Between Smoke and Shadow

32. Rune

THIRTY-TWO

RUNE

After checking on Harrick, who is unconscious but still breathing, I stand in front of his door. The vines are too small to keep me from leaving, but that also means they’re too small to keep others from coming. I lean against the door, listening to bursts of chaos. People are screaming, sobbing, running. I suck in a breath, forcing myself to breathe. Too much has happened in too little time, and I need to stop and think. I look around the room, evaluating, calculating.

Harrick is unconscious and dying.

The Tower is in complete turmoil.

All of our allies are dead.

I wait for a plan to formulate, but when nothing does, I return the wardrobe. I rummage for extra blankets, pausing when I spot a stack of dry coveralls, tucked beneath his clothes. I wonder how long he’s had these here, ready for whenever he needed to send me a new pair.

I grab the top set, pressing my face against the rough fabric to muffle my sobs. I’m crying before I can stop it, leaned against the side of the wardrobe, legs shaking as today rushes through me. I risked Harrick’s life. I watched old friends die. But most of all…

I killed the Architect .

With the coverall clenched in my fist, I run to the bathroom. I fall to my knees before the toilet, puking until there’s nothing left. My chest burns with each breath, and I squeeze my eyes shut, sure this is all a dream. I’ll wake at any moment, back in my servant quarters. No husband, no freedom, and none of this blood covering my clothes.

Murderer .

I retch again, even though there’s nothing left. I’m shaking and crying, and feeling a strange whisper, telling me I’d do it all over again.

It is with that thought that I force myself back to my feet. I dress in dry coveralls and return to Harrick’s bedside. His breaths are heavy and labored, as if each one hurts his ribs. I gently brush my fingers through his hair, combing them from his bloodied face.

“I’ll be back soon,” I whisper against his temple.

I swallow hard, refusing to let myself cry again. I’ve already wasted too much time. I leave him with a final kiss on his forehead.

It takes more effort than I expect to open the bedroom door. Three hard shoves, and Harrick’s thin vines finally snap. I stumble into the hallway. It’s loud, but the sounds are distant, echoing from other corridors, other floors. I move quickly, my head down, as I head for the medical wing.

By the time I reach it, it’s nearly impossible to move through the crowd of waiting people. There are several elites and royals packed into the corridor, all clamoring to get into the infirmary. They’re families of the guards, I realize. Mothers and fathers and siblings, desperate to know their relative survived.

Many will not get the answer they want.

People look down at me as I squeeze through any open spaces I find. There’s no point in asking them to move—I’m dressed in servant’s garb, and the less attention I draw, the better. With my elbows tucked to my side, I press forward, until I’m faced with a guard. He stands, centered in front of the open doorway to the infirmary. The black walls swallow the commotion behind them, but it does nothing to quiet the moans of agony. The man crosses his arms, giving me an unimpressed expression.

Behind me, someone yanks on my shoulder. I’m ripped back a step, but I fight them off, ignoring their shocked outcry. I focus only on the bare-faced guard before me. Without a mask, I don’t know his rank.

“I need a healer,” I say. My words are too quiet, my voice stolen by the crowd. I try again, louder. “I need a healer. Immediately.”

“Get out of here!” a man yells behind me. He grabs the back of my head, fisting my hair between his fingers. My scalp is still tender from where the Architect grabbed me, and I cry out. The man snarls against my ear. “They don’t serve fucking vermin here!”

The guard lifts his hand in a lazy, dismissive gesture. The royal releases me, and I surge forward again.

“A healer?—”

“He’s right, creature,” the guard says. He’s bald with a sloping nose and a deep crease between his eyebrows. He tightens and releases his fist, tiny flickers of magic sparking with each movement. “Elites and royals only.”

“It’s not for me,” I say. “The prince! The prince needs a healer.”

“The princes are dead,” he says. He flinches as he speaks, but he otherwise remains still.

“No,” I say. “He’s alive. I will take you to him. I just?—”

Someone, maybe that same royal man, grabs my shoulder again. They wrench me backward, and I stumble, falling onto my ass and then struggling back to my knees. I can feel my heartbeat through my entire body.

They’re not going to help him. They’re going to let him die.

“Go on,” the guard says. “These people are anxious. They’re looking for something to distract themselves, and if you stick around, that’s going to be you. I’m too fucking tired to keep them from beating you. So go .”

I swallow, but I can’t back down. I can’t leave. Harrick will die, and if he dies, I will too.

I scramble to my feet and lunge forward, clasping both hands around the guard’s wrist. He blinks at me in shock, the magic sparking brighter from his fingertips.

“You will get me a healer,” I say. I raise my voice, until I’m yelling, until I’m louder than I’ve ever dared to be. “I am your queen—and you will get me a healer! Right. Now.”

“Wyhel, it’s fucking deranged,” the royal man says, lurching away from me.

“Three seconds,” the guard says. He stares at me, and despite my veil between us, I’m terrified he might actually kill me. “Three seconds to release me, or I’ll end your pathetic, worthless?—”

“Unhand her.”

My head jerks toward the familiar voice. The Architect said everyone was dead, but she sounds like…

“Princess Tora,” the guard says. He turns toward her, probably to point out I’m the one holding him, not the other way around.

I’m too busy staring at Harrick’s sister to know if he says anything at all. Tora wears a frilly red dress that’s been torn and muddied. Her usually plaited hair is messy and tangled around her face, but there isn’t a spot of damage on her.

If she was hurt, they’ve already healed her.

I’m still staring, eyes wide, when she pushes between me and the bald guard. Her hands wrap around my shoulders, crushing me into a tight hug. I freeze, too surprised to return the gesture.

“You’re alive,” I say. My mouth bobs a few times as I try to decide what to say before finally managing, “He said you were dead. That you were all?—”

“Where’s my brother?” she interrupts. She pulls back to look at me, her pale violet eyes cataloging me from my wet hair to my bare feet. “Is he alive?”

“He’s alive,” I say, choking through the words. “He’s alive, but he needs a healer. Please, believe me.”

“I believe you,” she says. She tucks my hair behind my ear with a touch far too gentle for someone like me. I can only imagine how the royals are staring, whispering at the two of us. I don’t have the energy to look. “Let me get Joran.”

Before I can reply, Tora sweeps back into the infirmary, glaring down the bald guard as she passes. It’s only seconds, and she’s back. She’s joined by a heavyset healer, dressed in simple black clothes, and a maskless Joran. His hair is red, like Caleah’s, but brighter. It sticks up in every direction like a wild flame.

“They’ll go with you,” she tells me. “I need to stay. Dae isn’t doing as well as the rest of us, and I…I want to be here when he wakes.”

“Okay,” I say, but I’m rooted in place. My mouth dries as I peer into the infirmary. I can’t imagine the frenzy that’s bleeding through every level of Savoa right now, only that most of it is my fault.

I killed the Architect. Harrick killed Malek.

I’m overcome with the realization that might be unforgivable, even if Harrick is strong enough to claim his throne.

“Tora,” I say, shaking as I step toward her. She doesn’t lean away in revulsion like I fear, instead placing a hand on my shoulder as she comes closer. I whisper, turning my head so only she can hear. “It was me.”

“I know,” she says. “I figured that out when you were being held with the other rebels. But it’s okay. None of that matters now?—”

“No,” I say, cutting her off. I can’t fight the tremble in my hands as I force myself to say it. “I killed the Architect. That…that was me.”

“Oh,” she says. She keeps her hand on my shoulder, but she’s tense now. “I…see.”

“He was going to kill me,” I say, as though she didn’t already know that. “I didn’t?—”

“Don’t explain yourself,” she says. She squeezes my arm. “I’m glad you did. Just… Just go be with my brother. I’m glad that he has you.”

They’re words I never imagined I’d hear from, well, anyone .

“Thank you,” I whisper. “And I’m, um, glad you’re okay.”

“Go,” she says again. Then, she gives Joran a sharp look. “Don’t leave her side. Understand?”

“Understood,” he echoes. Then, “Keep me updated on Dae.”

Tora gives me a final, quick hug, before darting back inside the infirmary. I don’t look at the bald guard as Joran leads me away from the blackened room, but I feel a twitch of satisfaction when the crowd parts for us. Joran places his hand between my shoulderblades, guiding me through the masses. I keep my chin raised as I pass the gawking royals, not allowing myself to shrink like my instincts beg.

As soon as we clear the 195th floor, Joran’s touch vanishes. We don’t speak until we’ve reached Harrick’s quarters, and even then, he waits for the healer to enter the bedroom before he catches my shoulder.

“Is it true?” he asks. “You killed the Architect?”

I swallow, giving myself a moment.

“Yes,” I say finally.

“Thank you,” he says. I startle, meeting his dark gaze. He dips his head, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s bowing. To me . “You did for the prince what I failed to do myself. I shall be indebted to you for the rest of my life, princess.”

“No,” I say, the word sharp and quick. Joran looks up at me in surprise. “You are not indebted. I don’t—I don’t…”

Joran’s face wrinkles in confusion at first, only to soften.

“I understand, princess,” he says. He straightens, offering me a gentle smile. “Then at least accept my thanks.”

I nod, trying but failing to clear the emotion from my throat. Joran has never been cruel to me, but he’s also never been outwardly kind.

“After you,” he says. He gestures for me to enter Harrick’s bedroom, and I do, still struggling to process his gratitude. I know others won’t be so quick to acceptance, but I can’t keep the hope from blooming in my chest.

For so long, I dreamed of ruling Savoa, of overthrowing the crown to claim it for myself and the rebels. I wanted this kingdom to grovel before me, to suffer for the way they made me suffer. Only now do I realize what a waste that would be. Savoa needs hope to heal, not vengeance.

I sit at Harrick’s bedside for the next several hours, turning these thoughts around my mind. I envision myself, finally in a place of power, and try to envision what that could look like. With my husband’s hand in mine, I watch the healer work to repair his body.

Tora enters Harrick’s quarters after another hour passes, and it is only then I notice how quiet the Tower has grown.

“Well?” Joran asks.

“It’s in progress,” Tora says. She sits primly on the foot of Harrick’s bed, watching him breathe for several seconds before continuing. “I’ve got every available guard restoring order through the Tower. We’ll send a few troops out in the morning to make sure the outer sectors are all right.”

Joran nods, and Tora sighs.

“I’ve spread news to the elite’s biggest gossips,” she says. “It won’t be long before everyone knows. Many already know Harrick is the only surviving heir, and that the Architect and Malek are dead. My mother is in a state of shock, and from what I’ve heard, she’s refusing to leave her quarters.”

I twist the edge of Harrick’s blanket in my fist. My chest feels weak, like my heart might beat right through my ribs. I can’t bring myself to look at anyone, instead keeping my attention on the red duvet.

“Rune,” Tora says, her voice growing softer. I can feel her studying me, but I still don’t look her way. She sighs softly. “I considered lying about what you did, but…I couldn’t.”

I swallow, but the knot in my throat is almost too much to manage. I force myself to meet her gaze, even as I shake with the implication. She’s told the truth, and that means everyone knows I killed their ancient leader.

“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…through you , 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 wake to 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.

“I love you. Why haven’t they healed you?” he asks. His hands skim over my sides, gently, as if afraid to hurt me. “They’ve clearly healed me. They should have…Joran!”

He leans farther from me, looking surprised to find us alone. I, on the other hand, am immensely relieved.

“He tried,” I say. I touch Harrick’s jaw, tilting his face back to look at me. “The healers needed to rest. They’ve had a long night.”

As if my words jolt something in his memory, Harrick shifts off me. He’s crossing the room with wide strides, flinging open the door. Having his backrest ripped away, Joran falls into the room.

“Wyhel,” he mutters, but he’s already scrambling to his feet. “Apologies, my prince. I was only?—”

Harrick doesn’t let him finish. He pulls Joran into a hug, one nearly as tight as how he’d just held me.

“You’re alive,” he says without pulling back.

“Yes,” Joran says. “Most of us are. Princess Tora, Dae, Meyra?—”

“Tora,” Harrick repeats. He drops his head against Joran’s shoulder. “Good. That’s… Thank you. What’s happening out there? Has the Committee?—”

“Everything is under control,” Joran says. “The Tower is secure and news of your victory is circulating. I’m keeping tabs on the radio for any sign of trouble. For now, everything is quiet. People are sleeping. You should too.”

“Very well,” he says. He finally releases Joran, stepping to put space between them. “You should rest too. Send for guards to replace you. Once they’re here, you’re dismissed.”

Joran straightens his shoulders, as if to argue.

“That’s an order, guard.”

Joran nods, and though I can tell he’s reluctant to leave, he looks far too exhausted to stay. Once he’s gone, Harrick closes the door and slides back into bed. Rather than lying beside me, he drapes over me again, keeping the bulk of his weight off me. He remains close enough that our clothes brush with every breath.

“You’re feeling better?” I ask. I loop my arms over Harrick’s neck, tugging his face closer. He certainly looks better. A healthy flush colors his skin and there’s nothing to indicate he’d been on the brink of death only hours ago.

“I feel amazing,” he says. He presses a soft kiss against my eyebrow, still frowning. “You should have had them heal you.”

“They needed rest,” I repeat. “I’m not hurting anyway. I just—I’m really happy to be here.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he says. His lips trail down my neck, and his teeth nip at a spot above my collarbone. His violet eyes meet mine. “Sorry I woke you.”

“I’m not,” I whisper. I tangle my fingers through his hair and pull his mouth back to mine. My thighs part, and Harrick settles between them, his erection already pressing against my stomach.

“Does anything hurt?” he asks. His lips brush against mine as he speaks.

“No,” I say. It’s not exactly the truth, but I don’t want Harrick to be delicate with me. After surviving something I was sure we wouldn’t, I want to make him lose control.

Even more, I want to lose control. I have no idea what the next several days will bring. We’ll be inundated with questions and demands, and undoubtedly people will want me to stay in the servant class where I belong. Tora and Joran seem confident that I can do this, but unease still settles in my gut.

I don’t want to think of any of that now.

“I want to try something,” I say. Heat flushes over my cheeks as I force the words against a wave of insecurity. “I’m not sure it’s something people do.”

“Tell me,” he says. He brushes the hair off my face, looking equal parts curious and patient.

“When we had sex,” I start, and I hate that I can’t stop myself from blushing. “You were above me. I was just wondering if…”

I want Harrick to finish the sentence for me, but he only stares, waiting. The heat rises sharper beneath my skin.

“Do women ever…go on top?”

Harrick’s pupils widen, making his eyes look impossibly black. His lips part as he looks over me, hands digging against my waist. Just when I’m about to take back the question, he flips us in one swift motion, settling himself beneath me. His attention roams over my body like a physical touch.

“Are you asking to ride me, Rune Ealde?” he asks, voice low and gravelly. He stares up at me like I’m brighter than the sun and stars combined.

“Ademas,” I say. I grind myself against his erection, drawing a growl from his throat. “That’s my name now, right? Rune Ademas ?”

“Fuck,” he swears. He grabs my hips, urging them faster against him. “Say it again, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Rune Ademas.”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he says, unzipping my coverall until it pools at my waist. Harrick’s lips trail across my jaw and throat and chest. He sucks a hardened nipple between his teeth, only switching to the opposite breast once I’m arching against him, lavishing that one too. He pulls away to snap the waistband of my coverall. “Take these off. I want to see you.”

I slide off him to get undressed, but I keep my eyes on him. He is a flawless masterpiece, from his toned chest to his muscular arms and the sharp V that points to the waistband of his pants. Then those are gone too, and I’m settling over him once more. Without anything between us, I can feel the heat from his skin, the way his erection twitches every time I so much as breathe.

I press my thumb to the tip of his cock. Harrick’s hips snap up in response, and when I look at him, I find him watching. I’ve never felt more beautiful than I do when he’s looking at me. Even knowing my face is bloodied and bruised, I don’t feel ashamed or like I should hide.

I killed the Architect, the man who made people far more powerful than me suffer for countless cycles. I killed him and saved the man I love—and no matter how long it takes, I will save this entire kingdom too.

“You look like a goddess,” he murmurs. He cups my breast, pinching the nipple between his fingers. When I let out a gasp, he moves to my opposite breast, stroking it with his thumb. “I’m convinced you may very well be a goddess.”

I arc against him, sliding out of his grasp and pushing until my chest is level with his face. Those dark eyes dart up to mine, a silent question in them.

“Suck,” I say. My voice trembles, but I don’t shrink beneath the command. I will not be afraid of my own desires anymore—and right now, I want to feel his mouth on me.

Harrick’s gaze drifts from my face to my chest, his hand curling around the back of my neck. With a firm tug, he closes the distance, wrapping his warm lips around my nipple. His tongue traces circles, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. He hums in approval, and the vibration sends tingles across my skin.

I’m grinding against his cock so hard I’m losing focus. My head falls back and I stare up at the red ceiling, only half in this world.

“Gods, you taste so good. Like fucking magic,” Harrick says. His hands trail down my back, landing on my waist. “Look at me, Rune.”

I do, and when he touches the spot between my thighs, I moan so loud I’m sure anyone on this floor can hear me. Rather than feel embarrassed, the sound emboldens me. For the first time in my life, I don’t have to be quiet.

I press my hands to Harrick’s chest and raise onto my knees. I nod at him, and he wordlessly lines his erection at my center. Though I’m tempted to ask him for guidance, I don’t. I want this to be my moment, as much as it is his too.

I sink onto him, groaning as he fills me. He feels even bigger at this angle, and I’m suddenly wondering if it was a mistake. There’s no way I’ll be able to take him like this. Just as I’m starting to pull back, his hands squeeze my hips.

“You can do it,” he says. His attention lowers from mine to where we’re joined. He rubs his thumb across my clit, using his other hand to balance me. “Breathe, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.”

I let out a sharp moan. I’ve never felt so full, so stimulated, as if he’s touching me everywhere , all at once.

“That’s it,” he says. I take him in and in and in, until he’s fully inside me and I’m seated against his hips. “Look at you, Rune. Oh gods?—”

His hands snap to my thighs, stilling me. It sends a tortuous ache through me, and my body demands to move. I writhe against him, feeling overwhelmingly full yet somehow needing more .

“Fuck, hold on,” he says through his teeth. “I don’t want to come yet.”

“Then don’t,” I say, still straining against his hands. “But let me move.”

“You have no idea how pretty you are,” he says through a groan. “How good you feel. It’s a miracle I haven’t come already. Just—hold on. Sit still for me.”

I do as he says, clenching my thighs against his hips. He steadies his breathing, and by the time he finally nods, I’m a crumbling, whimpering mess. I’ve passed the point of being cautious, instead lifting off him and slamming back down, taking him in one thrust. I scream out, not meaning to but not caring that I have.

I let the ache between my thighs fuel me, pumping him in and out. His hands dig into my hips so hard I’m sure they’ll bruise, and I hope they do. I hope he marks himself on me forever, so that I always carry a piece of this moment with me.

Harrick circles my clit, increasing the pressure as I lose myself to him. And when I come, I let myself scream his name, so that everyone knows he is mine and I am his.