40. Finn
Finn
Finn—
Ella is with us. She was badly hurt when she arrived with broken ribs, a deep gash, and unconscious for days. But Marel’s salves and stitches are working wonders. She’s awake, eating, and already giving us trouble about staying in bed.
Two young men brought her, Rye and Grier. They carried her through the snow for miles. They’ve barely slept or left her side. They love her, Finn. Plain as day.
We’ll keep her safe. She’ll be back to you soon.
—Olin
I know the letter by heart. I still unfold it every morning, smoothing the creases with my thumb, reading it like attention alone keeps them from shifting.
She should be here by now. It’s been twenty-three days since the explosion.
The first three days, I tore through the ruins like there was still something left to fix.
Dug until my hands split open, shouted her name until my voice gave out.
Rosie stayed with me the entire time, until she finally put her body in front of mine and made me stop.
I didn’t thank her; I snapped at her and tried to go around her. She held on anyway. When my legs finally gave out, she caught me. She didn’t say anything, just braced me and let me collapse into her until the shaking passed.
I fold the letter back along the creases and look up to find Rosie, sitting by the window, watching me.
There’s already a mug and a bowl of stew within reach, she must have gotten for me.
I drink the water, and the ache behind my eyes eases a fraction.
Rosie notices it; I see a smile tug at the corner of her mouth.
She’s been doing this every day. Managing the basics, food, water, sleep, while I unravel at the edges.
“She should be here by now,” I say, more to myself than to her.
“She will be,” she says with a certainty that settles the restless bouncing in my knee.
She shifts closer to the window, adjusting her stance so she can see past the bend in the road without blocking my view.
My mind circles back to Northpine. Explosions scatter, they don’t move people halfway across the realm.
Magic doesn’t deliver with that kind of precision.
Whatever took Gemma there wasn’t random.
Something moved her and chose where she’d land.
I keep turning it over, trying to see the shape of it, but I don’t understand it.
Rosie’s fingers thread through mine, pulling me back. Then I feel her still beside me.
“Finn.”
My eyes are drawn to movement on the road. I straighten to see two horses crest the rise, with three riders. Three.
I don’t breathe.
“It’s them,” I say. “It has to be.”
Rosie doesn’t answer. She’s already moving and pulling her cloak on. We’re at the gate before my mind catches up to my feet.
As they draw closer, details resolve. Grier’s in front with his posture controlled. Then Rye, and in his arms—Gemma. The world narrows, sound thins, and my focus locks hard enough to hurt.
She’s smaller than she should be. Wrapped in blankets, slumped back against his chest. My chest tightens, fast and sharp, the urge to move hitting all at once—
Then her head lifts, and her eyes find mine.
Relief hits like a surge against a dam, pressure slamming forward, threatening to spill.
She’s conscious. She’s here. For half a heartbeat, my hands tremble, but I stop them.
She needs me to be familiar and stable. I draw a breath, set my shoulders, and lock everything back into place.
Grier steadies her down and places her on the ground. She sways, and I’m there in an instant, pulling her in gently. She melts against me, and I almost buckle from the relief. Then I ease back, with my hands still around her arms, checking her.
“Miss me?” Her voice is hoarse, but the edge is still there.
“Hardly noticed you were gone.”
She laughs and immediately regrets it. Her breath hitches, and her hand covers her ribs.
“Okay,” I say, hands steadying her. “Let’s get you inside. You look terrible.”
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
I snort despite myself and shift closer, keeping my arm firm around her back as we move. Her steps are slow and measured. I match them, adjusting when she leans, slowing when she hesitates. We make it through the hall without incident, and it feels like a win.
“I’m really glad you’re okay, little sis,” I say, low enough that no one else hears.
She leans into me, just slightly. “You too, Finny.”
“Don’t do that again.” It comes out more stern than planned.
She huffs. “I’ll try.”
We reach the room. Rosie must have slipped ahead, because the blankets are already turned down with the pillows set.
She gives me a small smile when we come through the door, and when she passes me, I catch her hand and squeeze.
She squeezes back, and I have to breathe through it, the wave of it, everything she’s done without being asked and without complaint, crashing in all at once.
Rye helps Gemma into the bed with careful hands. He moves like someone who’s learned exactly where not to touch and exactly how much weight she can take. I study the man who’s in love with my sister, trying to decide whether to punch him or thank him.
“You’re insufferable,” Gemma murmurs, a smirk tugging at her mouth.
“You love me anyway,” Rye says easily, like the answer’s already settled.
She swats at him. “Don’t get cocky.”
He catches her hand, doesn’t tease, doesn’t push, just holds it.
Something happened in that cabin. Something real.
He pulls a chair close to the bed and sits, still holding her hand. He’s not going anywhere; that much is clear.
Grier hangs back near the door. Our eyes meet, and he tips his head toward the hall.
I look back at the bed. Gemma’s eyes are already closing. Rye hasn’t moved, and Rosie is settled into a chair on her other side, quiet and steady. She’s safe; she’s loved.
I follow Grier out. He walks until we’re clear of the room, then stops and turns.
“There are things you should know.”
I lean back against the wall and fold my arms. “I figured.”
“Rye knows you’re her brother.”
That lands harder than expected. “How?”
“I told him. He was coming apart. I made the call.”
I nod. If Grier made it, then it was the right one.
“What else does he know?”
“Nothing. Not why you’re here, nothing about your mother. That’s hers to tell.”
I take that in and set it aside for now. “And Northpine?”
He exhales through his nose. “I don’t know. It wasn’t the tethering magic, that felt different. It was…consuming.”
“Consuming how?”
“Like the earth itself. One moment we were at Briarwood, watching the tethering blast her, then the next, the ground opened beneath us and pulled us through. It let us go, miles north, in the snow.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I say.
“No, it doesn’t. And I’ve felt magic before. Davriks pulling stone, Thornwicks shifting soil. This wasn’t that.”
“What was it then?”
“It was bigger. The ground felt almost alive.” His jaw flexes.
The implication crawls up my spine.
“Northpine is where we grew up,” I say. “It couldn’t have been random. Olin’s cabin was a quarter mile from our childhood home. Magic doesn’t choose like that.”
My confession sits between us.
“Something chose where to take her,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think it did.”
I let that settle.
“And Rye?”
Grier hesitates, just enough to let me know something is coming.
“He’s in love with her, Finn. Completely. He wanted to stay up there. Give up everything—the title, the crown, all of it—and disappear with her.”
I stare at him. “He what?”
A prince willing to walk away from power isn’t romantic. It’s dangerous.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Grier adds. “Whatever comes next, he’s all the way in.”
I look back toward the room. Toward the man holding my sister’s hand like she’s the only thing keeping him tethered.
Concern wars in my chest. She deserves someone who loves her like that.
What I don’t know is whether loving her that much will protect her or paint an even bigger target on everything she is.
“Thank you.” My voice breaks. “For getting her back to me.”
Grier pulls me in and holds on tight.
“Always,” he says quietly. “Always, Finn.”