Rhen moved through the darkness without attempting to conceal himself.
Cold air crossed his skin but offered neither punishment nor relief. Nothing the night could inflict would equal the sight of Leena’s blood soaking through his hands.
She should have been alive.
She should have been holding her son while Sule pretended he was not terrified of breaking something so small. She should have been making quiet observations nobody had requestedand issuing instructions Rhen ignored until he found himself following them.
Leena had never demanded softness from him.
She had simply looked directly at what he was and insisted that something human remained.
She had been wrong.
Rhen had loved her anyway.
He followed the path behind the gardens until the familiar scent of wet leaves and dying roses dragged a memory into the present.
Years earlier, Rhen had returned from a mission with his coat torn across one shoulder and another creature’s blood dried along his throat. The stronghold had been quiet, and every sensible person had already gone inside.
Leena remained seated upon a stone bench near the greenhouse.
An oversized sweater enveloped her narrow frame, almost certainly stolen from Sule, and steam curled from the cup held between her hands.
She looked at the blood covering Rhen and did not flinch.
“Tea?”
“No.”
Leena shrugged.
“More for me.”
Rhen intended to continue past her, but she spoke before he could leave.
“You broke the west training-room wall again.”
“Sule knows where to find me if he wants to complain.”
“You reinforced it last month.”
“It was inadequately built.”
“You built it.”
“Then I have identified the flaw.”
Leena hid a smile behind her cup.
“Do you want to talk about whatever happened?”
“No.”
“Would you like me to talk while you stand there pretending not to listen?”
Rhen gave her no answer.
Leena accepted the silence as permission.
