Page 204 of Fallen Nocturne

No. No more of this.

I need to get her somewhere she can rest. I find an empty tent. There’s just a bedroll and some basic supplies. I lead Rhianelle inside.

“Sit,” I tell her.

“I need to check on everyone,” she protests. “I need to—”

“Sit,” I repeat, more firmly this time. “Please, Rhianelle. Just for a moment.”

She sits. The moment she does, I see her shoulders sag. All the weight she’s been carrying suddenly visible. I kneel in front of her and start checking her armor. It’s battered and dented from her fight with Lilith. One of the shoulder plates is cracked.

“I can fix this,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. “Just need some tools. I can make it work.”

“Svenn—”

“Let me do this,” I interrupt gently. “Let me help. Please.”

She nods, too tired to argue.

I work in silence for a while, removing her armor piece by piece, examining each section and making mental notes of what needs repair and what needs replacing.

I watch her from the corner of my eye as I work.

Her eyes are half-closed, and every breath she takes is shallow. Her hands tremble whenever she thinks I’m not looking, though she quickly curls them into fists to hide it.

She’s terrified and exhausted.

“Rhianelle,” I say softly. “Look at me.”

Her eyelids flutter open. Those beautiful lilac eyes that I’d die for, kill for, stare back at me.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say, even though I know it’s pointless. “We could find another way.”

“There is no other way,” she says softly. “You know that. This is the only chance we have to end this without everyone dying. But I am scared for you.”

“For me?” I quirk an eyebrow. Of all people, me?

“If I die, you die with me,” she says simply. “That was Death’s condition, remember? Our lives are tied now.”

The truth is, when Death told us the condition, I felt nothing but relief. I don’t tell her that it brought me peace, knowing I will never have to exist in a world without her. It is the kindest thing any god has ever done for me.

“I remember. Where you go, I go,” I say quickly. “I wouldn’t want to live without you anyway. But I’d much prefer if we both just lived. Together. For a very long time.”

Rhianelle smiles, and some of the fear leaves her eyes.

I cup her face in my hands and kiss her softly, not with passion or heat, but with everything I feel. All the love, the fear, and the desperate hope that somehow, impossibly, she’ll survive this. She kisses back, her hands coming up to grip my wrists, anchoring herself.

When we break apart, she’s crying.

“I love you,” she says quietly. “I love you so much, Svenn.”

The tent flap opens.

We both turn to see Lady Deirdre standing there. Her face is grave. Tallula is right behind her, Rhianelle’s handmaiden.

“My queen,” Deirdre says softly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the blessing ceremony for the dead will begin soon. Would you like to see them before their bodies are carried home for burial?”

Rhianelle stands immediately. “Yes.”