Neve gave one slight shake of her head. “Let him rest,” she murmured. She glanced at Red—her sister should have some say, she thought.
Red nodded, mouth pressed into a tight line.
Raffe swallowed once, then again, and when he spoke his voice was thick. “You’re right,” he said, turning back to the man in the snow. “Your name is Arick. You live in Floriane. I can… I can help you get back there, if that’s what you want.”
“I’d like that.” Despite not remembering anything other than where he was from, Arick didn’t seem bothered. He tucked his hands into his pants pockets, looked down at the white ensemble he wore, somehow brought here from a place that no longer existed. “Didn’t dress for the cold, did I?”
“Here.” Eammon stepped forward, shrugging out of his coat. Arick accepted it with a guileless smile. The former Wolf watched him a moment, dark eyes unreadable. Then he clapped the other man on the shoulder and stepped back to Red again.
A ragged sound from Raffe, one he choked off. Kayu stepped up to him, put a tentative hand on his arm. Raffe covered it with his own, unselfconsciously.
Neve’s gaze strayed once again to the figure on the snow, watching. This time, Raffe’s eyes followed.
“Him,” he said, and started marching over the field. “I’m going to—”
“Not before I do.” Red moved forward with her hands bent to claws, amply prepared for mundane violence in place of anything magic. Eammon turned with her, his fists clenched, ready to dive back into the brawl they’d interrupted.
But they didn’t have to go meet Solmir. The once-King came to them, striding purposefully over the ground until he stood close enough for Neve to see his face.
Gone was the arrogance that she’d assumed was ingrained in him, as much a part of his features as his straight nose and high cheekbones. Solmir looked nearly as tired as Neve felt, face mottled with bruises, one eye puffed and purpled.
He held his hands out to his sides, a posture of martyrdom. But his eyes stayed fixed to Neve’s. “Go ahead.” His voice was hoarse—another bruise bloomed on his throat. “I won’t stop you.”
Maybe it was the defeated look on his face that stalled Raffe, and Eammon had already worked out his frustration, evident in the black eye and the bruises.
But Red took the invitation. She walked up and punched Solmir in the chin, hard.
Chapter Forty-Five
Neve
Red!”
Neve’s shout was, predictably, ignored. Her sister shook out her fist while Solmir grunted, gingerly touching his jaw. The skin had split, and his fingers came away bloody.
“Look at that,” he murmured. “It’s been a while since I bled in color.”
“There’s more where that came from,” Red growled, ready to swing again.
Neve reached out, but she wasn’t the one to catch her twin’s hand.
Raffe was.
His fingers curled around Red’s fist, holding it gently. Red whirled to face him. “If you don’t want me to hit him, you’d better do it, and quick.”
Solmir clenched his teeth. Blue eyes burned beneath lowered knife-slash brows, staring at Raffe like one might glare down an approaching predator.
But Raffe didn’t return the same fire, his face thoughtful and drawn. He looked from Solmir to Neve, to the torn coat Neve wore.
Neve didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do here, where her prince and her monster stood so close and all her fear was for the wrong one.
Slowly, Red dropped her fist and stepped back, coming level with Eammon. Fife stood beside him, an angry look on his face, though he didn’t make any move toward Solmir. Lyra looked more determined than angry, her fingers continuously twitching toward the hilt of the curved blade she wore on her back. Kayu mostly seemed confused, though her tense stance and almost-reaching hand betrayed the apprehension she felt at having Raffe stand so close to the once-King.
And Raffe and Neve just stared at each other, neither having the words to explain what had happened.
Though after a handful of heartbeats, it seemed Raffe understood.
He turned to Solmir, still with that thoughtful expression. “You protected her.” A murmur, but in the silence of the snow, it was loud enough for all of them to hear.
Neve expected Solmir to cant up his chin, to give some sharp, pithy response. But when words came, they were low and nearly pained, chased with a nervous swallow. “Not at first.”
She thought of that moment in the upside-down castle when they found the Shadowlands’ half of the Heart Tree in its first form, before she chose to stay and made it a key. When he’d kissed her, a real kiss, and passed on all that magic, made himself the more suitable vessel in anticipation of the Kings’ coming.