“It was maddening when I couldn’t reach you,” Rune murmured as he worked. He lifted her arm, his thumb brushing magic over a scrape on her elbow. Then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, cleaning her neck. “I was ready to unleash my court and bring the castle down. But I couldn’t, knowing you were there in the crypts. I could feel your suffering, your terror.”
His voice wavered and his palm paused on her chest, over her heart.
“No punishment of the sun could compare to the agony I felt in that moment.” Rune lowered his head on hers, his arms wrapping around her as he held her tight. “No wards should have kept you from me.”
Yet Eldrik’s had.
The thought slipped through her, sharp as a splinter. She didn’t want to follow it. Not now. Not with the ache in her wrists still throbbing, ghost-pain from the bindings biting into her skin.
“Lady Zinnia?” she asked tiredly.
“She had been detained in the castle. Calla released her.”
Alora blinked, trying to piece together what that meant. Rune’s suspicion flickered through the bond, a shadowedthought she caught in passing: How had a fae managed to contain a demigoddess? Was Zinnia in league with him?
“No…” Alora rasped before the idea could fully take shape. “Eldrik used enchanted black stones to pin me in place. I could not move or muster my magic.”
The words scraped her throat. She remembered the weight of the onyx stones on her limbs, the way her body had gone heavy and useless, as if someone had poured iron into her veins.
Rune fell silent, and the bond roiled with the tempest of his anger, but he delved no more, perhaps sensing now was not the time.
Scooping her against his chest, he carried her out of the bath with one arm. Shadows wrapped around her like silk, drying her damp skin and hair. She didn’t protest as he laid her in the bed like something fragile. He had already magically enchanted a new set of clothes for himself. A silken black nightgown settled on her like a soft cloud.
She took his wrist, pulling him close so she could press her face against his chest.
“Don’t leave,” she whispered.
“I am not going anywhere.” Rune laid beside her, and she curled into him, shutting her eyes.
“He… siphoned my magic.” Alora whispered. Her voice wavered, her mouth trembling.
Magic, she had not had for long, yet it had become such an integral part of her in such a short time. Losing it left her hollow. Was this how Rune had felt?
He rumbled quietly. “That which belongs to you will be returned, songbird. I swear it.”
And she sensed the icy presence of Death already hanging over Eldrik’s head.
Alora shut her eyes. “What… what will you do to him?”
“Whatever you command. If my queen wants someone dead, I will answer with ruin.”
She met Rune’s softly glowing eyes. His fury and bloodlust hummed in the bond, but he would bend to her will and do whatever she asked of him. He’d spare him if she chose. Eviscerate him at her command. Kill him a thousand ways.
But could she do that? Allow herself to sink into that darkness?
Yes.
Eldrik killed her father. Tormented her people. Tortured her.
She wanted him dead.
“His soul will never know peace ever again,” Rune rumbled, having heard her thoughts. The back of his finger wiped away the tear that rolled down her cheek. “Not even in death.”
A silvery shimmer of magic rippled through the atmosphere. Alora shivered as his words brand themselves in her soul.
A god’s promise.
The room was quiet but alive with the hum of something ancient and safe. Shadows curled along the edges of the stone walls, not menacing tonight, but gentle, like folds of silk brushing against candlelight. Her head rested against Rune’s chest, and his arms were circled loosely around her, hands tucked under the folds of her blanket like they belonged there because they did.
