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Tawny glanced over as she tucked the blanket around Poppy. “She’s been through a lot, Hawke, and Vikter…” Pressing her lips together, she took a moment. “Vikter was important to her.”

“I know.” The question had come out harsher than intended. My gaze shifted to Poppy, and then I looked away, running a hand through my hair. “She’s slept for so long. That can’t be healthy. Has she even eaten?”

“She woke a few times.” Tawny’s brows pinched as she stood. “And I’ve managed to get her to drink water and take some soup.” A faint, tired smile crossed her features as she came around the foot of the bed, smoothing her hands over her pale mint-green gown. “But you already know that. You’ve asked that every time we’ve spoken.”

I had, but I had only seen Poppy awake once, which hadn’t counted because she hadn’t been able to use her voice at all. The screaming had damaged her throat. The Duchess had arrived with the Healer, and then Tawny had helped her bathe the blood from her skin. But after that? All I’d seen was grief that she couldn’t even escape in sleep. Sleep that seemed too deep. And sips of water and soup weren’t enough for anyone.

Turning my stare back to the window, I looked at the cold stone of the Rise looming against the gray sky of dusk. It was fucked-up. A lot of things were. One of them was that I actually missed that prickly bastard. I couldn’t say I liked Vikter. The gods knew he wasn’t fond of me, despite Poppy thinking he had been warming up to me. But I respected him. For his loyalty to Poppy—not to what she was. No other guard would’ve taught her what he had—taken those risks. Poppy lived because of him.

Vikter’s death hadn’t been inevitable. If I’d just done what I’d planned. I would’ve gotten her to Kieran before Vikter even found us, using compulsion if necessary. He would still be alive, and Poppy would never have seen what I’d sought to prevent. To witness that. To live it.

She didn’t need those memories.

But that wasn’t the only fucked-up thing. Obviously, I hadn’t met Kieran in the Grove. Jansen had gotten word to him, and I knew he was probably going stir-crazy, but I couldn’t do that to Poppy right now. I just fucking couldn’t.

The delay didn’t matter anyway.

I felt Tawny watching me. She’d been doing a lot of that these past days as we shared the same space, waiting for Poppy to return to us. What she hadn’t done at any point was ask why I was always inside Poppy’s chambers. Not that Tawny struck me as a rule follower, but she had to be curious, considering what she knew when it came to Poppy and me.

But she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t said anything about where I guarded Poppy. There was no doubt in my mind that the Duchess was well aware that I kept a very close and personal vigil.

Tawny cleared her throat. “You…” She trailed off.

“What?” I faced her.

She gave a small shake of her head, sending tight curls tumbling against the sides of her cheeks. She turned back to the bed. “You care about her.”

I stiffened, hearing Kieran saying the same damn thing. I didn’t need to hear any of their voices when I had mine annoying the ever-loving fuck out of me.

Because my inner voice answered her question without hesitation. Yes, I did care about Poppy. And it didn’t stop there. Oh, no, it had been doing a whole lot of chattering, reminding me that I shouldn’t care any more than I would for anyone who’d suffered a loss. That I shouldn’t care deeply because of who she was.

Who I was.

And what I would do to her.

“It’s okay,” Tawny said quietly. “I won’t tell anyone.”

My head whipped toward her.

“I have lessons to attend. You’d think they’d be suspended, but of course not.” Tawny bowed her head. “I will see you later.”

I watched Tawny leave the chamber, quietly closing the door behind her. “Fuck,” I muttered, pushing away from the windows.

Unsheathing the short swords, I placed them on the chest beside the broadsword. The chamber was too quiet as I walked to Poppy’s side, but it was always this way, wasn’t it? Likely long before I arrived in Masadonia.

I sat beside Poppy as I’d done well over a dozen times now. Her hair was splashed across the pillow like spilled red wine, lips parted, and breaths steady and even. The skin around her eyes was red and puffy, evidence that the peaceful sleep of the moment was rare.

Nightmares had plagued her. If they were from years ago or from the night of the Rite, I didn’t know, but she’d cried in her sleep. I’d never seen anything like it. Tears fell faster than I could wipe them away, but she would calm as I spoke to her. Telling her that it was okay. And it would be.