Ruenen’s face darkened as Marai shifted her weight and picked at her fingernails. She forced herself to keep going, to keep meeting his eyes. Ruenen deserved this explanation.
“I found myself back in my nightmares, to the days when Slate would . . . and all I could think of were his hands on my body, and even though they were your hands, it didn’t matter. All I felt was Slate. Gods, I could almost smell him.” The sweat and sea salt on Slate’s skin. Marai nearly gagged. “It was so real. So I ran . . . I ran away and didn’t realize I was. I was about to go back through when the portal closed, and I didn’t have any magic left. I tried and tried, Ruenen, I did, but I couldn’t get back to you. I couldn’t save you. And then Keshel told me you were dead and I believed him. I’m so sorry.”
Marai met his stare again. Ruenen’s brown, fawn-eyes were wide, lips pressed tightly together, holding back his thoughts.
“I’m not Slate,” he said after a long moment.
“I know.”
“I would never hurt you.” He’d said the same before, weeks ago in Cleaving Tides. Ruenen’s face betrayed a kaleidoscope of emotions, as if he was trying to reign them in, but failing. “I never want to be compared to that monster.”
“It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t because of you, Ruen.”
His eyes opened wider in alarm, the anger replaced by something far worse. “If my hands . . . if they remind you of him, then I can never touch you. I never want to cause you pain. It would kill me to hurt you.”
Marai’s heart clenched. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched Ruenen’s pained face twist into a hateful grimace staring at his own calloused hands.
She felt the impulse to reach for him, but she grew timid, and instead, clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “You’ve only ever shown me kindness, and I repaid you in the most treacherous way. I’m ashamed of how I reacted.” Marai let out a shuddering breath. “The portal brought me right where I needed to be. It brought me to my family. As much as I hated growing up in that cave, every part of me needed to be there with them.”
An ember of strength ignited within her as she thought about Thora, Kadiatu, Raife, and even Keshel. He’d hurt her with his secrecy, but Keshel had given her a purpose. He’d listened to her. He’d trained her. She would be forever grateful to him for pulling her back from the ledge.
“Over the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to recover. Not just my magic,” she continued. “Something in me had to die in order to move on.”
The sharp edges, the dirt and grime, the soft spots she was so afraid to reveal . . . Marai couldn’t change her past, but she could forge a new future. A life of meaning, as Ruenen had once suggested to her.
“The nightmares of Slate don’t haunt me anymore. The scene I replay over and over was when I left you. The moment I discovered you’d escaped, I left to find you. Please, Ruen, I’m so sorry. I never should have left, and I’m a coward for running. Please forgive me.”
Ruenen’s face softened a fraction. His cold exterior hadn’t broken yet, but he blinked and some of it left. His eyes were open books of dazzling light.
“You went back to the other fae?” he asked in a strained, quiet voice.
Marai nodded, the tension loosening as their gaze held. “I learned how to better summon and control my magic. Keshel, my . . . brother, he’s not a fighter, but his magic is complicated and deep, like mine. It manifests differently, but he had to learn to control it, too.”
Ruenen looked away. A chill settled across Marai, as if a fire had gone out.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Despite being angry, Ruenen was still kinder than anyone else.
Again, Marai stifled the impulse to place her hand on his arm.
The bright sun sank in the sky behind the trees. It had taken hours to get to this moment, this conversation in the woods. Ruenen didn’t seem quite so angry now. The stiffness had left his body entirely. Marai knew he was taking all her words in, letting them marinate.
“How did you escape?” she asked.
Surprisingly, he smirked. “Someone helped me.”
“Who?”
“A man. A stranger in Cleaving Tides. Didn’t give me his name. We were kind of busy with the hunters.”
Marai cocked her head, urging him on.
“Right after your portal closed, this man appeared. I think he’d followed the hunters into the alley and knew they were up to no good. He stabbed two of the men who’d bound me from behind. I managed to get my hands on one of their swords and killed the rest, myself. I tried to thank the stranger, but he told me to run. So I did.”
Impressed was too small a word for how Marai felt. Ruenen had never needed to hire the Lady Butcher at all. He’d survived five years entirely on his own, and could’ve gotten himself to the southern ports. But he’d been trying to keep his identity a secret the best he could. It didn’t seem like he was trying anymore . . .
“Why didn’t you get on a ship?” Marai asked. “You were right there on the docks.”
“I’m tired of running. While I was being bound and shoved by those hunters, I realized I’d rather stand, fight, and die than run,” said Ruenen through clenched teeth, waving his arms in that familiar gesticulation. “I’m forcing Rayghast to come get me himself. Anyone who comes to take me, I stand my ground. None of the hunters he’s sent have been able to overpower me yet. I won’t be a prisoner. I’d rather be dead.”
He held his head high. Shoulders back. There it was: the pose of the Prince of Nevandia.
Marai huffed. So fucking reckless.
“If you’re willing to die, to stop running, why don’t you take up the throne?” Marai asked, temper rising to challenge him.
“Not this again, Marai.”
Ruenen started walking. He didn’t have a direction—he was trying to create space between them.
She didn’t let him get far before she came to his side again. “Become king and fight Rayghast on the battlefield. At least then, if you die, it will have been for something. Because that’s the inevitable end with your rash behavior.”
Ruenen gave her a withering look.
“Fight and win, Ruen. Be king and live without fear. Have a home, and do something good. Isn’t that what you kept telling me to do before?”
A flush of anger bloomed on his face and neck. “I don’t know how to be king.”
Marai grabbed hold of his arm and stopped his movement. “You’re scared, I understand. I’ve been scared for years. I’ve run for years because I was afraid of getting hurt.” She took a breath. “Instead, I’ve hurt myself far more times than I can count by pretending not to feel. You’re doing the same. You’re running from that life because you’re afraid you won’t be good at it. I’ve never met anyone more suitable to be king than you.”
