Page 85

“Lore.”

“Yes?” Her eyelids fluttered open.

“Promise me you will be here when I return.” His voice was soft, barely carrying over the soft snores of Grey’s sleeping form. The sound of his words sent an ache through Lore, and she glanced to where he’d paused in the doorway.

His back was to her and his head was bowed.

“I will be here.”

Without another word, Finndryl picked up his sword and slipped out the door.

***

Lore hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep, but she woke up to Finndryl’s hand on her shoulder, nudging her awake. Water was dripping from his locs and his sleeves.

It must be raining.

That was good. Rain would have helped cover Lore’s tracks, in case her spell failed. He was furious still: his jaw was clenched and his brow was furrowed, but Lore thought that, underneath the fury, he was relieved.

She thought that because she felt the same. Just being near him again righted a wrong. She wanted to stand up and toss her arms around him and thank him for being there for her again. But she resisted the impulse.

“You weren’t followed. We must bring him up now and strap him down. I’m not sure what he’ll do when he wakes up and realizes there won’t be more of the queen’s food or drink.”

Lore nodded. “Let me get the door.”

Finndryl carried Grey up the stairs easily. Although her childhood friend was almost as tall as the average fae male, he’d lost so much weight and muscle mass that he looked as if he weighed nothing.

“I shouldn’t have left without telling you. It was impulsive. Dangerous. And wrong.” Lore could hardly keep her eyes open, and her stomach was still cramping painfully, but she couldn’t end the night without admitting this to Finndryl.

“It’s nice to hear you admit it. Now get some rest. When you wake, I expect you to tell me how you managed to break your friend out of the palace and live to tell the tale.”

***

It took a week for Grey to stop calling for the queen’s wine, his voice hoarse from screaming in agony as withdrawal racked his body.

Lore alternated between forcing bark and water down his throat and praying it wasn’t too late for him. But the grimoire had not steered her wrong. It just took a lot longer for the bark to pull the poison from his body. He would sleep until his body heaved violently, and he would throw it up, the bark now black with poison.

It took another three days for Grey to recognize her, but when he did, the whisper of “Lore” was quiet between his lips. His eyes were clear, alert. His face twisted in fear and confusion, and Lore clung to him, her tears soaking his borrowed linen shirt.

“Yes. It’s me. I’m here.”

“Why does my body feel like a carriage ran over me?”

Lore laughed, the sound thick with tears. “That’s so funny because I said that same thing a few weeks ago.”

Grey groaned. “I want to laugh, but it hurts. Everything hurts.”

“I know. You’ve been through so much.” Lore squeezed his arm. “For now, just know you’re safe. I’m taking care of you. Let me grab you some broth.”

Grey closed his eyes, nodding softly.

Lore ran downstairs and burst into the tavern. The place was empty save for Flix, asleep in a corner booth. Finndryl eyed her from where he stood behind the bar, slicing up ginger root.

Lore’s steps didn’t falter. She raced behind the bar and threw herself into his arms. “He’s awake, Finn! He’s awake, and he knows me! The detox worked.”

Finndryl laughed, dropping the knife to return Lore’s embrace. He picked her up and spun her around, her skirts rustling against the counter. She pressed her face into his neck, her smile wide, and breathed him in. The spicy scent of him was enhanced by the smell of fresh ginger clinging to him.

Finndryl slowed the spin, his laugh catching in his throat as if he realized—at the same time Lore did—that this was the closest they’d been since that night when he’d carried her back to his father’s house.