He went rigid beneath her.
He’s alive.
“It’s me,” she said. “Rune.”
She withdrew the knife from his throat. The moment shedid, he grabbed it and flipped her onto her back. Rune winced as her wounds tore, pain flooding her anew.
“Prove it.” He pressed the knife’s cold tip to her heart, ready to plunge it in. “Prove you’re her and not some other witch wearing her voice.”
His body was tight as a coiled spring.
But this wasGideon. Rune wasn’t afraid of him. Just the opposite: she wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let go.
It seemed impossible that she had found him. That he was even alive.
What is he doing at Wintersea?
“The last time you saw me,” she whispered, “I was stealing apples from your cupboard. You asked me if I’d miss you. I said no.”
His breath shuddered.
“Liar.” He dropped the blade and lowered his forehead to hers. “You said you’d miss me the way a fox misses a wolf.”
“Which is not at all.”
She could almost feel him smile in the darkness. He slid his palms over her jaw, taking her face in his hands. His touch was a balm. Rune wanted to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him close, but the wounds on her back had reopened, and the longer he pressed her into the floor, the worse it hurt.
The pain made her stiffen.
Gideon felt it and pulled immediately away, misunderstanding her.
She wanted to explain—except that would require telling him what Cressida did. Gideon would want her to show him the scars. AndthatRune would never do.
She wanted him to remember her as she had been: beautiful, not… flayed.
Nothideous.
The weight of Gideon lifted as he got to his feet and relit a candle. In the flickering light, Rune remembered her disheveled state and what Soren had done. She sat up and scuttled toward the wall. But it was too late. Gideon saw her torn bodice and the ripped shift beneath.
His eyes blackened.
“Who did this to you?”
Rune glanced at the floor, feeling ashamed without knowing why. She gripped the torn fabric, holding it closed over her chest.
Gideon dropped to his knees in front of her, the heat of his rage rolling off him. But his voice was less of a growl now. He was controlling it, she realized. For her sake. “Rune. Give me his name.”
Tears burned in her eyes as she remembered the moment with Soren in the hall. She wanted to tell him, but her throat wouldn’t work. The words wouldn’t come.
“It doesn’t matter,” she managed. “I killed him. I took your advice and didn’t hesitate.”
Gideon studied her in the candlelight, eyes ferocious, brow furrowed. He lifted his hand to tuck her messy hair behind her ear. His hand lingered, then dropped. As if he wasn’t sure if she wanted to be touched. “I suppose that saves me the effort of killing him myself.”
“I thought they killedyou,” she whispered as they stared at each other. Her fingers itched to trace the lines of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, the stern ridge of his brow. “I thought I’d never see you again.” Her voice broke.
He softened. “I thought you were leaving.”
“I did leave.”
