Page 117 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

I watch him. This man I’ve known for years, who I’ve protected, fought beside, bled for. Who loves the same woman I love. He deserves something.

“Rye—”

I want to give it to him; I want to tell him. But I can’t, because once spoken, the truth doesn’t belong to me. And some truths burn everything they touch. Even I don’t have all of it. She has a name I’ve never heard, a past she guards with her life. And something dangerous enough to hide from everyone. I can’t unravel it, not even for him.

“Rye.” I keep my voice gentle. “It’s not my secret to tell.”

I watch another crack form in a man barely holding himself together.

“She doesn’t trust me.” He says it so quiet and broken.

“It’s not about trust.” I hold his gaze, willing him to understand. “Some secrets aren’t kept because of doubt. They’re kept because the cost of telling them is too high.”

He doesn’t respond. I watch him wrestle with it, trying to let it be enough.

The door opens. Marel appears first, Gemma leaning heavily against her with her face gray with exhaustion. Just that short walk has cost her. Rye is moving instantly, crossing to her.

“I’ve got her.” He takes Gemma’s weight from Marel, pulling her gently against his side. “I’ve got you.”

Gemma sags into him with no hesitation, like her body chose him a long time ago. The loss presses in deeper.

“She needs to eat something,” Marel says. “Then get some real rest…in the bed. She’s stable enough now.”

Rye gets a few spoonfuls into her. She barely keeps her eyes open, swaying against his chest. When she’s finished, Rye lays her down like she’s made of glass and pulls the blankets up around her.

“Ryewood,” she whispers, and her hand finds his.

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep, little fox.”

Her eyes close within moments, her breathing evening out as sleep pulls her under.

Rye just sits on the edge of the bed, her hand in his, watching her sleep.

Then, slowly, he places her hand down and stands. He walks to the door without looking back and is gone before I can say a word.

I wait just long enough for it to settle, then follow.

The cold hits me the moment I step outside. Night has settled, heavy and dark. Rye is a few paces from the cabin, his back to me with his shoulders shaking.

I’ve seen this man face down his father’s cruelty without flinching. Watched him take blows, physical and otherwise, and stand back up every time. But I’ve never seen him break like this. Not even when he was seventeen, when I found him in the gardens at night with bruises around his neck.

He let me check him that night. My gut dropped when I found a splinter lodged in his flesh, and I knew with a cold certainty this was his father’s doing. I asked him what had happened. He started to tell me about the children he hadn’t been able to save, then his voice gave out. I sat with him until dawn broke, and we’ve never spoken of it since. He’s been a brother to me since that day, one I’ve sworn to protect.

“Rye.”

He doesn’t turn.

“I’m going to lose her.” His voice is so wrecked I barely recognize it.

I step closer. “She’s healing. She’s⁠—”

“Not like that.” He shakes his head. “She’s going to heal, and I’m still going to lose her.”

“Rye—”

“She has all these secrets, Grier.” He finally turns to face me, and the look on his face guts me. “Every time I think I’m getting closer, I realize how far she actually is. What if she never lets me in?” The words start tumbling. “What if there’s so much she’s hiding that when it finally comes out, she’s already gone? What if her secrets are bigger than us?”

“Rye.” I grip his shoulders and force him to look at me.