36. Ryewood
Ryewood
Iblink awake to a dark cabin, with the fire burned low. Through the window, the sky is orange with purple bleeding in. It’s evening.
Gemma is still in my arms, still warm, and still breathing. Relief hits sharp and disorienting.
Grier is behind me, solid and unmoving. This man. He carried her when my arms failed. Talked me down when I couldn’t breathe, held me up so I could hold her.
He’s done this before. The time he found me when I was fifteen after one of my father’s lessons, with my chest seizing and the world narrowing to nothing, and I hadn’t even known what was happening to me.
He’d taken my face in his hands and made me breathe with him until I came back. He always just shows up.
And now I have the woman he loves cradled in my arms. I’m not sorry for loving her, but I feel what it costs him.
I look down at Gemma; she’s far too pale.
“You need to eat.” Marel’s voice cuts through the room, firm but kind. “You’re gray as ash. You’re no good to her if you collapse.”
I want to argue, but my eyes are pulled back to Gemma.
“I’ve got her.” Grier is already moving, coming around to my side.
I hesitate my arms tightening around her instinctively.
“Rye.” His voice is gentle and patient. “I’ve got her. She won’t be alone.”
I know he’ll take care of her. But every part of me is screaming not to let go. Like if I release her, she’ll slip away, and the earth will open again and finish what it started.
“Just for a moment,” I say, more to myself than to him.
Carefully, so carefully, we make the transfer. Grier settles behind her, taking my place, his arms wrapping around her to keep her upright. His hold is gentle, like steadiness is the only thing he has left to offer.
I sit at the table, my back aching from being upright all night. Marel presses a cup into my hands, and I drain it in one go. She pushes a bowl of stew closer to me.
“Eat,” she says. “Your girl is going to need you strong when she wakes.”
Your girl. The words hit deep, and I don’t fight them. I eat, but I barely taste it. All I can do is watch her breathe.
“She’s lucky, you know.” I look up. Marel is watching me. “To have people who care for her like you two.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I’m the lucky one.”
She studies me for a long moment, her face softening.
“We should check her wound soon and change the dressing. The honey needs to be reapplied.” She pauses. “And we need to get food in her. Broth at least. She’s lost a lot of blood, and she needs to rebuild her strength.”
I nod because there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
“You might need to feed her. Something tells me you’re up to the task,” Marel says with a small smile.
I set the empty bowl aside, already pushing to my feet.
I kneel beside them. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Grier says with no hesitation or resentment.
He should hate me. The fact that he doesn’t burns worse.
We make the transfer again, careful and gentle. Her weight settles against my chest like it belongs there. Her hand finds my arm and curls around it weakly. Even in sleep, she’s holding onto me like I’m the only solid thing in the world. Fight, little fox. Come back to me.
Grier moves to the chair nearby, but I can feel him watching us, protecting us.
Marel kneels beside us with clean bandages and warmed honey.
This is the part I dread, holding her while someone hurts her. Even knowing it’s necessary, it still feels like I’m failing her. I’d take this pain from her if I could, carve it out of her body and put it in mine.
Marel works carefully.
“She’s healing well,” she murmurs. “Better than I expected.”
She applies fresh honey to the wound, then reaches for the clean bandages. As she begins to wrap them around Gemma’s torso, the movement shifts her ribs—
Gemma’s eyes fly open, and a cry tears from her throat.
The sound goes through me like a blade. Every instinct screams to make it stop, to take her away from this.
“I’m so sorry, little fox. She’s almost done.” I pull her closer, my lips finding her temple.
Marel works quickly, wrapping the bandages with practiced hands. Gemma trembles against me, tears streaming down her face, and every sound she makes cracks my chest open. My own eyes are burning, but I blink it back. She needs me steady; she needs me here.
When Marel is finally done, I wrap myself around her as much as I can without hurting her. Breathing her in, like my body alone, might be enough to keep her here.
Her eyes are barely open now, and she looks exhausted and hollowed out.
“Rye?” Her voice is barely there, but she’s looking at me, actually seeing me.
“I’m here.” I press my forehead to hers, cupping her face gently. My thumbs brush away her tears. “I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”
She nods weakly, and her eyes are already drifting closed.
“She needs to eat.” Marel’s voice cuts through. “While she’s awake. She’s lost too much blood to keep sleeping through meals.”
I look down at Gemma. She’s fading again, exhaustion pulling at her.
“Gemma.” I brush the hair from her face. “You need to eat something.”
She makes a small sound of protest and doesn’t even open her eyes.
Grier appears beside us and kneels. He’s already holding the bowl of broth, a spoon ready. He meets my eyes, and understanding passes between us. This man. I don’t have words for the depth of gratitude I have for him.
“Gemma.” I bring the spoon to her lips. “Open for me.”
She barely parts her lips, but it’s enough. I tip the broth in slowly. We fall into a rhythm, Grier holding the bowl, me focused entirely on her. We get half the bowl into her before her head lolls against my chest.
“She’s asleep,” Grier says quietly. “That’s enough for now. She kept more down than I expected.”
I look at him and finally ask what I’ve been holding since the snow. “What happened out there? What pulled us under the ground?”
He’s quiet for a moment, then he says, “I don’t know. I’ve seen nobles use magic for years. That wasn’t like any magic I’ve ever seen before. Have you?”
I shake my head. Grier’s hand finds my shoulder, gripping firm and steady, the way he held me so many times before. The tightness I’ve been carrying loosens at the contact.
“She’s safe, and that’s what matters,” he says.
I nod. I can’t speak, the exhaustion is hitting me now, crashing over me in waves.
Grier drags a chair behind me and tucks a pillow behind my head.
“Get some rest, Rye. She’s stable. She’s in your arms.”
I want to argue, but my eyes are already heavy. I let my head fall back and eyes drift closed. The last thing I see is Grier’s face in the firelight, watching over us both.
Soft golden morning light wakes me, streaming through the cabin’s single window.
I blink, disoriented. My neck aches, my back is stiff, and every muscle in my body strains from holding myself upright this long. But Gemma is against my chest, and I can feel her heartbeat steady against me.
“Rye?”
My heart stops. I look down. Her eyes are open, not glassy or delirious, not unfocused with pain. She’s looking at me and actually seeing me.
“Rye, where are we?”
For a moment, I can’t speak, can’t breathe. The relief is so overwhelming it nearly drowns me.
“Gemma—” Her name comes out shattered. I cup her face with trembling hands, my thumb brushing her cheek. She came back to me.
“You’re awake.” My voice cracks. “You’re really awake.”
I want to kiss her. Want to pull her against me and never let go. Want to tell her everything, how scared I was, how I thought I’d lost her. But I don’t want to hurt her or jostle her ribs. So, I just hold her face and look at her and try to remember how to breathe.
Grier stirs beside us, pushing himself up from the floor, instantly alert.
“Gemma?” He’s at our side in a heartbeat, kneeling, his eyes scanning her face. The same relief I feel is written across his features. “How do you feel? Are you in pain?”
She blinks at him, then she takes in the cabin. The two of us hover over her like she might disappear.
“What…” She winces and swallows. “What happened?”
The question hits me like a blow. Suddenly, I’m not in this cabin anymore.
I’m screaming her name until my throat tears.
I’m in the snow, holding her broken body, watching her blood soak into the white.
Begging her to stay with me. Begging her not to leave.
My chest constricts so tight I can’t breathe.
Grier’s hand lands on my shoulder, steadying me. He sees it, the place I’ve gone.
“There was a blast at the tethering ceremony.” Grier’s voice is calm and measured.
Giving me time to collect myself. “At the Willowmeres’ tethering, the magic responded like nothing we’ve ever seen.
It should have been flowers, maybe a small tree.
Instead…the reaction was catastrophic. Trees erupted fully grown. The blast threw everyone back.”
I force myself back, back to her, back to now.
He glances at me, but I still can’t speak.
“We were on the north side of the altar,” he continues. “Closest to the epicenter. The force threw us. By the time we found you, you had broken ribs and a deep gash on your right side. You’d lost a lot of blood.”
Gemma’s eyes widen. Her hand moves instinctively toward her ribs, then stops when the motion pulls at her stitches.
“There’s never been a tethering reaction that strong,” Grier adds quietly. “Not in any recorded history I’ve seen anyway. The bond between Lord and Lady Willowmere must have been…extraordinary…”
He trails off. He’s right; it was extraordinary, once-in-a-lifetime, the kind of connection most people only dream of.
“How long have I been out…” Gemma asks.
“Three days.” Grier glances at me again. “After we found you, the ground opened beneath us. It swallowed the three of us, and we don’t know how, but it deposited us far north, in the snow. We carried you until we found this cabin.”
Her gaze drifts around the cabin. Taking in the worn furniture, the dying fire, and the elderly couple still asleep in the bed in the corner.
“The couple who live here, Olin and Marel, they’ve been caring for you,” Grier says quietly. “They stitched your wound. Made poultices for your ribs. They’ve been unwavering.”
A look flickers across Gemma’s face at the names.
“How are you feeling?” I brush the hair from her face. “What do you need, sweetheart?”
“Water.” The word comes out cracked and dry.
Grier is already moving. He grabs the cup Marel left by the fire and brings it to me, so I don’t have to shift Gemma from my arms. I take it with a grateful nod and bring it to her lips, tilting it slowly.
She drinks small sips at first, then deeper. Some dribbles down her chin, and I catch it with my thumb.
“Slowly,” I murmur. “Not too fast.”
She finishes half the cup. Grier takes it back without a word. We’ve fallen into this rhythm over the past three days, anticipating each other, moving together. There’s no competition, no tension, just two men caring for the woman who matters most.
“Better?”
She nods weakly. Then her eyes meet mine. And it nearly ruins me.
Seeing those eyes after three days of watching them stay closed makes my throat tighten. I have to blink back the burning behind my eyes.
“Where’s Finn?” Her brow furrows.
The question catches me off guard. Of all the things to ask, not about herself, not about how badly she’s hurt, she asks about Finn.
Something twists in my chest. Not jealousy. Not exactly. Just…confusion. They’re close, I know that. But there’s real urgency in her voice. There’s something about Finn and Gemma that I’m not seeing. It sits heavy, but I push it aside because now isn’t the time.
“We don’t know.” I keep my voice gentle. “He and Rosie were on the south side of the altar, farther from the blast. We were closest, that’s why we were thrown so far.”
“He’s probably fine,” Grier adds. His voice is softer than I expect, almost tender. “The south side took less damage. At least from what we saw before the ground swallowed us.”
He reaches out and brushes her wrist, brief but deliberate.
“He’s strong, Gemma. He’ll be okay.”
A look I don’t understand passes between them. Grier holds her gaze with a quiet certainty, like he understands her fear in a way I don’t. Gemma’s shoulders loosen at his words in a way they didn’t at mine, and the sting of that is sharper than I’m prepared for.
“He’s going to be so worried.” Her voice cracks. “He won’t know if I’m okay—he’ll think the worst. He always does—”
She stops and swallows. But I catch it, he always does.
“We’ll get you back to him as soon as you can travel,” Grier says gently. “A few more days, maybe a week. We’ll send word today, so he knows you’re alive.”
“Thanks,” she breathes, and the tension drains from her shoulders.
I hold her and try to understand, who Finn is to her, what Grier knows that I don’t. The questions pile up, but I swallow them down.
Gemma shifts and winces.
“I need to—” She stops and swallows. “I need to relieve myself.”
“I’ll wake Marel,” Grier says, already moving toward the corner where the old couple sleeps.
There’s a few quiet words, and Marel is rising. Pulling a shawl around her shoulders. She shuffles toward us, still half-asleep, reaching for Gemma.
“Come, dear. I’ll help you—”
She stops. Her eyes land on Gemma’s face, and the color drains from her cheeks. Her hand flies to her mouth.
“Ella—” The name comes out strangled, dragged up before she can stop it.
Gemma goes rigid in my arms.
“No.” Her voice is careful. “I’m Gemma.”
Marel stares at her with wide eyes, searching her face like she can’t trust what she’s seeing.
“I’m sorry, I—” Marel shakes her head. “Forgive me. You just, you look so much like—”
She doesn’t finish. I look at Gemma. Her face has gone carefully empty and guarded.
I almost lost her. I held her broken body in the snow and begged her to stay. And even now, even after everything, she’s still hiding from me.
I don’t need her secrets to love her; I already love her. I just ache to be the person she trusts enough.