Between Smoke and Shadow

18. Rune

EIGHTEEN

RUNE

The light comes back on as Harrick gets to his feet. I sit up, still wearing my mask. I’d normally take it off to sleep, but I’m too anxious tonight, here in this unfamiliar place. Through the haze of my veil, I watch Harrick stand against the bed, blush darkening his face.

“I would,” he says. He shifts on his feet, looking painfully uncomfortable. “If you’re offering.”

“I am,” I say. I crawl from beneath the covers, sitting cross-legged over the quilted fabric. I try to keep myself from trembling as he sits across from me, but I can’t help it. If Harrick notices, he doesn’t comment. He sits in the spot across from me, keeping too much distance between us. His attention skims over me, hands half-raised toward me.

“May I—” he asks, keeping his hands lifted but motionless between us.

“Yes,” I say. I scoot closer, breath hitching at the base of my throat.

Harrick cups my face. His touch is firm but gentle as his fingers glide across my cheeks to the back of my head. He is delicate as he unties the mask, pausing as it comes undone. His eyes lock on mine, and I don’t look away, even as my instincts beg me to. It isn’t until I nod that he lowers the mask, letting it fall between us.

There’s a heavy pause, so quiet I’m sure he can hear my thundering heart. I force steady breaths and count the colors in his irises. Violet, nightwater, indigo, near-black.

Harrick doesn’t say anything for a long time. A contented smile dances over his lips, as his eyes roam lazily over my features. He looks at me like he’d be happy to do this for hours. I’d let him, I realize, if he asked.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ve been looking far too long, haven’t I? It’s probably scary for you.”

“I don’t mind,” I say. Then, because I want him to know, I add, “I—I trust you.”

“Do you?” he asks. There’s no malice in the question.

“More than almost anyone,” I admit. “Trust doesn’t…come naturally to me.”

“Nor should it,” he says with a sympathetic nod. His eyes are on mine again. “I want you to trust me though, Rune. I really do. I promise not to let you down.”

“Okay,” I say, as if it’s that easy. It occurs to me that I might be the less trustworthy of the two of us. I’m the one planning to dethrone him .

Harrick sighs.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he says, as though to himself. His face suddenly turns pink, and he blinks at me in shock. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

My body feels like it’s malfunctioning. This day has been impossible from the moment I was retrieved from my quarters to right now. I’ve never felt anything near beautiful, but Harrick is certainly staring at me like I am.

“You think I’m beautiful?” I ask, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.

“Of course you are,” he says. He says it like it’s the only possible answer. Blush rises through his entire face, touching the very tips of his ears. “But I wasn’t…I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not,” I say.

My heart hammers so fast it’s hard to think of anything else. I am tempted to tell Harrick he’s beautiful too, but he probably would find it strange, unwarranted. He already knows he’s the most stunning man alive—he certainly doesn’t need a servant telling him.

Still, I don’t want this moment to end. I can feel it slipping away, and I scramble for something to say before he decides to leave.

“When you kissed me in the training arena,” I say carefully. Harrick stiffens at my words, but I keep going. “Was it enjoyable? For you, I mean?”

“No,” he says. He may as well have punched me in the gut, but he’s quick to explain. “I hated myself the entire time. I knew I was scaring you, and I was sure you’d never talk to me again.”

“I understood.”

“I know,” he says. He studies my lips now, more brazenly than he has in the past. “I didn’t like that kiss, Rune, because you didn’t want it. But if you wanted me to…I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more.”

“I’ve never done it before,” I say. My voice shakes, and I’m sure it’s from my tumultuous pulse. “I’m probably terrible at it.”

“You couldn’t be,” he says. His eyes meet mine again, shadowed by a desperation I feel echoed in my most secret thoughts. “I wouldn’t care if you were, honestly. Just tell me to kiss you, Rune. Let me kiss you.”

I don’t know who I am or what’s become of me because I don’t even take a moment to think. I’m nodding before he’s finished speaking, saying, “please” as if this is my only chance.

He gently presses his mouth against mine, and he’s right. This kiss is nothing like the first. There’s no fear, no confusion. There is nothing panicked or reckless about his movements. He is slow and purposeful, lips delicately soft as they explore mine. He tastes me like he’s been desperate to, teeth grazing my lower lip, tongue meeting mine.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs. His lips break away from my mouth, placing kisses across my jaw and down the sensitive skin of my neck. “So fucking perfect.”

His hands settle on my hips, tugging me closer. I’ve never done this before, but it’s as if my body was made for this moment. For him . I clutch his shoulders, digging my nails into the stiff fabric of his shirt. He hums in approval, and it’s all the confidence I need to slide my fingers up, up, up. His hair is softer than it looks, thicker too.

“Rune, you taste so fucking good,” he says. His voice is raspy, almost desperate, and when his mouth returns to mine, he runs his tongue along my lower lip.

I part for him, and he claims my mouth as if it’s always been his. I moan, and Harrick captures the sound with his kiss. His hands brush up and down my sides, never going too high or too low. I lean against him, silently begging him to do more. To touch me anywhere and everywhere he wants.

Unsteady gasps break from my throat, and it feels like I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I’m not sure I need oxygen at this point. I only need this, him , pressed against me with this overwhelming urgency. He’s unwinding me, devouring me, and I find myself desperate to be fully and wholly undone, so long as it’s by him.

By the time we finally pull back, my lips swollen and my heart racing, I meet Harrick’s eyes without hesitation. I can count five shades of violet, each more beautiful than the last. My pulse jumps as I wait for his next move, and I’m somehow both relieved and disappointed when he excuses himself to get a glass of water.

I slide beneath the covers, flipping the blanket down on his side too. Minutes later, he comes back into the room, eyebrows raised at my gesture. He doesn’t speak, letting the question hang silently in the air.

“You can sleep in the bed,” I say. “If you want.”

“You don’t mind?” he asks. He’s staring at me with such intensity, it’s impossible to look away.

“I don’t mind,” I say, when I really mean, I want nothing more.

Harrick crawls into bed, still wearing his slacks and shirt. We face each other, and even once Harrick turns off the light, I stare at him through the darkness. We don’t touch, but I eventually fall asleep to the steady sound of him breathing and wake with his arms wrapped around me.

We leave the Wilds early the next morning. I’m sad to go, especially once I learn where we’re headed. The City of Mirrors was my home for eight cycles, but it’s not somewhere I long to return. If I ever escape the Tower, it’s where I’ll end up. Not because I’ve missed it, but because it’s the only place I can realistically survive.

It’s where all the rebels will go. Between the City’s crumbling buildings and its rabid hunters, it’s by far the cheapest sector in Savoa. Most commoners live there too, making it the easiest place to avoid capture. It’s also the most depressing, so a part of me wishes we could skip it. I’m not sure how long our journey will last, but I would much rather see the Pit or the Reaping Grounds than the decrepit and impoverished City.

It doesn’t really matter where we’re going though. I’m still struggling to grasp that Harrick is taking me anywhere at all. He sits beside me in our carriage, head tipped back and eyes closed in the image of perfect contentment. Meanwhile, I watch the Deadlands pass through the carriage window, trying not to think about our kiss.

I fail. My entire body feels like it’s pulsing with exposed nerves. Flickers of last night invade my every thought: how he touched me, held me, made me feel like I was beautiful and important. He kept looking at me like whatever was happening between us mattered, and I’m still not sure what to make of it.

I know I should just enjoy this while it lasts, but I can’t help mourning the inevitable end.

I shake my head and stand, crossing the small space to look through the window. Outside, the sun scorches against the endless expanse of dry black stone. The air seems to bend with the outrageous heat, and even in here, the oxygen feels too thin. I’m convinced I might suffocate, even as I’m breathing.

“Are the horses all right?” I ask. I can just see ours from here. Because the Deadlands don’t have magic, we needed animals to pull our carriages. They must be fatigued, dehydrated.

“Yes,” he says. His eyes are open now, and I’m unsurprised to find him watching me. I took my mask off as soon as we were alone, and his wide smile made me wish I could leave it off forever. “They’ve made this journey many times. I’ll make sure they’re well attended once we get to the City.”

I nod, struggling to think of something more to say. Harrick rises and comes to sit beside me, stooping to avoid the ceiling.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Warm,” I admit. Without magic, it’s sweltering inside the cabin. “Otherwise, I feel fine.”

“My head is killing me,” he says after a long pause. “My magic sort of rebels here. Feels like it’s trying to escape through my skull.”

“Not your hands?” I ask. I turn to face him. “I thought it came from your palms.”

“It can come from anywhere,” he says. He turns, fingers gently capturing the edge of my sleeve. “I use my hands to cast, but the magic has a life of its own. If I get upset—or I’m here —the magic gets restless.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. I move to touch him, only to decide against it at the last second. “Can I do anything to help?”

Harrick grins now.

“Yeah, stop overthinking,” he says. His smile is the lightest I’ve seen it. He pulls me back to the bench and nestles me into his side. Despite the heat, I find myself leaning closer. I can feel his smile against the side of my head. “I’m going to rest my eyes, just for a moment. Wake me if I fall asleep, okay?”

Harrick does fall asleep, but he looks far too peaceful to wake. I take turns watching him sleep and searching the horizon for the City of Mirrors. Not long after I’ve memorized every sharp angle and smooth edge of his face, the City of Mirrors finally comes into view.

It sends a sharp pang through my gut, and for the first time in cycles, I think about home . I wonder, if I followed the zig-zag of streets, would my home still stand where it once did? Would our things still be in place, as if waiting for us to return? I close my eyes and let myself imagine it. Mom’s sick bed would still be unmade. My collection of found objects would still be tucked behind my dresser. Dad’s drawings would still line the walls.

We were poor, even for City standards, but that was our home. And maybe I wouldn’t hate returning so much, if I could return to the last place I felt loved and safe.

I study the buildings as they come into closer view. They are all sizes and shapes, made from cycles of destruction and reconstruction. Built of shattered glass and warped metal and broken concrete, these buildings are each hideous in their own way. Patchy framework, rusted pipes, lopsided walls. Some doors are oddly short, others too narrow. The only commonality between these structures are their perilous designs and their collection of mirrors. Dozens line each building, secured with impossibly intricate knots.

It’s another flicker of memory. Mom once taught me how to tie those knots, how to make them too troublesome for hunters to bother removing. Without consciously deciding to, I finger the sliver of mirror beneath my sleeve.

The carriage turns, and the Chapter Building comes into view. It’s the tallest structure in the City, settled on the highest hill. This is where elites and descendants stay during their visits, and these streets are where they hunt . Monsters like Malek and Sorace and so many more find their prey here, and these mirrors are the commoners’ only chance to survive. If they can avoid eye contact—they just might make it.

The streets are emptier here than they were on my family’s side of the City. While we were surrounded by impoverished houses, and lived in one ourselves, we were far enough from the City’s center to avoid the worst of the hunters. We were cautious, always, but not like the people here have to be.

Despite all the mirrors around us, the streets are mostly empty. A handful of people walk from one building to another, but they’re quick to get inside as we approach.

The carriage jostles over cracked pavement, inclined to force water away from the nicer buildings. As we drive, the mismatched and cobbled buildings transition into purposeful and aesthetically pleasing ones. The Chapter Building stands at the center of them all, a miniature version of the Tower itself.

“They still hunt here,” Harrick says, startling me. I didn’t realize he’d woken, but he’s staring at me with a careful expression. “The descendants. It’s outlawed, but nobody enforces it.”

I nod, unsure what I’m supposed to say.

“Keep your mask secured. Always,” Harrick says. “And don’t go anywhere without me. It’s not safe.”

“I won’t,” I say. The lie is bitter on my tongue, as if I’ve swallowed ash. After last night, it feels wrong. But Harrick’s attention won’t last long, and once it’s gone, I’ll need Berg’s information if I want to survive.

I spend the next day in a constant state of anxiety. Harrick’s team claims an entire level of the Chapter Building, with his quarters—and subsequently, mine—on the western side and everyone else’s on the eastern side. After over an hour of soft kisses and Harrick’s gentle praises, I’d fallen asleep with his arms wrapped around me.

Early this morning, I’d awoken to his lips on my forehead. We ate breakfast together until my stomach ached with fullness, and then, he left with two guards. They’ve been gone ever since, and I’ve spent most of the day in the sprawling kitchen. Alven flickers in and out of view, but he takes his time before approaching. It’s late in the afternoon, with the sun beginning to dip beneath the mountains, when he finally does.

As I scrub the spotless counter for a fifth time, too anxious to be still, Alven slides into place beside me. He sorts through the rationed food, separating it into nonsensical groups. Across the room, a pair of guards sit with a round table between them. They’re too absorbed in their piece of parchment to pay us any attention.

From beside me, Alven shifts. He’s still faced away, but he’s close enough I can hear him.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. My cheeks bloom, partly because I know what he thinks and partly because I can’t correct him. I have to let him think Harrick hurt me, but I still feel ashamed for doing it. Before Alven can say anything more, I get to the point. “Where do I find him?”

Alven moves the grains into a pile before organizing the vegetables by color.

“He’ll be at the base of the mountain. An hour’s time,” he says. He shifts a few vegetables to the pile of grains. “It’s a farther distance than I hoped, and a bit more complicated, but I’ve drafted instructions.”

I don’t know when he pulls out the parchment, but by the time I’ve looked, it’s already settled in my palm. The paper feels hot on my skin, and I’m terrified the guards have noticed. A quick glance their way ensures they haven’t.

“Just take it one step at a time, all right?” Alven says. “Once you get?—”

“I can’t read,” I say. My embarrassment lodges in my throat until it feels like I’m choking on it. “Vale—Vale should have told you. I can’t. I don’t know how to read.”

“Fuck.” Alven snatches the paper back, once again moving before I’ve realized it. He’s quick and sharp, a stealthy spy in ways I’ve never been. And he can read. Not to mention write.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Clearing my throat, I force myself to stay focused. “You’ll have to explain it. I’ll remember it.”

I hope, anyway.

“Fuck,” Alven says again. He shuffles the food forcefully on the counter, and I scrub the already cleaned sink. There’s a few beats of silence between us before he speaks in the same, quiet rush. “I’ll go with you. I can get you there, but you’re meeting him alone. I’m not getting in too deep—and if anything happens, I’m leaving your ass behind. Understood?”

“Understood,” I echo.

“We’ve got to go now,” he says. “Keep cleaning. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

He’s gone before I can respond. By the time he’s returned, with a full bag of laundry tucked beneath his arm, my entire body vibrates with nerves.

“We are going to walk out the front door,” he whispers. “If anyone asks, we’re taking laundry to the wash. But we’re really, really going to hope no one asks.”

I nod, trying to bury my fear deep inside me.

“Good,” he says. “Now grab a side. Let’s go.”

I take the opposite handle, and without allowing myself to look back at the guards, I follow Alven out of the room.