Page 47 of The Mercy of Dawn

“We’re sharing this one,” Cyril said, as she gave the second apple a hasty wipe on her pants and halved it. Attie didn’t seem to mind and happily took the core when Cyril finished her half.

It pained her to admit it, but the apples in Reykr might have been better than the ones in Helia. Gods, Sebille would have been furious with her for even entertaining that notion. She was of half a mind to go see if Boone or one of the stable hands wouldn’t mind giving her another to split with Attie, but her equine companion was suddenly off-put.

Attention fixated down the aisle of stalls, Attie snorted and stomped her hooves on the ground.

Cyrill took a step back out of the stall only to see Runa.

Fuck.

All ethereal grace and sweeping robes, she spotted Cyril from halfway down the stables and smiled. Apparently, a single day alone was too much to ask for.

“I’m glad you found your way here,” Runa said when she cleared the last few stalls between them. Still, she kept a healthy distance from Cyril.

“I needed some air.”

Runa only nodded and watched as Cyril moved back into Attie’s stall and started brushing her again. Something to occupy her hands and her mind.

“We missed you at dinner last night,” the queen finally said, “and at breakfast and lunch today too.”

“I’ve been eating in my room.” Cyril was sure she was insulting no few customs, talking to the queen with her back half-turned to her.

“I figured as much.” She heard the soft shuffle of Runa’s robes as she took a few steps closer. “I…I owe you an apology, Cyril.”

So they were going there, then.

If there were ever a time for Cyril to ascend without warning and find out she could phase, now would be a great fucking time.

“Last night, Dion…enlightened me as to how painful of a topic it is for you, and I…” Runa sighed. “I never would have broached it had I known. I made a hasty assumption, and I am sorry for that.”

Cyril glanced back over her shoulder, just for a moment. The queen’s brows were low, and her eyes spoke to a tiredness that she understood well. Runa looked…defeated. She almost wondered if Dion had enlightened them both in the same way yesterday.

“It’s alright,” Cyril mumbled, turning back to Attie. What fell out of her mouth next came as a whisper. “We don’t talk about her, ever.”

Cyril heard the soft shuffle of robes again, and Runa’s hand settled between her shoulders. Her touch was warm and steadying, a little sickening too.

“Maybe you should,” she supplied quietly. “If Dion isn’t receptive to that sort of thing, I’d be happy—”

Cyril shook her head.

That was not a bridge she even wanted to think of crossing.

Runa eased back from her and silence swelled around them again for a painfully long moment before the queen finally broke it.

“Dion owes you an apology too, doesn’t he?”

Cyril turned, and whatever sort of unease settled into her face, Runa understood it in a heartbeat.

“Mikael told me what happened yesterday in the hall. He said Dion was…rough with you.” There was wariness in the silvery depths of Runa’s eyes. Like she didn’t want to accept that her friend had that sort of streak of cruelty in him. But she had to know. “And I realize what happens between you two isn’t necessarily my business, but…Cyril, if you ever feel unsafe here, will you please let someone know?”

The implication in Runa’s words hung heavy.

A reality Cyril was sure neither of them wanted to accept was a possibility.

That Dion would cross that line someday…

Cyril only nodded. She did not trust her voice.

That heavy implication grew into discomforting silence.