Chapter 299: My life for you

Sienna looked down.

He was on his knees. The tall, dangerous man who had held the whole house at bay, who had broken a stranger’s nose with his forehead and commanded an army, was kneeling on a rusted floor with a lace in each hand.

His head was bent. His dark hair fell across his forehead. His fingers moved slowly, crossing one over the other, pulling each knot tight and then loosening it a little so it would not hurt.

He was being tender with her. It was such a small thing. And it undid her. It feels like yesterday, she thought. It did. She could see it, as clear as a photograph.

A tall room full of books, and a lamp burning low, and a cold circle of metal pressed against the back of her head. A man’s voice, quiet and flat. Do not move. A hand that had dragged her through the dark.

She hated him. She had been so afraid. And somewhere in the long, strange months since, without her ever deciding it, he had turned into the air she breathed. She did not know when it happened. There was no one moment. It had only seeped in, a little at a time, until she could not remember how to live in a room that he was not in.

She had never thought of doing life with him. And now he knelt at her feet, and she looked at the top of his head, and she understood that he had become the center of her whole small world.

He looked up.

His eyes were dark and wide open, and they held everything. There was no mask in them. There was no guard. There was only a love so huge and so steady that it was almost frightening, the kind of love a person is only given once, and probably does not deserve.

Being loved like this, she thought. By the one person I never expected. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying.

"Sienna."

He sat back on his heels. He had finished the laces. He reached out and took both her hands in his, and his thumbs moved slowly over her knuckles.

"I know you are scared, and..."

"Yes," she said. She looked at him and smiled. It was a soft, tired smile, and it cost her something.

"And feeling terrible." He laughed. It was a short, warm breath of a laugh, and it eased the tight lines around his eyes.

"I do not know what will happen next," he said. "I wish I did. But I will always be here with you. And if I have to..."

"You will give your life for me," he finished it for him, quietly, before he could.

"Yes. I know." For a moment he only stared at her, with his mouth still half open. Then the smile came back, slow and amazed and full of tenderness.

"Marcus just said..." he began.

"That we are being followed," she said. "Yes. I caught that."

"You could not have heard."

"I did not need to."

"I was going to say..."

"I know what you were going to say." He blinked. He shook his head slowly, and a small, helpless laugh escaped him.

"Damn," he said. "I did not know we would be finishing each other’s sentences."

"It is a bad sign. We are getting old."

"It is a good one." He squeezed her hands. "It is the best one I have heard all week." The ship rolled beneath them.

Somewhere overhead, a boot rang on a metal rung, and a man shouted a short, flat word. It was not a panicked shout. It was an order. The engine’s hum changed, rose a little, and settled.

The little joke went out of the air.

Sienna looked at the round window. The sea was gray and heaving. There was nothing on it but the wake of their own boat, a long white scar curling away into the mist. But she knew that somewhere out there, behind the curve of the world, someone was coming.

"Lucky for you," she said, in a small voice, "now is not the time to dwell on that."

"No."

"Hopefully we get out of this one, too." She drew a breath. "And we go home." Her voice cracked on the last word.

"I just want to go home, Viktor." It was something she could not name, a place made of a door and a lamp and a pair of arms. She only knew that she wanted it so badly that it hurt.

Viktor’s face softened. He lifted her hands to his mouth and pressed his lips against her knuckles, one by one. Then he held them against his chest, where she could feel his heart.

"Yes," he said. "We will go home. I will take you. I promise you."

"Promise me."

"I promise." His voice was low and rough. "Just do not let go of my hand."

She did not.

He stood and drew her to her feet, and she swayed against him, and he held her. The pullover was warm. The laces were tight but not too tight. She felt the heat of his body and the steady knock of his heart. Beneath her own ribs, small and stubborn, her own heart answered, and she let herself believe, for one breath, that they were keeping time.

Please, she thought. Please let it be enough.

She did not tell him. The words rose in her throat and sat there, heavy as a stone, and she swallowed them down. Later. When we are safe.

He kissed her forehead. Then he took the little case of needles from the bed and tucked it in his jacket, and he laced his fingers through hers.

The door stood closed in front of them. Beyond it, up a steep iron stair, a gray morning waited with a whole sky full of trouble.

They stood side by side, shoulder against shoulder, with their hands locked tight. Neither of them spoke. They did not need to. Everything that could be said had been said, and everything that could not was already held between their palms.