Mireille blew out a long breath. “It was just me and my mother. We didn’t need much.”
Her fingers tensed around the file folder, a farewell gift from Sonya.
Her father’s history.
After they’d left the Otto estate last week, they’d returned to Kheimos for a few days to tie up loose ends before making their final escape.
Ronin had stayed mostly hidden within his apartment, far too recognizable a presence to risk walking through the streets and word getting back to Skanisse that he’d returned to the city.
Mireille had used the last of her veiling potion to perform two tasks.
First, she’d visited Mattias Bisere, who’d been heart-broken, though not shocked, to learn his sister had met True Death at theestate. Though the blow was softened when Mireille had gifted Mattias the anastasium stone containing Larissa’s soul.
Then, she’d visited Sonya at her home, not willing to risk a trip back to IA headquarters, even under the guise of the potion. She’d confessed everything that had happened, begged Sonya not to breath a word of it to Skanisse, then given the Windrider her father’s name. Asked if Sonya would go to the archives, perform one last favor for her.
Mireille had waited at Sonya’s for several nerve-wracking hours, half expecting the High Councilor himself to arrive with a cadre of agents to arrest her. She’d nearly collapsed with relief when Sonya finally returned and handed her the folder. Sonya had pulled her into a fierce hug, assured Mireille her secrets were safe, then told her to take care of herself.
That had been a week ago, and Mireille hadn’t yet found the courage to read it. Wanted to do it here in the cabin where she’d first heard her father’s voice. It felt like closure, of a kind.
Instead, the past week had been filled with exactly what she and Ronin had promised each other among the ruins of the Cathedral of Bones—rest and relaxation.
They’d journeyed out of Kheimos, traveling mostly in their wolf forms through the dense forests and snow-capped mountains, careful to keep out of sight.
Their blissful week had been full of barely anything other than long conversations, longer runs, hunting for game and sleeping beneath the stars.
Well, to be fair, there wasn’t much sleeping.
It was a wild, feral existence that Mireille was sure she could get quite used to. And Ronin hadn’t had a drop of Delirium the entire time. She was incredibly proud of him.
Mireille thought often of the young girl she’d seen in the Halfway with her father. He’d said she was centuries away fromexistence and that, when the time was right, Mireille would know how to find her.
In the meantime, Mireille figured her life was her own to live until she was called upon to fulfill that role. Whatever it may be.
And right now, she wanted nothing more than to live a quiet life in the woods with the wonderful male standing beside her.
“Well,” Ronin said, “shall we?”
Sweet Amatu, he isdelicious,Mireille’s wolf purred.
She pulled back her shoulders, gathering her courage. “Yes” was all she said before Ronin led her up the rickety steps and through the cabin door, which hung precariously on rusted hinges.
Her breath caught, and an ache pierced her chest at the sight of the small table before the crumbling hearth. Remembering themealshe’d been served in that vision during the seance.
She shook the thoughts away, then pulled out a chair covered in layers of dust and settled down gingerly. Ronin didn’t bother with the other chair—no way would it hold his weight. Instead, he leaned Mireille’s sword—the replica of her father’s—against the wall, then came up behind her, a pillar of warmth and strength at her back.
“You don’t have to do this,” he offered, his voice low and soft as he rubbed her shoulders. “Maybe it’s better to not know what happened to him. You said he seemed content in the Halfway. Perhaps it would be easier to remember him that way.”
Mireille dashed away a tear. “No,” she whispered. Then more firmly, “No. He deserves it. For me to honor his life after all those years of not knowing him.”
Ronin brushed her hair aside, then kissed her neck. “Do you want me to stay? Or would you prefer to read it alone?”
Mireille thought for a moment. She was grateful that Ronin was here to support her. But perhaps this momentwassomething she should experience on her own. Something sacred between her and Gareth.
She clasped Ronin’s hand, brushing her lips across his tattooed knuckles.
Inom Than. Become Death.
She thought he should change it toNikoch Than. Defy Death.
