, he was surrendering to her?
Commanding a god shouldn’t be so simple. And she shouldn’t enjoy the feeling this much.
What did that say about her?
Taking a deep breath, she stood. “We are going to Khar Avalen.”
Lady Zinnia went rigid. “Alora.”
“The Sleeping Curse originated there. If I want to save Argyle, I must start at the source.”
“And to learn the truth of your birth,” Zinnia replied softly. She closed her eyes for a moment, then exhaled. “Very well. But tread lightly, child. The Ruins do not suffer the curious.” She stepped closer, gripping Alora’s arm. “Keep to the ancient path. Do not stray from it. Do not let your thoughts wander. The Ruins may stir and the wind will whisper. But you must not answer anything that calls to you.”
