“That doesn’t seem true.”
He snorted. “Well, anyway, that was my stupid way of saying that while I might not be having kids, I … I get what you’re saying. I have people in my life who will, and for their kids, their families … I’ll do whatever I have to.”
But she was having none of his deflecting. “You are kind, and caring. And seem to love those around you. I can’t think of anything else needed to be a father.”
“How about growing the Hel up and not partying so much?”
She laughed. “All right. Maybe that.”
He smiled slightly. Faint, distant stars glowed in the darkness around them.
She said, “You seem unsettled.”
“I saw a bunch of fucked-up shit today. I was having a hard time sleeping before you knocked.”
“Knocked?”
“Whatever you want to call it. Summoned me.”
“Shall I tell you a story to help you sleep?” Her voice was wry.
“Yeah.” He’d call her bluff.
But she only said, “All right.”
He blinked. “Really?”
“Why not?” She motioned for him to lie down. So Ruhn did, closing his eyes.
Then, to his shock, she came and sat beside him. Brushed a burning hand through his hair. Warm and gentle—tentative.
She began, “Once upon a time, before Luna hunted the heavens and Solas warmed Cthona’s body, before Ogenas blanketed Midgard with water and Urd twined our fates together, there lived a young witch in a cottage deep in the woods. She was beautiful, and kind, and beloved by her mother. Her mother had done her best to raise her, with her only companions being the denizens of the forest itself: birds and beasts and the babbling brooks …”
Her voice, lovely and fair and steady, flowed through him like music. Her hand brushed through his hair again and he reined in his purr.
“She grew older, strong and proud. But a wandering prince passed by her clearing one day when her mother was gone, beheld her beauty, and wanted her desperately to be his bride.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a comforting story,” Ruhn muttered.
She laughed softly, tugging on a strand of his hair. “Listen.”
Ruhn figured to Hel with it and shifted, laying his head on her lap. The fire did not burn him, and the thigh beneath was firm with muscle, yet supple. And that scent …
Day went on, “She had no interest in princes, or in ruling a kingdom, or in any of the jewels he offered. What she wanted was a true heart to love her, to run wild with her through the forest. But the prince would not be denied. He chased her through the wood, his hounds following.”
Ruhn’s body relaxed, limb by limb. He breathed in her scent, her voice, her warmth.
“As she ran, she pleaded with the forest she loved so dearly to help her. So it did. First, it transformed her into a deer, so she might be as swift as the wind. But his hounds outraced her, closing in swiftly. Then the forest turned her into a fish, and she fled down one of the mountain streams. But he built a weir at its base to trap her. So she became a bird, a hawk, and soared for the skies. But the prince was a skilled archer, and he fired one of his iron-tipped arrows.”
Ruhn drifted, quiet and calm. When was the last time anyone had told him a story to lull him to sleep?
“It struck her breast, and where her blood fell, olive trees sprouted. As her body hit the earth, the forest transformed her one last time …”
Ruhn woke, still on the mind-bridge. Day lay on the couch across from him, asleep as well, her body still veiled with flame.
He stood, crossing the distance to her.
A princess of fire, sleeping, waiting for a knight to awaken her. He knew that story. It tugged at the back of his mind. A sleeping warrior-princess surrounded by a ring of fire, damned to lie there until a warrior brave enough to face the flames could cross them.
Day turned over, and through the flame, he glimpsed a hint of long hair draped over the arm of the couch—
He backed away a step. But somehow she heard, and shot upright. Flame erupted around her as Ruhn retreated to his own couch. “What were you doing?”
Ruhn shook his head. “I … I wanted to know how the story ended. I fell asleep as the witch was pierced with an arrow.”
Day jumped up from her couch, walking around it—putting it between them. Like he’d crossed some major line.
But she said, “The forest turned the witch into a monster before she hit the earth. A beast of claws and fangs and bloodlust. She ripped the prince and hounds who pursued her into shreds.”
“And that’s it?” Ruhn demanded.
“That’s it,” Day said, and walked into the darkness, leaving only embers drifting behind.
PART III
THE PIT
48
Ruhn paced in front of Bryce’s TV, his phone at his ear. The tattoos on his forearms shifted as he clenched the phone tight. But his voice was calm, heavy, as he said, “All right, thanks for looking, Dec.”
Bryce watched Ruhn’s face as her brother hung up, and knew exactly what he was going to say. “No luck?”
Ruhn slumped back against her couch cushions. “No. What we saw on Sofie’s arm doesn’t come up anywhere.”
Bryce nestled into Hunt on the other end of the couch while the angel talked to Isaiah on the phone. Upon arriving back in Lunathion courtesy of a few Blue Court wave skimmers, Tharion had gone Beneath to see his queen. It was unlikely that the River Queen would know what the numbers and letters carved onto Sofie’s biceps meant, but it was worth a shot.
Cormac had found thirty messages from his father waiting for him, asking after his whereabouts, so he’d gone off to the Autumn King’s villa to convince the male—and therefore his father—that he’d been accompanying Bryce to Nidaros.
Bryce supposed she should clue her parents in about the official cover story, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. She needed to settle—calm her racing mind—a bit first.
Frankly, it was a miracle the Hind and her dreadwolves hadn’t been waiting at the apartment. That the news wasn’t broadcasting all of their faces with a REBEL TRAITORS banner slapped beneath it. But a skim of the news while Ruhn had talked to Dec showed nothing.
So she’d spent the last few minutes trying hard to teleport from the couch to the kitchen.
Nothing. How had she done it during sex? She wasn’t due for her lesson with Ruhn and Cormac until tomorrow, but she wanted to show up with some idea.
Bryce concentrated on the kitchen stools. I am here. I want to go there. Her magic didn’t so much as budge. Two points in space. I’m folding a piece of paper, joining them. My power is the pencil that punctures through the paper, linking them—
Hunt said, “Yeah. Ember grilled me, but we’re good. We had a nice time.” He winked at Bryce, even though the casual gesture didn’t quite light his eyes. “All right. I’ll see you at the meeting later.” Hunt hung up the phone and sighed. “Unless they’ve got a dagger digging into his back, it seems like Isaiah has no clue about what went down at Ydra. Or that the Hind saw any of us.”
“What game is she playing?” Ruhn said, toying with his lip ring. “You really think Isaiah wasn’t playing it cool to lure you to the Comitium later?”