When her eyes peeled open again, the first thing Wren saw was fire. Behind the mesh curtaining the hearth, orange veins glimmered beneath the crackled, ashy skin of the logs. The fire exhaled a plume of sparks, warming her face.

Alive, the heat seemed to remind her. You’re alive.

She groaned softly at the unpleasant reality of that. A dull pain still throbbed in the back of her skull, and all her joints were swollen from overexertion. As she rubbed at her eyes and readjusted to consciousness, she realized she was nestled in a blanket. Deep exhaustion had crystallized in her bones, and she swore she would never be able to scrape the chill out from beneath her skin.

Or the guilt.

She rolled over and found Hal already awake, propped up by a few pillows he’d pulled off the bed. In the glow of the flames, he looked like an oil painting, achingly pretty and textured. Wren reached out to touch him, to check his vitals, but Hal shifted away from her.

“Don’t.” He sounded tired but sure.

As much as it stung, she deserved his distrust. “You should have left me there and saved yourself.”

“Perhaps.” Firelight danced in his eyes. “Am I still your prisoner?”

“Yes. So answer me this. Why’d you do it? Why’d you save me?”

“My life for yours.” He sounded so formal, as if there’d never been anything at all between them. “My debt to you is paid.”

“There’s no debt you owe me.” She couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice. “If anything, I’m still in yours. You spared me once already.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“You said you don’t remember, but I do. That day at the Battle of the River Muri, you saw me. I was healing a woman in a birch thicket when someone attacked you. You killed him, and I thought you would come for me next. But you didn’t. You just walked away.” Wren drew her knees up to her chin. “I’ve wondered about it ever since.”

“I’d given up by then,” he said gently. “I wouldn’t have attacked you first.”

Wren wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “Maybe you should’ve. I only healed you so you would survive when I kidnapped you. That’s the full truth. So there. Now you know I’m selfish and cruel. You surely regret saving me now.”

“I’ve seen cruelty. You’re not cruel. You’re only afraid.”

“What would you know?”

He didn’t answer her. How typical. Were they truly back to this? Back to strained silences and fighting? And yet even now, Hal Cavendish was kinder to her than she deserved. Kinder than she was to herself—and far kinder than she was to him.