“She has no teeth,” I said, exasperated. Then I widened my eyes and made a show of looking around the ruined homes and fields. “No milk cows either.”
“You’re not funny,” Remy growled. Then he gently added the body—the last body—to the grave.
“None of this is funny,” I muttered.
“There are dry oats in my saddlebag,” Zane offered.
“Thank you,” I replied, falling silent as the men covered the bodies with cold dirt. When they finished, an uneasy quiet settled over us. “Should we say something?”
Zane closed his eyes briefly, as if gathering strength, then gave a grim nod. “Remy’s the one who’s good with words.”
Remy’s shoulders sagged, and for a moment I thought he might refuse. Then he straightened and cleared his throat. “Minerva, in the face of this tragedy, we ask that you gather these people to you. Please offer them succor as they discover their path in the afterworld. Please guide and protect …” His voice faltered for a moment before he said, “Grace.”
At the sound of the name, the baby stirred in my arms, her tiny fingers curling against my chest. Her eyes fluttered open—bright blue, like the sky in autumn—and seemed to focus on Remy’s voice with an intensity that made my breath catch.
Grace. He’d named her. Without asking me.
His eyes narrowed as if he could read my thoughts and expected me to argue. Then he shifted his gaze to the baby, and his expression softened. The way he looked at Grace—like she was already precious to him, like he’d fight the world to keep her safe—that wasn’t something you could fake.
Somehow, in the space of an hour, this hostile, snarling man had given himself over entirely to a child who wasn’t his.
“Her journey won’t be easy, but give her the courage to face each challenge, the strength to persevere through pain and loss, and the wisdom to see the world clearly.” His gaze returned to the mass grave. “I cannot promise vengeance, but I swear to you, Grace will not know further hardship, not if I can help it.”
Cradling Grace in my left arm, I used my right hand to swipe at my tears.
“May I hold her?” Zane held out his hands, and I let him take her.
She settled against his broad chest with a soft sigh, one tiny fist working free of her blankets to wave in the air. When Zane whispered, her head turned toward his voice, and I swear she almost smiled.
A giant man with a baby cradled in his arms—it was sexy in ways I’d never imagined.
He smiled gently at Grace. “Let’s see about getting you a meal, little lady.”
My mouth went dry, even as my ovaries flipped. “I can help.” The words came out in a strangled, breathless tone. One that made me flush with embarrassment.
Zane didn’t notice. Instead, he glanced at Remy, who had turned his back on us. His shoulders were slumped. His head hung low. Grief seeped through his pores.
“Stay with him,” Zane requested. “Please.”
Remy didn’t like me. I was the last person with whom he’d want to share his grief. But before I could object, Zane strode away, his boots crunching through the snow and debris.
I wanted to follow, to help with Grace, to avoid being alone with Remy, but he was already gone.
A crow cawed, mournful and eerie in the snowy silence. The sound lingered in the frigid air, while our breath formed small clouds that dissipated quickly in the bitter wind. Myfingers had gone numb despite my gloves, and I could feel the cold seeping through my boots where I stood in the churned, ash-darkened snow.
I studied Remy, remembering how gentle his hands had been when laying the bodies to rest. This was the man who’d sneered at me countless times, yet he’d just taken the time to bury strangers, even vowing to take care of one of their babies.
“You spoke well,” I told him, my voice soft.
“This shouldn’t have happened.” He spun and glared at me, as if expecting me to disagree. “Ten children. We buried ten children.” His fingers flexed as if he wanted to choke the life out of whoever had done this.
“My grandmother and I live in Grimswood. We offer a home to girls who’ve survived unimaginable abuse.”
He glared at me but refrained from making a cutting remark.
“In Legacia, girls don’t matter. Women don’t matter.” I hadn’t mattered.
“What are you saying?”
