Page 120 of The Iron Dagger
“I don’t think I’ll be needing this tonight,” said Hara. “I’m not likely to swive anyone when I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
“Are you simple? That boy has been waiting for your return for months, out there alone on that mountain,” said Alcmene, her eyes narrowed in her weatherbeaten face. “One doesn’t need the Sight to foretell what will happen. We don’t need any more little Falks running about.”
“You worry too much, Mene. Hara is a grown woman now,” said her mother with a soft smile.
“Don’t listen to her—that kind of attitude is how she ended up with you,” grumbled Alcmene. Her words would have been offensive coming from anyone else, but Hara laughed. She had almost forgotten Alcmene’s sharp tongue. Twenty years in an enchanted prison had not dulled it a whit.
Gideon waited for her in the cramped hallway, holding the hand lantern she recognized as the one she had taken from the palace. He led her to the second room that Alcmene had made. It was identical to the previous one, but this room had been used by Gideon when he was not up on the mountain.
When they stepped into the room, he closed the door behind her softly and pulled the latch tight. His fingertips trailed lightly down her arms before he took her hands and led her to the small cot. Exhaustion clung heavily to her like wet clothing. She could not remember the last time she slept.
“How long was I gone?” she asked him.
“A little over two months,” he said, brushing her damp hair from her shoulder. “It’s been almost four months since we left the palace. If anyone came to search for us, they would have given up by now.”
Gideon’s hand hadn’t left her as he played with her hair and traced it down her arm, but there was nothing lustful about his attentions. She felt in his touch the longing and relief that she was here, and whole. Hara brought up her hands to caress the sides of his neck, his shoulders, reveling in his tangibility. His eyes were warm and clear, half-lidded as he watched her face. She had almost forgotten how beautiful he was, and it made her a little shy.
“You should get some rest,” he said, turning away to arrange the bedclothes.
She crawled between the covers and he followed after, extinguishing the lantern light. No sooner had the darkness blanketed them than sleep claimed Hara.
She walked along the spiral hall again, wandering alone and passing rooms with confusing images. A ship at sea, a wedding, Corvus embracing a young man. She walked quickly, the scenes filling her with an unplaceable sense of dread, and then there was a blinding spark of light. The rooms seemed to evaporate under the glare, as though the light was a physical force, and all that existed was the shining, burning oblivion—
Hara stirred, disoriented. Her heart seemed to beat an irregular rhythm, and she placed a hand over her chest to calm her breathing. For a terrifying moment, she did not know where she was, and then she heard Gideon’s breaths and felt his arm resting heavily across her stomach.
Her heart slowed as she concentrated on his breathing. The sorcerers were free of the stone, and for this small pocket of time, they were safe. This room was real. The stones under their bedding, the gray light seeping through the window, the stream outside and the woods all around were real.
And Gideon.
She turned under his arm and buried her face against his warm chest. He stirred, his arms tightening around her with drowsy strength, and he pressed his lips to the top of her head.
“Bad dream?” he murmured.
It was more than that. The time in the stone had altered her in ways she was not yet aware of, and it frightened her to think that the things she saw might be more than mere dreams. There were things she did not want to see, but would force themselves to be known. It felt like a curse.
At her silence, Gideon sketched his fingertips up and down her arm. “Do you wish to talk about it?”
Hara closed her eyes and concentrated on the journey his fingers made, the warm gentle drag across her skin. It reminded her of his quiet caresses the night before, almost tentative. For Hara, it felt like they had only been separated for a day, but it wasn’t so for him. She drew his influence over herself like a blanket, slipping into his past.
She Saw the long cold nights on the mountain, the wind ripping at his shelter and giving him little rest. Looking over his shoulder, trying to pick out the sound of footsteps over the cracks and groans of ice, in constant fear that his father’s men had found him at last. Seraphine curled by his side, nestled in his bedroll. The hours he spent staring at the dark pit, haunted with uncertainty as the weeks passed.
The longing. It tinged his memories, soaked them. Oh, how he had missed her.
Hara opened her eyes, and her hands found his shirtfront.
“No. I don’t want to talk.”
Fisting the fabric in her hands, she pulled until his mouth bloomed over hers, inwardly thanking Alcmene.
As they kissed, his lips opened and his mouth grew bold and demanding, tipping her head back. The hesitancy in his touch was gone, and she felt all the yearning from his memories spill forth as he took her invitation.
He was lithe muscle under her hands as she pulled off his shirt, and he wasted no time bunching up her shift and lifting it over her head.
He formed a cage of heat around her body as he climbed on top of her, and he smelled of the cold mountain and the herbal soap that the fae used. The delicious weight of him pressed deeply between her hips as he settled there, nipping ather shoulder and running his tongue down to her nipple. Hara panted, trying very hard not to moan. The earthen walls were thick, but she did not know how sharp fae hearing was.
“It’s been so long,” he said in a rough whisper against her breast. “I missed you for every hour of every day. I got no rest from wanting you.”
He ran his hand down her body until his fingers brushed her lower belly.
