Page 94 of Break Her Heart
He gave a small, crooked smile. “No one recognized me with my hood on. Or if they did, they didn’t dare say anything.” He stepped closer. “I went to the stores and through the alleys. I asked anyone I recognized from Market if they had anything Odelia made. Most people said no. Said they burned the clothes she made after the executions—worried it was cursed, or spelled somehow. Superstition.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “But a few hadn’t. Some still had pieces hidden away. I gave them more coin than they’d ever see again in their lives. Enough that they couldn’t refuse.”
He turned and walked over to the armoire.
My breath caught as he pulled it open and began carefully lifting out more pieces—folded tunics, skirts, a patched jacket with a crooked button, all faded but intact.
“I know some of these are men’s clothing,” he said, “but I thought you’d like them anyway. Or maybe you could give them to Ad—”
I didn’t let him finish.
I launched forward, the dress still in my hand, and wrapped my arms around his neck. I kissed him hard, fiercely, my tears still wet on my cheeks.
He caught me instantly, his arms locking around my waist like he’d been waiting for this—for me—to fall into him.
And I did.
* * *
I sat at the bakery, fingers curled tightly around a lukewarm cup of tea I hadn’t even taken a sip of. The scent of fresh bread usually brought me a strange sense of comfort—of warmthand memory. But today it only made the minutes feel heavier, thicker.
Adar was never late. He was always here first, waiting at our usual table, already sipping something warm and pushing a small pastry in my direction before I even sat down. But now… the chair across from me remained stubbornly empty.
I tried not to fidget, yet my foot tapped beneath the table. Doubt crawled up my spine like cold fingers. What if he was still mad at me? Surely he was over it by now.
It was necessary.
But maybe I shouldn’t tell him just how much I enjoyed doing it.
The coven was a sacrifice I had to make when I made the deal with August. I couldn’t be the Mother they needed me to be when I was spending all of my time fighting for their freedom. I picked at the seam of my sleeve, suddenly aware of the fabric against my skin. My eyes drifted down, and I smiled faintly.
The dress I wore today was one August had given me that morning. It was a little big and definitely not the usual style I preferred—looser, more delicate in its stitching—but it didn’t matter. Not when it was a piece of her. Of home.
The bell above the bakery door jingled and I glanced up.
Adar walked in, his expression unreadable as he scanned the room. But when his eyes found mine, he rolled them—just slightly—and I bit back a smile. He wasn’t mad anymore. I could see it in the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth, the way he walked toward me without hesitation.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
He sat in the chair across from me. “I wanted to make you worry for a minute.”
30
Bronwen
“The whore—no, that’s not right.Horse. The horse… ran. Well, that was anticlimactic. I was a little more excited when I thought it said whore.”
Benedict let out an audible huff. “I’ll probably regret asking, but what are you doing?”
“August is trying to teach me how to read the old tongue. He wrote out some sentences for me to practice.”
We’d spent the past few weeks working hard in the archives, trying to piece together anything useful. But truthfully, I knew I wasn’t much help. Not when I couldn’t read most of the tomes and was stuck staring at strange illustrations, trying to guess what any of it meant.
“Could you read them in your head? I’m trying to concentrate.”
“I’ll try,” I muttered.
August had been gone for hours—off doing some mysterious, kingly thing he deemed too dangerous to bring me along for. And of course, the safest place for me in his eyes was here. With Benedict.
