He broke off abruptly, and I instinctively knew that it had cost him to admit the weakness. I wanted to tell him that the iron rot would fade away, that he would get better, but I didn’t know if it would any more than he did.

“You never lost me,” I whispered. “I always knew that we’d…” I broke off, because claiming that I’d had any certainty over the last months seemed like such a lie. “I hoped that…” My breath caught. “I…”

“I know,” he said. And then he kissed me, and all my uncertainty about how he felt was chased away in the press of his lips against mine, the taste of his tongue, the heat of his skin as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Rising onto my tiptoes, I pulled myself against him, relishing his soft intake of breath as my body molded against his, the feel of him so familiar and yet exquisitely unknown. Desire burned low in my stomach – a want that I’d been too long deprived of – making me feel dizzy and breathless.

“Cécile…” His breath tickled against my ear and the lamplight faded dark, then burst brilliantly.

I was dizzy and breathless.

“Cécile?”

“I’m going to faint,” I mumbled, and then my knees buckled and everything went black.

Chapter 36

Tristan

Had she always been this tiny? I carried Cécile upstairs, finding a bedroom that was all lavender and lace, which managed to be both tidy and disorderly, and knew it was hers. Laying her on the bed, I removed her sodden boots and stockings, but I paused over her dress. It was damp and reeked of smoke, but I hesitated about undressing her while she was unconscious. I’d seen her in less, it was true, but I wasn’t sure she’d appreciate its removal. So I left it on, tucking her under the thick blankets and arranging her tangled hair so that it was no longer in her face.

I did it all without touching her once. Because if I had, all I would have felt was pain.

Removing the manacles had made me feel better, stronger, and no longer at death’s door. But the damage they’d inflicted remained, and it did not seem to be improving. Any attempt to move my hands sent stabbing shocks of agony shooting up my arms, but my fingers were numb and unfeeling. Would they get better, or was this how I was to spend the rest of my days? A lesser, broken version of myself? With most tasks, I could compensate with magic, but not with her. Never again being able to feel her skin beneath my fingertips or to hold her against me without pain was not a loss I’d easily accept.

Dropping to my knees next to the bed, I let my light drift over so I could see Cécile’s face. The rounded cheeks I remembered had hollowed, her bones now sharp and visible through skin that no longer glowed with health. Golden lashes rested over dark bruises like marks beneath her eyes – and the fingernails on the hand that rested next to her chin were bitten down to the point where some had bled. Asleep and without the force of her personality in play, she seemed fragile. Faded.