Page 111 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

Rye checks her pulse himself this time. Nods once, and the sound that breaks loose from his chest is gutting.

He’s already wrapping both jackets around her, bundling her tight against the cold. “Where are we going?”

My eyes sweep the horizon and land on smoke, faint but visible through the falling snow.

“There…a chimney a few miles off.”

He follows my gaze, then lifts her into his arms in one smooth motion. Rye’s eyes lift past me and scan the snow like his mind won’t catch up to what he’s seeing, like he’s just now taking in our surroundings.

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know, but we need to move.” He holds my eyes for a beat, and I see him put the question down because she matters more than answers right now.

The snow is brutal, knee-deep in places, higher in others, and every step is a fight. We don’t speak; we just push forward through the drifts. Rye doesn’t falter, just trudges on with Gemma cradled against his chest. His arms tighten every time she stirs, and he dips his head to murmur things I can’t hear, things meant only for her. I recognize it, the refusal to let go. And now I’m watching another man carry her through a blizzard like letting go would kill him. She chose him, or maybe the world chose for all of us.

The miles stretch on, and my mind won’t stop turning over what happened. I’ve seen earth magic. I’ve seen it split stone and pull trees from the ground. I’ve never seen it swallow people and spit them out a hundred miles away in a blizzard. Whatever happened at Willowmere wasn’t the earth answering someone’s call. It was the earth deciding something for itself. I don’t know what that means, and the not knowing sits heavy in my chest the whole way through the drifts.

I don’t know how long it’s been when I notice that Rye is slowing. He probably doesn’t even realize it, each step coming a fraction later than the last, his boots dragging deeper through the snow. His arms are shaking, not from the cold, but from the strain of carrying her this far through drifts.

I know he won’t stop or ask for help. He’d carry her until his legs gave out, until his heart gave out. I know because I’d do the same.

“Rye.” I move beside him. “Let me take her.”

He doesn’t answer, just pulls her closer.

“Just for a bit. You can take her back.”

He looks down at her, pale and still, snowflakes clinging to her lashes, and I can see the war playing out behind his eyes. The need to protect her against the fear of letting her go, even for a moment.

Then he nods, more to himself, and the way he lets her go tells me it costs him everything. His hands flex at his sides, like they don’t know what to do without her in them.

“I’ve got her,” I say quietly.

We keep pushing, passing her between us when we have to. Somewhere in the endless white, the tension between us thins. There’s no room for rivalry when her life hangs in the balance.

The cabin appears as a dark smudge on the horizon, smoke curling from a crooked chimney.

Rye took her back half a mile ago and hasn’t let go since. He reaches the door first. His arms have to be done, but he’d never admit it.

He knocks, hard and urgent.

The door swings open, and an old woman stands in the frame. She has white hair and a face weathered by decades of winter. She takes one look at Gemma, and her eyes go wide.

“Please,” Rye says, his voice breaking. “She’s hurt.”

The woman doesn’t hesitate.

“Olin!” she calls. “Fire, now.” She steps back, waving us inside. “Bring her in.”

Warmth hits me like a wall, almost painful after the cold. The cabin is barely more than one room, a fire, a bed, and an old man feeding logs to the hearth.

“Here,” the woman says. “Set her down.”

But Rye doesn’t. He lowers himself instead, keeping Gemma cradled against his chest with her back against him. He faces her toward the fire and pulls a blanket around her.

The woman kneels beside them and pulls back the blood-soaked bandages with sure hands.

“It’s deep, but clean. You bound it well.” Her hands move to her ribs. “Two broken, maybe three.” Her eyes find Rye. “She needs to stay upright and take deep breaths, even when it hurts. Don’t let her lie flat.”