Chapter 50
MAV
Quinn lay beside me beneath the blanket, cheek pressed to my arm. Her hair—tousled from sleep, wild from the night before—spilled over my skin in dark ribbons. If I could have frozen time, I would’ve lived in this hour forever.
She’d whispered it when she thought I was asleep. “I love you, Mav. I always will.” I hadn’t said it back—hadn’t been able to. Not because I didn’t feel it. Because I was afraid I’d fall apart if I did.
What was love, compared to what I felt for her?
Love was insufficient.
Love was a campfire. This was a blaze capable of reducing continents to ashes.
I loved her.
I loved her with a certainty that outshone every doubt I’d ever carried.
And until every kingdom fell and the stars burned out, I would love her.
I lived for her. I wanted her in every quiet moment. I wanted her beside me in peace and squall. I wanted her in my arms at night, and here again in the first rays of morning, exactly like this.
My stomach growled loud enough to startle a bird somewhere nearby. I grimaced. “Really?” I whispered to myself.
Carefully, I slid away from her, tucking the blanket back around her shoulders. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, I slipped out of the tent. I figured the only way to make a confession of love even better was to include breakfast.
I crouched near the coals, sleeves rolled past my elbows, hair sticking out at unholy angles. The pan hissed as fat from the salted pork snapped and spat. Beside it, a small pot of oats simmered. I should not have been humming. Saints, I didn’t even realize I was doing it until Thistle stirred.
“You’re in a good mood,” she rasped, voice still thick with sleep.
Vesper stalked closer to me. “Who are you and what have you done with Mav?”
“Am I not allowed to be in a good mood?”
“I mean, I guess you’re allowed,” Vesper said with a flick of his tail. “I’ve just never seen it before.”
Branrir’s heavy tread approached. “He does look lighter.”
Thistle’s grin sharpened. “I think he had a much better night than the rest of us.”
Heat crept up my neck. I bent over the pan as though the exact alignment of pork strips were a matter of grave importance.
Thistle crowed with laughter. “I knew it! I bet you—”
“Since I’m a gentleman, I assure you I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” I warned, though the edge in my voice was blunted by the ridiculous smile tugging at my mouth. Saints help me, I could not seem to stop it. “She loves me.”
The three of them turned into living statues.
“She what?” Vesper croaked.
Branrir’s eyes turned to saucers. “She does?”
I nodded, a broad smile claiming my face.
The teasing faded from Thistle’s expression as she wrapped me in an embrace. “You deserve this,” she said. “Both of you do.”
“Thank you, Thistle,” I managed to say around the lump in my throat.
“Did she say it aloud?” Branrir asked. “Did you?”
“I didn’t imagine it if that’s what you’re getting at.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m going to bring her breakfast and tell her.”
Branrir went terrifyingly still, the color draining from his face. “She’s asleep.”
My brow creased. “Yes…she needed the rest after the nightmare of yester—”
“No, Mav.” His hands shot out, gripping my shoulders. For the first time since I had known him, there was fear in his eyes. “She’s asleep.”
My stomach dropped. My hands went numb.
Thistle’s lips parted in horror. “Saints…it’s day fourteen.”
“No, no, that’s—that’s not—” The forest spun. My lungs seized. “We should have one more day, we should get the rest of the—”
Branrir shook his head, tears lining his eyes.
My knees nearly buckled. I staggered back, shaking Branrir’s hands off me, heart slamming against my sternum.
“QUINN!” Her name ripped from me. I didn’t remember crossing the camp, only the sudden crash of my body against the tent flap.
She lay inside, asleep on the bedroll we’d shared, sunlight from the gap in the canvas revealing the gray pallor of her skin.
“Quinn, wake up,” I begged, hauling her into my arms. Her head lolled against my shoulder. “Please, Saints, no—wake up!” My voice cracked, splintering like glass.
Nothing.
I pressed my ear to her chest, frantic for the sound of her heart. It was there, slow but steady. Relief and terror collided so hard I nearly vomited. I reached for the tether I knew was no longer there, desperate to feel her, to pull her back from the brink.
“She’s breathing,” I gasped, looking back at Branrir and Thistle now peering into the tent. My own breath came ragged, uneven. “But she won’t—she won’t open her eyes.”
Branrir frowned, tears spilling behind his spectacles. His silence was worse than if he’d screamed. Vesper’s ears drooped as he hung his head. Thistle dropped to her knees beside me, hovering her hands above Quinn. Her Hedge magic glowed green in a flash and then dissipated.
Thistle’s chin began to quiver. “I’m…I’m so sorry.”
“No!” I clutched Quinn tighter, curling my body around hers like I could shield her from this. My tears hit her skin, hot and frantic.
Branrir’s voice cut through, attempting to be the voice of reason. “Mav—”
“Don’t say it,” I snarled without looking up. “Don’t you dare tell me she’s gone. We’ll take her to her tower. There has to be something there. There must be a book, a relic, a spell—something, anything.”
Thistle placed a hand on my back. I shook it off.
The others stepped away, giving me space. But I didn’t want space, I wanted Quinn. I needed her. I rocked her in my arms, whispering her name in both prayer and defiance. I tucked my face against her neck.
“I’m here, Quinn. I love you. I love you so much. Please…please wake up.”
It took us two days of riding to arrive at the location Quinn had marked on the map.
During the day, we strapped her to me atop my horse with strips of torn cloth.
Her head lolled gently against my chest, dark lashes resting on pale cheeks.
As we rode, I murmured to her, little things: You’re going to be all right.
We’re almost there. I’ve got you. During the restless nights, we laid her down next to me.
I hardly slept, too worried that if I did, I’d wake to find her gone.
Branrir lifted a hand and slowed his horse. “We’re close.”
I stared ahead.
There was nothing but more trees.
Branrir frowned. “That doesn’t make sense—”
Then, we passed through an invisible barrier, as if we were breaching the surface of water. One breath, we were surrounded by foliage, the next, we stood at the base of a tower, eyes widening as we stared up at it. The stone was cracked and split. Ivy covered most of its surface.
Stranger than the structure was the complete and utter quiet. No rustle of leaves. No birdsong. Even the breeze stopped. The magic cloaking this place swallowed every sound. The silence made my ears ring.
Branrir and Thistle dismounted first, helping me to lower Quinn to them before I jumped off my horse and cradled her in my arms.
Thistle rested a hand on my shoulder. “Mav, we don’t know that bringing her here will change anything. She still might not—”
“She might,” I snapped, needing to hold onto any glimmer of hope I had.
Looking apologetic, Branrir added, “There’s no evidence that—”
“I don’t care what’s in all your Saints-damned books and scrolls! We are going to fix this!”
A loaded silence followed my outburst.
Vesper rubbed up against my legs. “Come on, Mav. Let’s take a look at the tower.”
Branrir squinted up at the leaning spire. “Looks like it’s been standing a few centuries past when it should’ve fallen.”
“Or something’s keeping it up,” Thistle added.
We picked our way through the overgrown path, the tower swelling larger with each step until it swallowed the treeline entirely. Roots jutted from the earth, forcing us to slow as we neared the sagging entrance.
Thistle pressed her palms to the door and shoved. The wood groaned, then gave way with a sound like a dying animal, the hinges screaming as it swung inward. A stale gust met us—dust, rot, and the cloying scent of damp stone. The entryway was bare save for a threadbare rug leading to a staircase.
“Well,” Branrir began, eyes darting around the space. “This is…homey.”
Vesper scoffed. “I think you meant sad, creepy, and depressing.”
Thistle shot him a glare.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. The quiet reminded me of battlefields after the smoke cleared. That awful pause before you count the bodies. Every instinct screamed to turn back, but this was the only place we could keep her hidden and safe while we figured out how to bring her back.
My gaze caught on the banister as we approached the stairs. A thin, uneven line cut through the dust—fingers trailing for balance where someone had descended.
Quinn.
She’d walked these same steps, only a fortnight ago.
Before she pulled me out of that tavern brawl, I hadn’t realized how empty I’d become. How surviving had replaced living. She’d walked into the dark void I’d been calling a life and made it feel like something worth fighting for. She was worth fighting for.
Looking down at her in my arms, I wished her eyes would open—those impossible, bright-blue eyes that always saw the best in everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it.
Her hair brushed against my sleeve, and I thought about all the ways she’d changed me without meaning to.
The way she laughed as if she’d stolen the sound back from the Saints themselves.
Her resilience and ability to stay hopeful were braver than any knight I’d ever known.
At her core, she was good in a way I hadn’t believed existed anymore.
She made me want to be better, to be the kind of man who deserved to stand by her side. The kind of man she’d be proud of. Now, I worried I’d never get the chance to prove it to her. The cracks in my broken heart widened into canyons. I swallowed the ache rising in my throat and tightened my hold.
The top of the staircase spat us out into a small, harrowing room.
A single window let in a shaft of dull, dust-dappled light.
A narrow, sagging bed was warped from weather and time.
A brittle quilt lay folded at the end. Leaning against the far wall, a crumbling dresser hosted a worn-down comb and a glass bottle filled with dried lavender.
I stared in complete disbelief.
“This is where they left you?”
For centuries.
Alone.
It was no more than a prison cell with drapery. Reluctantly, I laid her upon the narrow bed. Then I climbed in beside her and gathered her in my arms.
“Quinn, please wake up.” I buried my face in her hair. “I love you,” I whispered, over and over. “I love you. I should’ve said it sooner. I should’ve told you every damn day since we met.”
She didn’t stir.
My throat burned. My eyes wouldn’t stop stinging.
I shifted back enough to brush her hair from her forehead, my fingers trembling. I kissed her there. Then her cheek. Then her lips—cooler than before, but still hers. Still Quinn.
“I don’t care what magic it takes—what bargain or sacrifice.” I pulled her closer, my voice fraying. “I’m coming back for you, Quinn. I’ll always come back for you.”