Chapter 9
My heart is still galloping at the speed my horse was moments ago when we exit the clearing.
The vestiges of death still encapsulate me, and I shake as if physically getting rid of the whole experience.
I’m about to collapse, having reached the end of my endurance, my face buries itself into the silken mane of my horse.
“Good girl,” I tell her. “That was some stellar riding.”
Uncle Taj keeps back, ready to ride into the veil and it only occurs to me now that he’ll have to fight his way back alone.
The massive ex-war Elf doesn’t look bothered by the task, his white hair stark against his copper skin, his fierceness burning straight through his blue eyes, which are focused behind me.
Corrik is here.
His hair shines brightly as I remember, but there are streaks of white and a tightness to him that wasn’t there before.
He’s tired in his soul and it’s plain in the way he carries himself, but when he sets eyes on me, someone has poured sunshine into his cup once again. “Tristan, is that really you?”
I didn’t know how I was going to feel seeing Corrik again.
I’ve fallen in love with someone else, but the Gods help me, I still love Corrik too and it consumes me the moment I’m in his space.
I don’t think, I just do. I hop off my horse and run to him.
It’s natural when he takes me in his arms. It’s like I never left, and we sink to the ground and kneel on the grass together.
That’s when I hear the rearing of a horse and we both look to where Uncle Taj is. “Fare thee well, Tristan.” He doesn’t give me the chance to say goodbye, or even to thank him, and he’s gone disappearing into the veil. I’ll never know if he makes it back okay.
Corrik ignores the large Elf, which surprises me, focused only on me. “Tristan you … you’re different.”
I don’t even think about it, the Elvish comes out. “Different, how?”
He wrinkles his nose, his ears turn up and he continues in Markaytian. “You have their accent. We’re going to have to do something about that.”
“But I like my accent fine,” I say in Markaytian, not wanting to start trouble with him, already. Right, Corrik and I fight, a lot.
I’d forgotten.
He shakes his head. “It’s fine. Tristan, I’m just so glad we’ve found you. Your hair though, it’s gone, and it’s got color to it.”
His disappointment guts me as much as it ever did. But I can fix this one. “Wait until tonight. It will be back.”
He doesn’t ask how, only nods. “Right. We’ve got to get moving Tristan. It isn’t safe here. Are you hurt?”
“Not anymore, was just healed.” He winces. “I’m okay though. A bit tired.” The blood loss has me a bit woozy, but I don’t mention it. But right, overprotective is Corrik’s middle name. Bayaden was protective, without being overprotective.
“When we get you home, I promise I’ll make it so you’re never hurt again.”
I’m not sure I like the sound of his words, he’s too vague for my liking.
Two more riders show up. I recognize one of them.
“Young Warlord!” Diekin says hoping off his horse, running to me.
I get up from where I am on the ground and stand to embrace him.
“We’ve been searching for nearly a year, but we never gave up. ”
That’s meaningful. I get it. He knows how much I worried over Corrik never forgiving me, but he wouldn’t look for me all this time just for the sake of some treaty—royalty knows when to cut their losses. “Thank you for not giving up on me,” I try in Elvish hoping he won’t hate my accent too.
“Look at that, Corrik. He can speak like us.”
“He speaks like them,” Corrik says, his disdain clear and I decide to stow the Elvish for a bit, switching to Markaytian.
The other rider is as icy as Corrik was when we first met, and I see the family resemblance.
But I know he’s not just any one of Corrik’s brothers, it has to be Alrik, the one I’ve heard so much about, the one that is the Crown Prince of Mortouge.
He’s amazing with his larger-than-life energy and even larger muscles sticking out every which way, making him broader than Corrik, which is saying something.
And I can already tell he does not like me. Joy. “Pleased to meet you, Your Highness,” I say, trying to pull out my most respectful self.
He grunts. “Get him on a horse and do not lose sight of him.”
Something in the way Alrik says that makes me feel more like chattel than I ever did as an actual slave in Aldrien. “He’ll be riding with me brother,” Corrik says.
I would argue that I have my own horse, but it’s clear my opinion’s unwanted. Instead, I move to grab my bag. “Leave those,” Corrik says. “We’ve brought items for you.”
I nod with a last longing look at my things.
It’s just poor-quality clothing I stole from around the palace, but they are the last fragments of my life there.
At least I’ve got my pants and tunic on from Bayaden, for however long I’ll get to keep them.
I let Corrik assist me onto his horse and feel his weight settle in behind me.
I can’t help noting the difference between him and Bayaden. Baya had warmth to his solid frame, Corrik is like ice. I remember there was a time Bayaden was too hot; I had to cool him. I hope I can use my wiles to thaw the ice prince.
Keeping my physical state a secret becomes impossible and I pass out against the back of Corrik. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I bite my lip and choose to speak to him in Markaytian. “You’ll get angry.”
His fists clench. “Probably, but there’s nothing for it. You need to tell me, Tristan.”
I huff. “The giant white wolf thing got me. I’m okay. I—”
“—white wolf? Tristan!”
He stops his horse, which alerts the other members of our entourage. In addition to Diekin and Alrik, there are several members of the guard with us. Alrik rides over, glowering. “Corrik, what’s the meaning of this?”
“He was attacked by a white wolf,” Corrik says looking me over. He finds nothing.
I grimace. “Corrik, I was healed. It’s the blood loss that’s affecting me a bit, but I’m fine.”
Alrik is unimpressed. “You should have told us. You could be cursed.”
“I’m not cursed,” I argue. “Uncle Taj healed me; he would have told me if I were cursed.”
Everything about that enrages everyone. “He is not your uncle,” Alrik underlines. “And Rogue Elves know little about such things. I have more magical ability in my little pinky.”
I would argue with that, but I think I’ve argued more than my allotment today. His stony gaze is intense, and I have to stifle a shudder.
“Corrik, see that he gets a proper examination. We’ll stop here for the night to allow him some rest. If you can’t keep him in line, he rides with me.”
After he sets off, leaving the cool air behind him, I tear up missing my life in Aldrien, wanting Bayaden to spank me soundly and curl around me to sleep. Mercifully, Corrik softens as he helps me down from the massive horse. “I’m sorry, Corrik. Please don’t be mad at me. It wasn’t my fault.”
There are more than white wolves on my mind.
My gut’s churning with what Corrik might think of me and yes I fell in love with Bayaden, I was torn up about it for a long time, but I came to accept the circumstances of the whole thing.
I hope he will too. “I’m not mad at you, Tristan.
You have no idea how grateful I am to have you back.
I’m angry he didn’t tell us the dangers.
I wouldn’t have allowed it, even if it meant you not coming back to me.
You alive and out there is better than dead. ”
Oh.
Corrik has changed. Now that I’m not recovering from death wolves chasing me, I can feel him better. There’s a calm to him that didn’t exist before. I relax. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t ready for your anger.”
“Fair,” he says. “I’m going to check you over now. Lie back.”
Corrik does something with his eyes closed, and his hands raking over me just above my skin. He begins at my head, tracing down my body, ending at my booted feet. It reminds me a lot of what Uncle Taj did when he was checking on the loyalty spell. “So? Am I cursed?”
“No.” He looks over to Alrik off in the distance.
“Don’t tell Alrik I said this, but Taj is a talented healer.
You well should have been cursed. Death wolves—by Ylor, Kathir.
” He helps me up. “You are weak, though. You’ll be riding with me for a few days.
We’ll do some healing spells together each day. ”
I nod. “Thank you, Corrik.”
He grips my hand and helps me up to a seated position. “I’ll have a tent set up for us tonight, you need a few nights of good rest and some food.” He leans closer. “And I imagine time to yourself wouldn’t go amiss.”
I squint at him. “Who are you?”
He looks at his hands then back to my eyes. “Tristan, there’s much to tell you. I want to say it all at once, but I also don’t want to overwhelm you. Give me time?”
“As much as you need, and I can have the same?”
“Of course.”
I smile, a bit of warmth settling into me, maybe things will be okay.
Corrik has two beds set up, which is weird for me even with the year between us. I assumed things would kind of just slip back into some version of what we had, considering how we started. We went from chatting in a book to sex on our wedding night.
Things surely have changed.
Sleep does sound good, and maybe alone is for the best. I’ve had no chance to grieve Bayaden—Papa taught me the importance of grieving—and my body is feeling the effects of being slashed open by an Elemental Death Wolf. I get into bed and I cry myself to sleep.
If Corrik hears me, he doesn’t say.