Muscles in Rune’s jaw flexed, and she could see the decision settling in him.
“We will crush them, Hanne. For what they did to you. To me. To both our kingdoms. I will bring their monarchs before you and together we will end this war. This alliance means more than anything else.”
A smile curled up the corners of Hanne’s lips. Maybe honesty wasn’t so bad after all, when used wisely.
37.
RUNE
Midnight.
Rune had been trying to fall asleep for hours already, but it wasn’t happening. He’d get partway there, his mind going fuzzy and thoughts spinning wherever they wanted, but then they’d land on reality: he was king, they were at war, and he was woefully unprepared. Without fail, his heart would skip and he’d jerk out of bed, and only after a long drink of wine did the anxious feeling leave.
Of course, then he worried he’d be hungover in the morning. When he had to lead his army to war. His father would have been disgusted. And when Rune thought about that, the sleepless hours just grew longer.
By midnight, he’d repeated the process three times and was finally falling asleep. Then—crash—something bashed against the balcony door.
He leaped out of bed and reached for his sword, but he quickly became entangled in his sheets.
It didn’t matter. The Nightrender strode in, a dark shape with her wings held wide, a revolting odor pouring off her. She glared down at him, finding him only half dressed and sprawled across the floor.
“Get up.” She yanked the sheets off him and flung them away, then paused, her head cocked as she listened. “She is in the other room.”
“Hanne? Yes.” Rune picked himself up and shook a small light globe, granting himself just enough illumination to see that the Nightrender was once again covered in vile substances. “Dear Known Numina. What happened to you?”
“Keep your voice down.” She glanced at the door that led to Hanne’s room, a storm flashing behind her dark eyes. “It is of vital importance that I speak with you, but she cannot overhear.”
Rune rubbed his face and tried to hide the way he shifted to breathing through his mouth. The Nightrender smelled like death. “All right. Should we go to your room? You can”—he wished he hadn’t drunk quite so much wine—”scrape off the massacre you’re wearing.”
He’d meant to tell a joke there, but his head buzzed with alcohol and it didn’t sound funny when he said it out loud.
The Nightrender clearly didn’t appreciate his attempt. “I set three fires, beheaded over a dozen revenants, and cleansed the malice from two towns. Surely you don’t expect me to be dressed for a royal ball.”
“Mal-devices! Right.” That was a little loud. In the next room, Hanne groaned, and if he didn’t want to wake her, he needed to get out of here as quickly—and quietly—as possible. “Go,” he said, waving the Nightrender to the balcony again. “I’ll meet you in your room in five minutes.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be late. Time is short.”
“I’ll be there,” he promised.
Then she was gone, out the window and into the air.
It took more than five minutes for him to pull himself together and put on real clothes, but finally he got out the door and into the parlor, where Hanne waited by the fountain. She’d lit one of the globes, so light sparkled across the water and gemstones, casting her in a gentle glow.
“Where are you going?” She smoothed down her nightgown, giving him a glimpse of the shape of her body.
“Taking a walk. That’s all.” He didn’t move from his bedroom door, because he had the strangest sensation that if he walked past her, he’d get caught in her gravity and find himself unable to leave. Anyway, should he leave? She was his wife, and he was sneaking off to see another woman.
But the Nightrender wasn’t interested in him like that, so it didn’t matter. Did it?
It mattered because seeing her mattered to him.
Rune would go to her, his heart filled with longing, while his wife—the woman he was supposed to be spending time with—sat here alone, wondering where he’d gone.
The Nightrender needed to tell him something, though. And he was her summoner—her Dawnbreaker, at least in name.
“Can’t sleep?” Hanne said almost gently.
He shook his head; his voice couldn’t be trusted.
“All right.” Hanne ran her fingers through her curls, and again he thought he should stay.
Before he lost his nerve, he slipped past his bride and went into the hall. John Taylor was on duty, waiting just outside the door, and the guard fell into step behind Rune without being directed; the entire castle was on alert after the assassination the previous night.
On one hand, Rune was glad he (probably) wouldn’t be assassinated in his own home, thanks to John’s presence (although Opus always had had several guards with him…). On the other hand, it was difficult to sneak off to see the Nightrender if he wasn’t alone.
“I need you not to ask questions,” Rune said.
“It isn’t my place.”
“And you won’t comment about this,” Rune went on. “To anyone else, I mean.”
“Of course not.” Irritation stung the guard’s voice.
Finally, they reached the base of the Nightrender’s tower. “Wait here,” Rune said.
The guard’s jaw hardened against whatever protest he might have voiced, but he nodded. Rune wound his way up the stairs and opened the unlocked door.
The Nightrender had already cleaned up and washed her armor, so she smelled considerably better. And thank goodness, because he didn’t have the stomach to bear it again. Now, she stood in front of a newly polished mirror, wearing a focused frown as she jerked a comb through her long, tangled hair.
Rune shut the door, and her gaze flicked up to meet his in the mirror.
She threw the comb down. “I thought you would be here sooner.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I was delayed.”
She just glared at him. “I have something important to tell you.”
His shoulders sagged as he glanced around her room. It was nicer than before, but not nice enough. There was a table with two wooden chairs; a washbasin and a tub, both filled by tap; and light globes in sconces along the walls. She deserved more.
When he was king—wait, he was king now. Fine, then. He would ensure the Nightrender had quarters to rival a queen’s. He’d make it a royal decree.
“Sit.” Her tone softened. “Tell me why you are sad and drunk.”