He was staring at her, he knew, but she’d just saved his life when he’d meant to save hers—and there was something significant about the way he’d felt when she touched him.
Or perhaps not. Perhaps the rancor encounter had rattled his mind into nothingness.
“I’m fine.” A lie. She’d know it, too, he was certain, because his guards were dead just over there and the princess was nowhere to be found.
“That was unwise—attacking the rancor like you did.”
“I was trying to help.”
Her wings opened wide as she strode toward him, and though they were of similar heights, he suddenly felt small. “I am the Sword of the Numina, the Hero Eternal. I alone stand between you and infinite darkness. I do not need to be rescued.”
He swallowed hard.
“Now”—she bent to take his fallen sword, then tossed it to him—”this is yours.”
Reflexively, Rune caught the hilt. His burned hand throbbed, but he didn’t drop his weapon again. He sheathed it, fighting to control his expression against the pain. “Thank you.”
She flicked her own sword clean and marched across the wasteland of the malsite. Within minutes, she’d cut away the pellicle for good. Rune couldn’t see it, but he could feel the entire thing ribboning and rippling to the earth. A change in the air pressure. A knot of tension evaporating. The false afternoon fading into night.
He didn’t miss the way the work seemed to cause her pain.
“What about that?” He nodded toward the fissure, which belched hot gas and spurts of molten rock.
She regarded it with a frown. “It’ll have to stay, for now. We’ll just have to hope nothing worse comes out of it.”
“Worse?”
“There are other planes. Surely everyone still knows this. It’s possible that there are other gateways buried below the crust of the earth.” Her black gaze shifted to his. “You should have stayed on the far side. I was able to save you from the rancor. I would not have been able to rescue you from the fissure; there was no time.”
He didn’t particularly want to talk about his poor decision-making skills anymore. He’d done his best.
“What was that rancor?” he asked. “Some kind of prince or general?”
The Nightrender cocked her head.
“It just seemed very strong. From what I’ve read, it always sounds like the fights are over quickly. But this…” He clamped his mouth shut. It was probably a bad idea to suggest she’d been struggling.
She gave him a long look, a tired expression that reminded him just how old she was, how she’d been doing this for thousands of years. “The battle for your souls has never been easy.”
He lowered his eyes.
“There are princes and kings and generals,” the Nightrender said after a moment. “Rancor have hierarchies, just as you do, but the positions are won by conquest and slaughter, not inherited by blood. I have not been to the Dark Shard, but my impression is that it is ruled by a thousand different kings. The rancor that come through the Rupture might be sent by a superior, but…”
“The superiors themselves don’t usually come here?” Rune guessed.
She shook her head. “Kings are trapped in the Dark Shard unless summoned by name, and such a summoning would take an incredible amount of power. Besides, they have their own endless wars to keep them engaged.”
“Then what did it mean when it talked about its king?” My king could make you great. Rune suppressed a shudder.
The Nightrender opened her mouth like she knew the answer to that, but nothing came out. She took a deep breath and then said, “I used to know. I’m certain I knew before, but that memory is gone.”
Rune’s heart twisted. It was hard to see someone as strong as the Nightrender made vulnerable by something so insidious and invisible. “If you need help,” he said cautiously, “you can tell me anything you want to remember, and I’ll remember it for you. I will not forget. I will never forget anything you tell me, I swear it.”
She gave him a tired, curious look, like she didn’t believe him. Then, at last she said, “I dreamed of a castle. Bones and death. A terrible choice.” She swallowed hard. “I can’t recall anything else about it. Just a castle in the center of the Malice.”
The Nightrender could dream. “Do you think the castle had something to do with a rancor king?”
“I don’t know.” Irritation filled her tone. “I don’t remember anything else. I just”—she swallowed hard—”thought I would tell you in case I forget.”
“Oh.” Guilt bubbled in his chest. “What about your wounds?” Rune asked. “Do they hurt?”
“I will recover.” She motioned for him to join her by the edge of the ex-malsite. “More quickly than you will. Show me your hands.”
He held up his palms; blisters already covered the burned one, and both were crusted with blood and dirt.
“You need to treat those,” she said. “Before the wounds become infected. Go to that stream. I must check the perimeter to be certain no malice remains.”
When she was gone, Rune spent a moment staring at the half-decayed bodies of his guards. He wished they hadn’t come. He wished he’d borne this risk alone. He wished he had commanded them to remain in Brink.
But he hadn’t, and now he would have to arrange for recovery of their bodies. He’d have to notify their families, first with letters, later with a personal visit—if they would have him.
Heart heavy, he picked his way through the flattened trees and over the clean line where the pellicle used to stand. One side: a lush summer forest. The other: remnants of a nightmare made reality. Then, he lowered himself to the ground—well away from the ex-malsite and the shredded corpses of his men—and thrust his hands into the fast-moving stream, letting cold water wash the grit from his burns. It stung, but he didn’t care. This whole thing had been for nothing.
The princess hadn’t been here.
But the rancor had.
There was only one way that math worked: the rancor had killed Princess Johanne, and the alliance was lost forever. Rune had failed.
12.
HANNE
She was out. That was all that mattered.
Such was Hanne’s mantra as she stumbled through the Deepway Woods, and when she staggered down the empty road, and when she slouched across someone’s farm. Though it must have been very early morning—and she’d been moving for hours already—everything was still and quiet, as though she were a ghost no one could see.