"No," I agree. "But the power I have, the strength of the Strigon, the centuries of experience—you may need all of it. It wouldn't be wise to abandon that when battle approaches."
"So you'll stay?" Her voice breaks on the question. "Even though I could free you from this existence? Even though you could finally have the rest you've sought for so long?"
"There's nothing to free me from anymore." I pull her close, wrapping my arms around her as snow continues to fall around us. "You already broke my chains. What's left is what I choose, and I choose you. For as long as you'll have me."
"Forever, then." She buries her face in my neck. "I'll have you forever."
"Forever,"I agree, and seal the promise with a kiss. Every time her lips touch mine, I can barely breathe past the perfection of her.
The predawn darknessgives way to the soft pink of sunrise. We sit there in the snow for a long time, holding each other as the world slowly lightens around us.
My forever is however longhers lasts. I'll walk beside her through centuries, through winters and springs, through all the years she has left. But someday, when she grows weary of this world and is ready to lay down the weight of existence and step beyond the veil, I won't let her go alone. When that day comes, I'll remind her of the grimoire, the spell she found to make me human. I'll ask her to grant me mortality then—not to escape this life, but to follow her into the next.
For three thousand years,I walked in eternal night. Now at last, I see the light.
Part II
Part II The Rose among thorns
8
Chapter 7 Rhianelle
I see my husband from the window. He thinks I'm asleep. He moves through the courtyard below like shadow, and then he's gone between one breath and the next. I press my hand to the cold glass and watch the empty space where he was.
Where is he going?
Svenn thinks I don't notice when he disappears for hours at a time. He's hiding something. But he chose to stay with me over his freedom. That knowledge sits in my chest like sunlight.
Months have passed since the Wild Hunt was declared. The silence from the fae is driving me mad.
No raids, no movement along the border. Not a single word from Avalon. Eirik Bloodhound announced war like a thunderclap and then went quiet. Somehow the quiet is worse. My generals have no answers. The commanders bring me nothing but empty maps and speculation. The spies have gone dark. I have reread every report until the ink feels burned into my eyes. I have worn a path into the stone floor of the war room.
I have waited and waited. And the waiting is a blade pressed slowly between my ribs.
Which is why I stole Blaire's plan.
She mentioned it once. It was half a plan really, something she'd been turning over while she healed. Infiltrate a pleasure house on the Myrkheim border and get close to the patrons. She was going to do it herself once she was well enough. I couldn't wait that long. And I couldn't send her back into danger. I won't risk it again.
I leave before dawn with no guard and no escort and a hood pulled low over my silver hair. The road to Greenvale takes half a day on a Noctral. I spend most of it talking myself out of turning back.
I go alone. Darstan would have stopped me and Aelfric would have gone pale and quoted three separate protocols. I couldn't find Garrett today so I tell no one and take the mountain road. I don't look back at the lights of Aelfheim until they've already disappeared behind the treeline.
Greenvale is where Aelfheim meets Myrkheim and Avalon. No banners fly here. No single crown claims it. The borders blur and so do the laws.
The village pulses with life. Lanterns hang in tangled rows overhead, casting gold and violet light across crooked rooftops. Stalls crowd the lanes selling silks from Aelfheim, ironwork from Myrkheim, and wine from Avalon. The traders here shout over one another in overlapping dialects of the three kingdoms.
I pull my hood lower and step into the current. Greenvale has one rule.
Mind your own business.
Nobody's fighting. But nobody's particularly friendly either. I keep moving until I find the Painted Moth at the village's heart. It spills amber light into the street, windows glowing like banked embers. Even from outside I can hear careless laughter and catch the scent of crushed rose drifting into the night.
I smile.
This is where secrets change hands.
I pull my cloak tighter and approach the back entrance. Blaire's plan was simple. She would pose as someone seeking work, gather information from loose-tongued patrons, then leave before anyone noticed.
