It was a pitiful thing to ask, baring too much, but she no longer cared.
“Rune has made quite a mess of himself,” Sunnëva mused. “I was guiding him within the limits I am permitted. But do not worry. I will no longer visit your husband unbidden. His mistakes are his to fix now.”
She turned to leave.
But her words had collided with Vorak’s voice still echoing in her bones.You have all but assured my coming.
“The rift,” Alora blurted. “Can it be fixed?”
Sunnëva glanced back, her eyes eerily glowing ice blue. “What is unmade by death may only be remade by life.”
Then she dissolved into shards of ice, leaving Alora alone with the cooling water and the tangle of her thoughts. Her gaze drifted to the faint glow beneath her skin, to the power that had finally awakened and, in doing so, called every horror back to her doorstep.
Neither of them could face this alone.
When Alora finally emerged, she found a gown laid out on the bed. Platters of food and her favorite desserts waited on the table beside a bowl of pomegranates and a bouquet of briar roses.
Tucked beneath the vase was a single note.
Forgive me.
Within the tower of the highest peak of the mountain, wind blew through Alora’s hair, her heart heavy with all that was to come. She sat on the ledge of the open window and watched the sky change colors with the evening. All day she had sensed her mate’s restlessness, pacing through his chambers, anxious to seeher but forcing himself to respect her space. Yet she knew when he was at his limit, and she wasn’t inclined to be away from him either.
At sunset, when the sky spilled fire over the peaks, Alora whispered his name.
The shadows teemed behind her, answering at once.
She kept her eyes on the horizon, letting the wind tousle her hair and fill the silence between them.
“Why did you make this place?” she murmured.
Rune was quiet for a breath, then softly, “At dawn, before the sun fully rises, for the briefest of moments, I can stand in the light.”
Her vision welled.
“Then you became that light,” he said, quieter still. “Until I lost you as well and that pain was more unbearable than the sun.” His voice wavered and he took a step closer. “When I met Sunnëva… she too was a beam of light. Such is so for a goddess. She shone so bright I was nearly blind.”
Alora turned at last, finding remorse carved into his face. He stepped closer slowly, as though afraid she might vanish again. “And in my blindness, I imagined she was you… but in the end, I knew she never could be.”
The sunset had not fully descended, yet Rune still stepped out of the shade to be close to her. His skin smoked as the last of the light singed him.
Alora shook her head, standing to shield him from the sun. “Rune?—”
He pulled her to his chest, buried his face in her hair, and exhaled like the world only continued spinning when she was in his sight. “I can endure the censure of the world and that of the Heavens, but not yours. Never yours.” Then he lowered to his knees. “I beg your forgiveness.”
Sighing softly, she cupped his cheek. “The King of the Netherworld would beg?”
“For you, my pride has no dominion, Alora. I would crawl to you and grovel while doing so if you demanded it.”
He sounded so pitiful, she fought back a smile. To see such a powerful being beseech her was already melting the hurt and anger.
“I would burn for you,” he reminded her quietly. “If not beneath the sun, then under Heaven’s divine punishment.”
“I know.” Her voice wavered as tears stung her eyes. “And I would rewrite fate for you.”
Rune looked at her, truly looked, and something tumbled quietly in his chest, his body shuddering. The markings on his flesh shone bright. He heard the truth in her words, the confession of what brought them here.
“You’re right you know,” she laughed faintly. “Thereispower in a king’s kiss. I had been asleep for a hundred years in total silence. I didn’t dream or feel anything until the day you pressed your lips to my cheek. Then I heard your voice. You promised we would reunite again, if not in life then in death. And after a hundred years… I opened my eyes.”
