She tried to grab it back. Tried to catch her breath and couldn’t. She burst into a torrent of tears.

“Oh, my heart,” Gabriel said, reaching her in one stride and sweeping her into his arms. He carried her over to a low wall and sat, cuddling her against him. “Don’t do this to yourself. None of any of this is your fault.”

“It is,” she insisted through her tears. “You heard them. They learned about me escaping, so they thought they could do it, too. If I hadn’t been so irresponsible, if I’d simply sucked it up and performed my duty as I’d been trained to do, then they, you, your family, would all be safe. Instead, I’ve brought—” With horror she realized she was the dog leading a raging grizzly to ravage everyone and everything she cared about.

He stopped her words with a kiss, cupping the back of her head with one big hand and kissing her breathless. Which didn’t take much, as the flood of tears had already nearly drowned her. Still holding her close, Gabriel showered kisses over her face, murmuring soothing words, embracing her with ferocity, as if she were the fragile seedling now and he could somehow shelter her from any storm that came their way. She knew he couldn’t—especially against the might of the Convocation and cruel House Sammael—but, perversely, in that moment, it felt as if he could. As if, if she stayed like this forever, everything would be fine.

“None of this is your fault,” he murmured, and she realized he’d been repeating that same phrase, patiently wearing her down until she heard and understood. And, of course, he believed that, but he believed all sorts of noble things that simply weren’t true.

“You’re wrong,” she gasped, still out of breath from the fury, the grief, and his kisses. “I kicked over a lantern out of a fit of pique and set the world on fire.”

He laughed a little, then pulled back to study her face, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “Everyone has a breaking point. Have you ever considered that you are a hero? You dared to imagine a better life for yourself than the cage they tried to cram you into, and because you had that courage, others are now seeing a way to do the same.”

“No,” she answered, miserable and embarrassed and horrified at once. “I was selfish. I ran because I was afraid. And now I’ve perhaps permanently harmed Maman, jeopardized Alise’s future, and will likely destroy you and your house along with it. You should despise me.” Her heart throbbed with the cold knowledge—and the bone-deep awareness of how much she’d come to depend on his love. She couldn’t live if he came to hate her.

“And yet I love you,” he replied, kissing her, drawing her into a deeper, sweeter caress of lips. “I find you incredibly admirable, and so do your sister and your friends. I saw the way they looked at you with hope, believing that you can help them.”