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Somewhere in Belavere City, Lord Tanner stalked some government parlor and my mother sat waiting in a cold cell, and I was here, unable to do what I must.

So, I did nothing. I remained here plucking at dandelion petals and hoping the correct course would present itself. I had pulled Patrick willfully into a trap without ever deciding to do so.

I was sinking, and soon, there wouldn’t be a way back.

But there had to be, somehow. Surely there was a way through?

Patrick waited, just feet away, and he remained a force to be reckoned with, taking my hand and pulling me through the throng. Whispering reassurances and sinking a vial of promises into my pocket.

If there was a way out, surely it was with him.

CHAPTER 42PATRICK

He felt every second passing like a stone added to a pail. It grew steadily heavier in his grip, harder to hold.

But there was no rebuff yet, just a maelstrom behind her eyes. Flushed cheeks. Wild blond hair strewn around her face. Full lips, parted in indecision. It was the longest he had seen her survive a silence.

She was, to him, a walking contradiction. Crafter and Artisan. Soft and strong. Vulnerable, yet difficult to read. Wickedly smart and painfully beautiful. A headache to any man trying to divulge all the secrets she was made of.

He was a selfish creature, he knew. Was it not enough to try and persuade her to his side of the fight? Did he truly need to keep her, when what she wanted was escape?

No, not escape. Freedom. It was a long time she’d spent in hiding. In Kenton Hill she was finally unfurling, he could see it. She had come alive here. If it was freedom she sought, he could offer her that. Maybe it would be enough for her to stay.

He hadn’t meant to ask it of her yet. There’d been a plan in mind. A more extended period in which to draw her in. Perhaps he’d fumbled things now.

But he didn’t think so. Difficult as she might be to understand, he wasn’tmisreading her when she admired the hills and laughed at his brothers and marveled at Kenton’s machinations. She no longer resembled a tightly wound spring. She went quiet when she looked at him, and that was how he knew.

In truth, he had never considered a wife. No one had ever enticed the idea for him. His devotion was spent on his family, his town, his people. He’d imagined his life would dwindle on that way, him expending himself on their behalf. On and on the fighting would go. Deals and tunnels and problems, and he would die eventually, somewhere amid all the noise with no great love to leave behind. Just the pub, the stacks, the mills, the mines. Kenton and the rest of the world churning on without him.

There was no room for a wife in all that.

But if he could find his father and end this war, perhaps room could be made. No more blood or interminable problems to solve. No need to worry that someone he loved might be tangled up in the mess. Lately, he really thought it might be possible. He held on to more hope than he’d admit to Nina, who still hadn’t answered the fucking question.

He imagined her in his bed each night, lying with her head on his chest, all those curls splayed over his skin.

Then he imagined her in someone else’s bed, and felt every muscle in his body seize. Blood pooled in his mouth.

Yes. He’d have to make room for a wife. He’d find a way.

Suddenly, Nina’s eyes glazed, tears threatening the rims, and Patrick stood.

“Wait,” she said, holding a hand toward him, staving him off. “I—there’s something I need to tell you first.”

She moved her legs to the edge of the bed and stood, beginning to pace. She pulled her blouse at the throat and said “It’s too hot in here” despite the frost on the window, the dying fire in the hearth. Her cheeks had turned ruddy and splotched.

Patrick closed the gate on the fire to snuff it, went to open the window.

She didn’t speak, only breathed heavily. Isaiah watched her from the rug with a tilted head.

“Just tell me,” Patrick said. He was nearing insanity. Lord, but being near her was a descent into madness.

“My mother fled Scurry when I was a girl,” she began, wiping her palms over her hips nervously.

Patrick’s chest tightened. “I’m sorry.”

“But she was a good mother,” she said, eyes flashing defensively. “Before… before she left.” Nina seemed to hover on the edge of some-thing.

Patrick waited, uncertain what to do.