“The longest night.” Her father put an arm around her mother and kissed the top of Heidi’s head. “The nights will grow shorter from this one. Light will come again. The sun will shine, and our people will recover.”
Balien didn’t speak. He rarely spoke anymore. Though he still shared Renata’s bed, they took little comfort from each other in their grief and uncertainty. Renata wished Balien was willing to go forward with their mating, but he refused until the situation had stabilized.
“It’s not safe. Mating involves a transfer of power. We will both be weaker for a time. We need to be safe before we perform the ritual.”
“It may never be safe,” she said. “Will we never be mated?”
He said nothing.
“I know you fear—”
“You don’t know what I fear,” he said. “You’ve never been in war. You don’t know the depravity the Grigori are capable of.”
“Don’t I?”
There were times when she felt him on the edge of her dreams, reaching out for her. It was the only thing that gave her hope. Though he’d marked her with his magic, they’d never claimed each other. Until they did, his walls could not be breached by her magic.
Renata reached out and took Balien’s hand, linking their fingers together. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he kissed her forehead. The simple movement brought her to tears.
Her mother sang the songs quietly. Her father read from the scrolls he’d saved from the library. But when Balien and Renata took to bed that night in the small room at the top of the narrow house, joy was a stranger to her.
“Will we ever feel happy again?” she asked. “I can’t imagine ever wanting to sing. Maybe it’s better that we don’t mate. If we mated, I might want children.” Her throat closed with emotion. “And we should not bring children into this world. Not like this.”
Balien turned to her and enclosed her in his embrace as she cried. “Your father is right,” he said, clutching her tightly. “We will smile again. We will sing again. We will recover from this, Renata.”
She had no words. His reassurances rang hollow.
“I’m sorry I have been distant.”
“You had no idea there was a threat,” she said. “You carry no guilt for their deaths, Balien. You couldn’t protect them if you didn’t know.”
Balien hugged her tighter. “How well you know me.” He cleared his throat. “If I were there—”
“Then we might all be dead,” she said. “We don’t know how many there were. They might have known you were there. They might have sent a legion of Grigori. They might have overwhelmed you, and then Mother and Father and I would all be dead.”
She felt the tension in his shoulders ease a little.
“You didn’t know, Balien. No one knew.”
“You are wise, my little librarian.”
She pinched his arm, and it was the first time in months she’d felt like smiling. “I am not little.”
“You are my delicate bird,” he said gruffly. “Flying across the hills like… You know, maybe you are not a bird. Maybe you’re my delicate goat.”
She laughed, then slapped her hand over her mouth as Balien threw his leg over hers, trapping her beneath him.
“I love you so, Renata.” He kissed her. “I love you. I would have nothing but joy for you, my love. Nothing but peace.”
“You give me joy. You give me peace.” She started humming a song to him, one of his favorites. It was the first song that had left her lips in months.
He closed his eyes. “I do not deserve you.”
Renata felt her unused smile spread.
But that smile died when she heard whispers on the edge of her senses. They were a faint scratching sound, like claws on stone. She clutched Balien’s nightshirt as her heart began to race.
“Renata?”
“They’re here.”
In seconds, the talesm that covered his body burst to life with magic.
“Be quiet.” He sprang from bed, slipped on his boots, and reached for his weapons. “I’ll get your father. Stay here.”
His strength could not distract from the growing voices encroaching. Renata covered her ears and bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
“There are too many,” she whispered. “Too many. Too many. Too many.”
Balien shook her shoulders. “Renata, how many?”
“I can’t tell.”
“How many?” he yelled.
“I can’t—Too many!”
Dozens of clawing minds surrounded them. They were coming like an avalanche, surrounding the house. The useless magic she’d been taught died on her tongue. She was no warrior. As fierce as her mate was, this enemy was too much for him. Too much for her parents. They had been running too long.
She looked at Balien. “I love you. I promise I’ll be brave.”
“No!” he yelled, seeing the resignation in her eyes.
Renata heard the street door crack. She heard her father rushing down the stairs and her mother whispering spells in her bed. Renata saw the wheels turning in Balien’s head a moment before he jumped on the bed, reached for his sword, and plunged it into the rafters. Punching with sheer force and rage, he tore open a hole in the old roof and dragged her up, shoving her through as she heard her father’s soul go silent.
“Run!” he roared. “Renata, you must run!”
Her mother’s voice was gone.
She shook her head. She heard the feet on the stairs. So many of them. Too many.
She couldn’t leave him. She didn’t want to live if he didn’t.
“RENATA, YOU MUST RUN!”
She had nothing.
Nothing.
Renata hid in a human church for days, willing the Grigori to find her. But because heaven was perverse, they never did. Days passed. Then a week. She considered searching for the nearest scribe house, but Balien had known none of the brothers there. He didn’t trust them. He only trusted those he knew, and he knew none of the scribes serving in Rome.
She left Rome, traveling north, hiding in churches at night.
It was winter and bitterly cold, but icy winds didn’t bother her, so she had the roads to herself. When it began to rain, she found another church. Sometimes she thought she saw shadows in the trees and heard the distant soul voices of other Irin, but none of them approached her. She wore heavy clothing and sheared her hair when it became tangled. She didn’t bathe. She only ate enough to survive.
Every night, she prayed to heaven that the Grigori would find her and give her peace.
They never did.
Renata traveled north. Venice was the only port she knew of, so she took the road to the sea, hoping to find a ship that could take her to the east. She had half her family’s gold sewn in the hems of her garments, and she thought she had enough money to buy passage to Jaffa. Balien had spoken about a brother who lived there. Perhaps, if she made it to Jaffa, she could find Balien’s people. She had the ring he’d given her, and his seal on her forehead. Perhaps it would be enough and they would give her some kind of home.
She had no one and nothing.
She was sleeping in a church outside Ravenna when she woke to a hand over her mouth. Renata’s eyes went wide as something dragged her from the base of the altar and into the shadows of a chapel. Her heart raced for a second before she slumped against her attacker.