It was where he had been abandoned, and where he’d been reborn.
Now, he sensed another change coming.
Alora faced away from him, gazing up at the tree. “Rune…there is something I must tell you.”
“Wait.” He clenched his fists to steady them, then from the shadows, he drew out what he had been keeping since his return from the Abyss. “Before you say what you must, may I speak first?”
She turned, her eyes widening at what he held.
The fruit glowed like a ruby in his palms. His glamor fell away, exposing the burns on his hands and arms. He’d earned them when he made his way into the deepest pit of the Seven Hells and plucked the fruit from the Anar Tree forever burning with white flame.
“It cannot be said that the King of the Netherworld would shy from tradition,” he said, drawing closer. “Forgive me. It should not have taken me this long to propose properly.”
Alora laughed softly, smiling though her eyes were sad. “You refer to this tradition as if it were not one many don’t survive. You didn’t need to risk your life to give me this. I am already yours.”
“I suppose…” He looked down at the Anar fruit. “I give it as another vow to always await you every spring, even if… one day you choose not to return.”
To a land of darkness and wickedness.
To him.
Those big, soft eyes the color of honey met his, and Alora’s face crumbled. “Oh, Rune.” She took the fruit from his hands and wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I will always return to you.”
And her god’s promise rippled through the atmosphere with a silvery sheen.
“Then… you weren’t planning to say goodbye?”
“What?” Alora pulled back to stare at him incredulously. “No. I have other news.”
He braced again, sensing a coming storm.
Her hand rested on her stomach. “You are going to be a father.”
All thoughts halted.
He stared at her for a long moment, unblinking. For the first time, words failed him.
“Rune?”
He choked on a shocked breath. “That’s?—”
“Impossible?” Her smile widened. “Well, once we defied fate, anything became possible.”
Then Rune recalled his mother’s gift that he had assumed was for him.
Not a mantle… but aswaddle.
This was why he had been craving Alora so fiercely. An instinct he now understood.
Rune sank to his knees onto the bedding of crimson flowers. His palm shook as he laid it over her stomach with reverence usually reserved for altars. A glow hummed beneath his touch as he heard a faint little heartbeat.
It was the smallest sound he had ever heard, and the most powerful.
They had been given another chance at life, but this…
He had never expected this.
“Seven Hells, Alora.” His eyes widened. “Why did you let me behave like an animal—I could have hurt you. What if it—he?—”
