Page 71 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

“Garden,” I breathe.

We step out of the atrium and into the gardens, and the cold night air floods my lungs. A bird startles from the hedge above, wings slicing the quiet as it takes flight.

He finally turns to face me, but my attention snags behind him. A figure steps out of the shadows at the far archway, not rushing or calling out, but still closing in.

“You’re Gemma,” he says, like he already knows the answer.

I nod, still trying to read him. “Who are you?”

“Someone who owes Finn his life.”

Warmth spreads through me, loosening the dread coiled low in my stomach.

“I’m Tommin,” he adds.

He has a glint of amusement in his pale green eyes. His calmness, after the panic, catches me off guard. My hands unclench at my sides, and I really take him in for the first time. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with tousled brown hair lightened by the sun.

Tommin’s head tilts in that same way, a beat before footsteps crunch against the gravel behind the hedges. He drops my arm and steps back, arranging himself into a casual posture, like the last few minutes never happened. A moment later, Rye rounds the hedge, and his attention flicks between us, sharp and assessing.

“What’s going on?” he asks, like he already knows something’s wrong and is deciding how hard to push.

Tommin answers before I can. “She was just getting some air,” he says lightly. “I got it handled.”

Tommin’s answer barely lands before Rye’s eyes find mine again.

“You all right?” he asks, like that’s the only question that actually matters to him.

His eyes search mine the same way they did last time. A small frown starts to form. He’s looking at me too closely, like he can tell. Tides, can he tell? Heat climbs hot under my ribs.

“Fine,” I manage before he can read anymore.

For a beat, no one moves. Rye’s eyebrows pull together, like he’s making sure he believes me. Then voices drift closer from the barracks, and his face shifts. He exhales, like he’s forcing himself not to hesitate.

“Get her back inside,” he says to Tommin. His attention shifts back to me as he adds, softer, “I’ll walk the perimeter and pull their attention.”

Tommin gives him a nod, and a wordless understanding passes between them. Then Rye steps aside and moves toward the barracks.

“Go that way,” Tommin murmurs, nodding behind me. “Walk easy like it’s any other night and don’t look back.”

“Thank you.”

The words aren’t enough. I hold his gaze and hope he feels just how much I mean them. I turn, settle into the dark, and keep walking.

My hands are still shaking when the alcove behind the kitchens comes into view. Finn’s already there, pacing and tearing a bread roll to pieces between his fingers.

“Took you long enough,” he says, worry bleeding through his words.

“You owe Tommin,” I say, aiming for casual but missing by a mile.

“What happened?” His hands close over my shoulders before the words are fully out, his eyes moving over me, searching for any sign of injury.

“I’m fine. Tommin got me out before anyone else saw me.”

Finn’s eyes continue to rake over me anyway, like he doesn’t quite believe me.

“Where were you?”

“Outside the King’s suites.”