Eammon’s fingers shook as he pushed her hair away from her face, traced her jaw. Red rested her forehead against his chest. Warmth bloomed, the forest in him welcoming the forest in her, a missing piece fitted into place.
“What did you do, Red?” Horror laced Eammon’s voice, and when she looked into his eyes, it lived there, too. He pressed his forehead against hers, swallowing hard. “What did you do?”
Fife brought food and wine, but didn’t linger, movements small and eyes unreadable. His voice met Lyra’s when he climbed back down the stairs, murmuring low and indistinct.
Eammon sat at the foot of the bed, features shadowed by the blazing fire behind them. Red’s hands rested gingerly on her knees, one sliced and scabbed, the other broken. After taking the roots, the pain of them had been nearly forgotten, but now it was a struggle to keep her breathing even.
“They hurt you.” Eammon looked at her injuries like he was cataloging each one, debts requiring restitution.
The forest in her chest rustled. “I’m here now. I’ll be fine.”
“You aren’t fine.” His eyes stayed on her hand, like he could intimidate it into healing, but the vehemence in his voice made it clear he was talking about more than broken bones and dagger cuts.
She touched his wrist, leaving a smear of her blood. “Eammon, I—”
His fingers closed over hers, cutting her off. She tried to pull away, knowing his intention, but warmth and golden light flared before she could. Eammon growled through gritted teeth as cuts opened on one hand, but he didn’t pause, reaching for the other. A pop, and her bones righted even as his broke over them, the shift sharp against her skin.
Red flinched. She looked at Eammon expecting changes, new height or the whites of his eyes completely taken by green. But other than a faint blush of emerald along Eammon’s veins, nothing happened. The bark braceleting his wrists remained, and the green-threaded veins around amber irises, but the Wilderwood wrought no more changes in him.
She’d taken half the roots, rebalanced the scales. Made him closer to man than forest.
His eyes widened, locked on hers. Then they closed, his jaw tightening against the pain he’d taken.
“Self-martyring bastard,” she whispered.
A low grunt was his only reply. Eammon went to the desk with its scattered paper, rummaging for a bandage with his bleeding hand. When he found one, he turned his attention to his broken fingers. Red turned her head and closed her eyes, not wanting to see him set the bones. Another low, strained growl, another pop that made her wince.
When she looked back, both his hands were wrapped. He spoke to them rather than her. “You shouldn’t have done this. Without the roots, the Wilderwood would’ve let you go.”
“And it would’ve taken you.” The image of him half subsumed in forest was as easy to recall as a recent nightmare. “It needs two, Eammon. You can’t carry it all alone, not forever. I couldn’t leave you to—”
“You should’ve left me to rot.” Eammon did look up then, eyes fierce. “You know what happens.” His voice was hoarse, the last word barely sound. He turned away on it, like he didn’t want her to see him break.
“It won’t happen this time.” She knew it, knew it as sure as she knew the shape of his mouth. “This time it’s different. I chose to take them, knowing the consequences.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” Gently, she stood from the bed, crossing the room to stand behind him. They didn’t touch, and he didn’t turn, but every line of him attuned to every line of her. “Eammon, I took the roots because I lo—”
“Don’t.” A whisper, low and rough. “Don’t.”
Her lips pressed together, closing the confession behind them.
They stood silent. Eammon’s jaw trembled with the effort of keeping it clenched. Finally, he pushed back his hair with his bandaged fingers. “Tell me what happened.”
It sent everything careening back, all the emotion she’d cried out as she rode here on a stolen horse. Red’s breath shook, a tremor that started in her voice and traveled down her hands. “They have Neve. They have my sister, and now I can’t get to her, and I chose it and I wanted it but shit they have her, and I—”
“Shhh.” His bandaged palms cradled her face, all the ways he held himself apart coming undone at the sight of her crying. “We’ll figure something out, Red, I promise you. We’ll find a way.”