Page 97 of Between Smoke and Shadow
“You were a hero today, Rune,” she says. Her words are harsh, fierce. “You deserve to be remembered as one.”
I don’t say anything now—I can’t hardly form a thought.
“I told everyone the truth. When they asked what happened, I told them a servant killed the Architect to save the prince’s life,” she says. “You defied magic itself to save someone you love—and what’s more powerful than that?”
“They won’t see it that way,” I say. I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel the tears on my cheeks. “They will kill me for this.”
“Who?” she asks, and her words are as hard as a blade. “They will have to get through Joran and Dae, through me, through Harrick…throughyou, Rune. No one can touch you.”
“We will kill them if they so much as try,” Joran vows.
I can’t find the words to respond, probably because there aren’t any strong enough to describe the relief and gratitude I feel in my chest. Finally, I settle with the bare minimum.
“Thank you,” I say. I wipe the tears from my face. “Truly.”
“We’ll let you rest,” she says. She squeezes my shoulder as she rises, and I somehow keep from flinching. “It looks like the healer is finishing up.”
I follow her gaze, to where the healer pulls his coat back into place. He looks exhausted, sickly almost, as he steps from Harrick’s side.
“He may need more work,” the man says. “Fetch me if he does. For now, I think his best healing will happen through sleep.”
“He should heal your face,” Joran says. I realize he’s speaking to me. “You’re bruised.”
“It’s all right,” I say. Maybe I imagine it, but I think the healer sighs with relief.
“Princess—”
“I don’t want to be healed. I just want to sleep.” I do my best to sound confident and assured, like there’s no room to argue. I’ve never spoken like this in my life, but if I ever want to help Savoa, I can’t fear my own voice.
I expect Joran to argue, but as if realizing my nerves, he nods. Within minutes, he leads Tora and the healer from Harrick’s quarters.
“I will be right outside, if you need me,” he says, lingering at the doorway.
“You should rest—” I start, but Joran is already closing the door.
I curl against Harrick’s side. Joran and the healer changed his bedding and clothes, so there is only soft warmth surrounding us. He is safe and alive, his wounds closed and the bruising faded. The healer placed magic to help him sleep, and his breath comes gently, smoothly.
“I love you,” I whisper against his neck, and then I drift to sleep too.
I waketo Harrick screaming my name. I jolt upright, heart leaping into my throat. I’ve got my hands raised—to do what, I’m not sure—when I realize Harrick is still asleep. He lies rigid on the bed beside me, eyes closed but body tense. His arm swings blindly, and I tumble off the bed to avoid his fist. As I return to my feet, the door crashes open.
Joran’s attention jumps between us, and he instantly slouches against the door in relief. He looks half-dead, his eyes so shadowed with exhaustion I’m surprised he’s still awake. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep in the hallway, and that’s why it took him an entire two seconds to get in here.
“My prince,” he says. He glances over me before crossing the room and pressing his hand to Harrick’s chest. Magic sparks from Joran’s fingertips, faint, but enough to shock Harrick awake. He flings upright, narrowly avoiding a collision with his guard’s forehead.
“Where is she?” Harrick demands, stumbling out of bed. He’s got his hand on Joran’s collar, only relaxing slightly when he realizes who stands before him. His chest heaves as he frantically looks at his surroundings, and it’s clear he doesn’t know how he got here.
“It’s okay,” I say. I’m trembling as I reach for him. “I’m right?—”
Harrick crushes me to his chest, pulling me into an embrace. His lips land on my temple, my cheek, my neck. Joran says something, but I don’t hear a word of it.
“You’re alive,” Harrick says. He’s still breathing hard, lips tickling the side of my neck. “Gods, you’re—are you okay? Look at me. Are you okay?”
He pulls back, then in a single move sweeps me up and places me back onto the bed. He balances his weight on one hand and traces my cheek with the other. His touch is so gentle it tickles, and I smile up at him. Hours ago, I was sure we’d both be dead. The fact we’re here, tangled in the sheets of his luxury bed…
“I love you,” I say.
He kisses me then, hard and fast, pulling back entirely too soon.
