Page 112 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

The woman gathers her supplies, while Olin mixes the poultice by the fire. She kneels beside them again and cleans the wound.

“This next part is going to hurt; you’ll need to keep her still.” She looks to Rye. “Ready?”

Rye nods. The needle pierces her skin, and the scream that follows turns my blood to ice. Rye absorbs it like a blow, jaw clenched, eyes shut for a single breath before he forces himself steady. She’s shaking and delirious. Her eyes fly open.

“Run—” She cries out. “Run, please⁠—”

“Shh.” Rye pulls her closer. “We’re safe, sweetheart. You don’t need to run.”

But she’s not listening, not seeing him. Her eyes are somewhere far away, fixed on something none of us can see.

“Run—” Her voice breaks. “I need you⁠—”

Rye looks at me over her head, confusion flickering across his face.

I don’t have answers for him. I don’t understand it either.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

The woman works faster now, stitch after stitch. Gemma writhes, sobs and calls out for something we can’t give her.

Not run, not quite. It’s softer at the end. Ren?

I tell him it’s delirium, blood loss, shock. It’s the only truth I can give him without breaking him, but as she fades again, that word lingers. Whatever she’s running from didn’t start tonight; I’ve always known that. She’s been carrying something the whole time I’ve known her, something she’s never let me close enough to see in all these years. It hurts more than I let her know, but if it keeps her safe, it’s a cost I’ll pay every time.

When it’s done, Rye wraps her in a thick blanket and settles in behind her with his arms around her, keeping her upright. I don’t bother telling him to sleep. I can see it in the set of his jaw, the way his eyes keep dropping to her face, tracking every breath, every movement, that he won’t listen even if I do.

I sink into the worn chair beside the fire. Exhaustion presses down on me, the miles, the cold, the fear, all of it landing at once like a physical weight.

Chapter 36

Ryewood

Iblink awake to a dark cabin, with the fire burned low. Through the window, the sky is orange with purple bleeding in. It’s evening.

Gemma is still in my arms, still warm, and still breathing. Relief hits sharp and disorienting.

Grier is behind me, solid and unmoving. This man. He carried her when my arms failed. Talked me down when I couldn’t breathe, held me up so I could hold her.

He’s done this before. The time he found me when I was fifteen after one of my father’s lessons, with my chest seizing and the world narrowing to nothing, and I hadn’t even known what was happening to me. He’d taken my face in his hands and made me breathe with him until I came back. He always just shows up.

And now I have the woman he loves cradled in my arms. I’m not sorry for loving her, but I feel what it costs him.

I look down at Gemma; she’s far too pale.

“You need to eat.” Marel’s voice cuts through the room, firm but kind. “You’re gray as ash. You’re no good to her if you collapse.”

I want to argue, but my eyes are pulled back to Gemma.

“I’ve got her.” Grier is already moving, coming around to my side.

I hesitate my arms tightening around her instinctively.

“Rye.” His voice is gentle and patient. “I’ve got her. She won’t be alone.”

I know he’ll take care of her. But every part of me is screaming not to let go. Like if I release her, she’ll slip away, and the earth will open again and finish what it started.

“Just for a moment,” I say, more to myself than to him.