Chapter 44
The first time I rouse, I see nothing but a snowy sky, and it hurts to breathe.
I’m alone, but then a body folds around mine, warm and comforting, and for a heartbeat, I think it’s my mother.
But a little death thrums inside my chest, nestled away in a deep corner of my heart.
It’s him. The sureness of that fact brings overwhelming relief that sweeps me back to darkness. He is exactly where he belongs.
With me.
His deep voice meets my ears. “Come, little beauty,” and I’m dimly aware of being carried away, Frostwater Wood fading from sight.
The second time I open my eyes, a long, black cloak sweeps over me like a blanket.
The world is still white, and I think I’m in the vale in winter, the pale light of morning breaking through the clouds.
I’m atop a horse, strong arms cradling me while holding fast to the reins.
I hear the chink chink clink of a bridle, the soft thud of hooves, and I notice an unmistakable sway, rocking me back to sleep.
Before I succumb, I look at the bearded face of the man who holds me, and he meets my stare. My head rests on his shoulder, his mouth so close that the warmth of his breath brushes against my lips.
“It’s all right. I’m here. Rest.”
My heart pounds, something inside me fearing that this can’t be real, while another part of me prays to the moon that it is. He shouldn’t be here, and if it’s a dream, I want to cling to it a while longer.
My eyes close—I’ve no command over them anymore—and I drift, curling against the Witch Collector’s heat.
ALEXUS.
His name playing over and over in my head tugs me awake the third time. I open my eyes, and it takes a moment to realize where I am.
And that I’m still breathing.
I lie in an elegant bed with four intricately carved wooden posts, a black brocade canopy with matching bed curtains.
The room is so warm. It’s the size of the cottage, with a fire blazing in a massive stone hearth.
I’m no longer wearing my bloody bodice or leathers or borrowed boots.
I’m dressed in a chiffon shift that’s the color of a blush.
My hair is still damp and smells of jasmine and lilac.
I remember everything. The ravine. The Shadow World.
Seeing Winterhold—in person—for the first time.
Being stripped, bathed, and mended by strangers while in a daze.
Explaining to Alexus, Hel, and Rhonin as much as I could about what happened.
Holding Nephele by the fire as she cried for the loss of her village, her mother, her king.
Reaching for Alexus when it was over. Asking him to stay. Healing his wounds.
His body curling around mine.
Instinctively, I run my hand across the bed behind me.
Much to my disappointment, the sheets are cold and empty.
Alexus and I only slept when he was here, too exhausted to even talk, much less anything else.
I find myself regretting that I didn’t find the energy for something more before reality rushed to greet us.
I lost the Northland king and the God Knife to the enemy. Vexx fled the wood unscathed, and the Prince of the East and Neri are free. I have to keep reminding myself that matters could be worse.
The fight isn’t over.
Though I’m achy, I toss aside the coverlet and get up.
Deep, silvery moonlight floods the room through a massive arched window.
I hadn’t been clear-headed enough to take it all in before.
This must be a former library-turned-guest chambers.
There are books everywhere. Tall bookcases have been built into every wall, spanning from slate floor to coffered ceiling, each shelf crammed to its fullest.
Being from the vale, the closest thing I’ve seen to a library was Mena’s stash of books she brought from Penrith years ago, volumes collected from her trips to the coast when she was young.
She owned a few dozen books—a trove. My parents kept a shelf of twelve works that I read a thousand times.
I’ve certainly never seen any number of books like this. I could live here.
An ornate wooden desk sits a few strides from the bed, positioned at an angle, facing the view beyond the glass. The desktop is covered with fine parchment and scrolls, organized by size, and an array of inkpots and quills, a wax burner, and a seal.
I pick up the seal and study its impression. It’s the same sigil I now bear on my skin.
Alexus’s mark. His seal.
These are his chambers.
Carefully, I slip my hand into the slit at the neck of my gown and touch the mark that burned itself into my body, branding Alexus’s name onto my bones.
It’s part of me now, much as my soul. On that path in the wood, he’d awoken enough of his magick to create a link between us, keeping me in the here and now.
He gave me something to hold onto in my darkest hour.
Someone to hold onto. Because of him, I’d been strong enough to straddle two worlds.
I return the seal and ghost my hand across an old iron key on a long leather strap, as well as an unrolled scroll, feeling the soft rise of Old Elikesh words Alexus must’ve begun writing some time ago.
The ink is dry, the table a little dusty from disuse.
I don’t recognize the handwriting, of course, but its elegance calls to me. Surely it’s his.
There’s a tunic draped over the chair. I touch it. Hold it to my nose. Take a deep breath. Everything smells like him, that scent of rich spices, dark wood, and the sweet aroma of ancient magick.
I turn back to the bed. Even the linens smell of him, and not just because he’d lain with me for a while. But because that bed knows his body intimately. It makes me want to curl back up and never leave.
I pluck a newly bound book with a Tiger’s Eye affixed to the cover from his desk and clutch it to my chest. He reads and writes. Things I would’ve possibly guessed but didn’t know for certain. There’s still so much to learn about him, and I want that chance, scared as that makes me.
At the window, I stare over a sliver of snowy village that has fallen quiet for the night. One could almost think nothing happened here if this were the only perspective. The many white rooftops and smoke curling from chimneys remind me of home.
But lovely and serene as the scene may appear, if I turn to the left, the tops of the stables and granary are also visible, burned to nothing but wooden skeletons during the attack.
I remember the destroyed main gate, the bodies and ashes strewn across the courtyard and battlements when we arrived, and at least a dozen wounded Witch Walkers being cared for in the main hall when Alexus carried me inside.
Thoughts arise, my mind speculating on the worst scenarios.
I don’t want to imagine the destruction that took place, the way fire had to dominate ice.
I don’t want to think about more bloodshed, much less look its damage in the eye, but I should go downstairs and see how I can be of use with the injured. Try to find Alexus. Nephele. Hel.
Before I can turn around to do so, a deep voice fills the room. “Do you like books?”
Startled, I face my visitor. Alexus stands in the doorway, watching me, leaning his long body against the frame. One booted foot crosses the other, his cloak hanging over his arm. I never heard the door open, too lost in my thoughts.
My stomach ties itself into a knot. I’ve seen the sadness he wears before, that forlorn expression when he returned from Littledenn at the stream. I don’t know where he’s been today or what he’s faced with the people of Winterhold, but it has affected him deeply.
He pushes off the molding and steps across the threshold, closing the door behind him. I swallow hard when the lock clicks and he tosses his cloak on a chair, then moves deeper into the room.
My heart hammers. I haven’t answered him, and I’m still clutching one of his books to my chest. I slip it under my arm, shrug like a fool, and find my words.
“I love books,” I sign. “Though there are not many in the vale.”
A cloud drifts over his face, one of guilt, his eyes aglow in the firelight as he passes the hearth.
“I thought I might be needed,” I continue, trying to make the discomfort between us evaporate, though I’m aware that most of that discomfort is coming from me. “For healing,” I add. “I was going to check downstairs. Find Nephele and Hel.”
“Nephele checked on you an hour ago, but you were still asleep. She’s resting now.
Everyone is resting. If you’re up to mending cuts and burns in the morning, well enough, but it’s best if we give the castle time to grieve and rest tonight.
” He sits on the edge of the bed closest to me, runs his palms down his leather-clad thighs, and lets out a sigh. “Come here. Please.”
I press the book to my chest like a shield. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. We’ve hardly left one another’s side since the attack. I’ve lain in that bed with him. I’ve kissed him. Touched him. Let him touch me.
And I crave him.
Yet I’m terrified to let myself have him.
Slowly, I go to him. He looks at me with those bold, green eyes and reaches for the book still clasped to my body. Finally, I let go, and he sets it aside on the bed. His gaze travels over me, and I’m suddenly aware that my thin gown hides little.
Alexus settles his strong hands on my hips and drops his forehead to my chest, his grip on me tightening. Tears rush up inside me for reasons I can’t explain, a well-erected dam threatening to yield. He’s said so little, yet I feel his grief, his worry, his fear, his want seeping into me.
I slide my hands into his hair, and he meets my eyes again, his stare glassy.
“We need to talk, Raina.”
Those are not the words I wanted to hear. I want you. I need you. Let me have you. Those were the things I’d hoped he’d say.