Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 62: All Over Now

Anna raised her head. "They'll think that I'm your subordinate. Any triumphs on the battlefield will be celebrated in your name, and any losses will be laid at my doorstep." Her smile was mirthless. "We live in a world where women are accessories, Delafort. I might sit on a throne next to you, but I'll be nothing but an ornament. Or a shield for your failures."

Ryne's smile faded. "I would never view you as an accessory."

Anna looked away. "I know. But that doesn't change the fact that history has a way of admiring men and blaming women."

Ryne's eyes were dark moss. "And if we both survive tomorrow?"

Anna ran a hand over her face. "We won't."

"Say that we do."

She lifted a shoulder. "Then I guess we're fighting another war."

Ryne's jaw was tense. "You're really prepared to do that? To stand opposite me on the battlefield?"

Anna met his gaze. "I'm prepared to do whatever's necessary to keep my people safe. But you knew that already. Because you'd do the same."

Ryne reached into his pocket.

Anna tensed. Burning stars. Was Ryne about to—? But no, it wasn't a weapon; he was holding a small box. Ryne opened it, revealing a blue ring nestled between velvet folds. Camille's engagement ring; she hadn't realized Ryne had kept it. Something ugly curled in her chest, and Anna looked away.

Ryne set the box on the windowsill. "Do you know what Camille said, when she gave this back to me?"

Anna's mouth tightened. "No."

Ryne's voice was soft. "She told me that the colour was all wrong for her. That it was meant for someone else. At the time, I couldn't bring myself to believe her, but now..." His eyelashes cast shadows across his cheekbones. "Even then, I was half in love with you, Cidarius. I don't know how you expect me to stop loving you now."

Anna stilled.

Something in her chest felt like it was cracking open, fragile and thin as an eggshell. Ryne's eyes were shattered glass in the moonlight. He sat on the window bench, drawing her hands into his lap, and his fingers were strong and warm.

"Don't give up," Ryne murmured. "Not yet."

Anna's laugh was hollow. "You've played enough chess. You can't possibly think we're about to win this battle."

"I wasn't talking about the battle," Ryne said evenly.

Anna looked away. "Delafort..."

Ryne cupped her face. He pulled back — a silent question in his eyes — but Anna was already eagerly stretching upwards. Yes. Their mouths clashed, a silent exchange of blows, and she knotted her fingers in the back of his shirt. She wanted him closer, faster, harder. She needed him to bruise her.

To destroy her.

Ryne's heart thundered through the grey material of his jumper, and she thought about the first time they'd kissed, that night after that tavern when she'd gone to his rooms uninvited. Ryne had been half-drunk on magic and wine, and he'd kissed her like he'd wanted to ruin her. Like she was a sickness that he could cut out of his skin by devouring her. Your eyes are very strange, he'd said. Like winter seas.

It felt like last week; it felt like a lifetime ago.

Anna drew back, pressing her face into his chest. Her fingers clung to Ryne's shoulder without her permission, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping her grounded. His heartbeat slowed, becoming a steady metronome beneath her ear. Eventually, Ryne untangled her with surprising gentleness.

"I should check on Camille's progress," Ryne said. "Just think about what I said, Cidarius." He rose, his eyes red-rimmed. "The offer still stands. For as long as you want it."

Anna swallowed. "Okay."

Ryne paused by the door, and Anna dug her fingers into the soft underbelly of her knees. Stay. The word ghosted over her tongue. Don't leave me alone tonight. Would Ryne agree? Probably. It was her own pride — and the weight of people depending on her, the fear of being selfish — that stood between them.

Anna kept her gaze trained on the window.

It was only when Anna heard the click of the door that she allowed herself to bury her face in her hands. Outside, the lone howl of a wolf drifted over the castle: the sound of a fierce heart breaking.

**

Ryne climbed the steps to the tower.

Odd shadows skittered across the wall, shrinking away from the torchlight. No guard stood outside the door, although he supposed that was to be expected; every able body was needed on the battlefield. Ryne took a deep breath of musty air. His jacket felt oddly light without the weight of the jewelry box; he'd carried it for so long that he felt its absence keenly, like a finger cut from his hand.

Ryne closed his eyes.

Right.

He pushed into the tower. Then he froze.

"Gods above," Ryne muttered.

Camille's head snapped up. "Ryne."

She was kneeling by the bed, her hands tangled in Isaac's limp palm. His former Captain-of-the-Guard was sprawled on the bed, his head lolling on the pillow. Something snagged in Ryne's chest and remained there: an icy, sharp thing.

"Is he dead?" His voice was short.

"No," Camille said. "But he's..." Her throat bobbed. "I think he's comatose."

Ryne leaned against the door. Relief swept through him with dizzying force, quickly followed by self-loathing. Isaac had betrayed them. Anna had almost died because of him. He shouldn't give a toss if he was dead.

And yet.

And yet.

"Can you search his memory?" Ryne asked. "While he's unconscious?"

For a moment, Camille looked as if she might chide him, but she shook her head. "I've tried. It's not working."

"Did you find anything?"

Camille hesitated. "I'm close."

"In other words," Ryne said, "no."

Camille looked down at their linked hands. Her face was drawn and bloodless, the pink ribbons in her hair sagging. When she spoke, her voice was quiet.

"Was it bad out there?"

Ryne ran a hand over his face. The instinct to make a snide remark or a cutting joke rose, but he pushed it down. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Not now, with warm bodies littering the castle walls.

"It was the worst day of my life," Ryne said.

"We're losing," Camille surmised, searching his face.

"No," Ryne said. "We've already lost."

Camille nodded. She didn't look surprised. She'd already drawn the same conclusion, Ryne realized, and probably before the rest of them, too.

Ryne looked down at his hands. His fingernails were broken, streaked through with dirt and blood that even the bath couldn't remove. "For what it's worth, Camille..." He looked up. "There are only a handful of people that I love in this world, and you're one of them. I'm sorry I haven't said that before."

The firelight cast Camille's face in shadow. "That sounded a lot like a goodbye."

"Keep trying," Ryne said, turning for the door. "You're our last hope."