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“Hilde isn’t here. And may not be, nor Rhea either, if the battle goes ill. Who is Mircea to me?”

He swallowed, hard enough for me to hear it. But answered truthfully. Guile wasn’t in this one’s nature.

“Your sire.”

“And you? Who are we to each other, in that future time?”

Another hesitation, but I thought that this one might be for a different reason. He seemed to be having trouble speaking suddenly, as if something was caught in his throat. And instead of an answer he leaned down and let his lips just graze mine.

It wasn’t a kiss so much as a declaration in physical form, and my head was already reeling even before the whispered words left his lips. “I have the honor, and the joy, to call you . . . my wife.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

I woke up an unknown time later on a bed in a cold room, but with the sun shining through an open window. It was warm, and even better, I could see it clearly. The beams lit up a patch of dark wooden flooring that matched the rafters above, a carved cross on a white plaster wall, and a table and four chairs, none of which were occupied.

For a moment, I just stayed where I was, blinking at the ceiling and enjoying the fact that I wasn’t blind.

I wasn’t lame, either, although my ankle still felt tender when I swung my legs off the bed and stood up. But it held. And continued doing so when I took a few, tentative steps forward.

My feet were bare. Someone had probably taken off my shoes to tend to the ankle and hadn’t put them back on again. I didn’t either, as they were still damp.

And because the honey-colored stone of the floor was a revelation.

One of the downsides to a dhampir’s healing abilities was that calluses tended to melt away as quickly as they formed, forcing me to wear two sets of nether hose if I was heading across rough ground or risk limping by the end of day. Even with them, and a sturdy pair of boots besides, I was used to feeling whatever I walked over, every rock and plant and slight tremor that could lead to prey. But not like this!

I could swear I felt the movement of the Earth itself under my feet, slow and lethargic, but discernable, nonetheless. And the drift of continents, the sluggish swell of the sea, and the rumble of the depths; for a moment it all thrummed through me, as natural as the sunlight falling onto my skin. I felt part of the world in a way that I never had before, felt home.

I almost cried.

Even stranger was feeling tethered to the Earth again, having weight and substance and not like I was about to fly away. I had already adapted to that other way of being without realizing it, and now had to adapt back. It was harder than I’d thought.

Being dead had a muffling effect on the senses, with everything dulled down, everything slightly faded, like my own spiritual form had been. Which was perhaps why the world seemed so vivid now. The colors were saturated, the sounds enhanced, and the smells—

I couldn’t remember smelling anything as a ghost, although all of my other senses had worked, so of course I must have. But now, the odors of life broke over my head like a wave, and it was stunning, even the horse dung on the street outside. It hit me in a nose wrinkling slap,

and was swiftly followed by beeswax from the polished furniture a maid had worked hard on; a few dust motes in the air slowly revolving; the scent of cooking pork from somewhere nearby; the fragrance of a flower newly bloomed and shedding its fragrance on the breeze . . .

I caught the bedframe for support, feeling a little dizzy, and with my heart threatening to pound out of my chest. But the sensations only broadened and then sped up, as if realizing they had my attention: the distant ring of church bells, clanging out a tune; the buzz of an annoyed bee, who’d mistaken the embroidery on the bed hangings for a real flower; another church bell answering the first, as if in competition; a couple of cats fighting and hissing at each other somewhere overhead; a bird singing sweetly; horses’ hooves hitting stone, clip clop, clip clop, clip clop; a mother calling after her young child and them both laughing when she caught him; a servant yelling to another about something going missing—

I couldn’t tell what, because the sounds of a nearby marketplace—horses neighing, chickens squawking, people haggling and talking and eating and going about their day—drowned it out, like it drowned out my very thoughts until I reached over and slammed the window shut.

And then stood there for a moment, breathing hard, with my vision pulsing in and out in time with my heart. But this was better. The shutters cut down on the light as well as the noise, with just a few dim stripes leaking in through the slats. Everything else was as muffled as in that other form, making the transition more bearable.

I let out a shaky breath and sat down on the bed again.

One of the strips of sunlight fell across my feet, causing them to stand out, but I’d have probably noticed them anyway. They were just visible under the hem of my dress, little pale toes clinging to the stone as if afraid that it might fall out from under them again. The sight left me feeling vaguely shocked, as I’d had no toes in that other form.

In fact, I’d had nothing from the knees down. It was as if, knowing that they wouldn’t be needed, my spirit had decided not to manifest them. But they were there now.

Lifting a foot off the floor, I wiggled the small appendages, and felt a huge smile break over my face at the sight. The tavern wench’s gown was blood-stained and wrinkled, and I hurt all over. But I didn’t care about that, because I was alive to feel it.

I was alive!

That one thought pushed aside all the rest and I hopped up again, whirling around and laughing, simply because I could. It made me dizzy, and almost caused me to crash into someone coming in the door. But I kept laughing anyway.

I couldn’t believe I’d survived that!

I simply couldn’t believe it.