37. Maren
37
Maren
W e turned together to face the little inn, a wooden box nestled below us in the distance. Soft smoke puffed from its chimney, its windows aglow in hazy orange. A perfect picture of countryside bliss.
My stomach clenched at the thought of entering it again.
Night chased the last strands of dusk from the horizon. Darkness stretched over us like a thick blanket, wrapping us in quiet shadow.
Kye squeezed my hand.
I followed him down the forested hill, waiting for my nerves to get the better of me. He could sleep inside. I’d easily curl up next to Kolibri and wait out the morning. But at the bottom of the hill, Kye halted and leaned in.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered, the scent of garden rain falling across my cheeks.
I exhaled the air trapped in my chest, emptying my body of thought. The world faded into black, his amber eyes the last thing I saw. Kye waited a moment, perhaps making sure I kept them closed, then led me quietly forward.
Wispy grass between my toes ended as my feet shuffled over smooth wooden steps. Door hinges groaned. Kye’s boots scratched the floor, boards creaking under our weight. The scent of burning ash wood, sweet and balsamic. Fire crackled and died away, replaced by the faint grind of a second door as it opened. And closed. Curtains squealed on their rods.
A breath of air beside me, the soft glimmer of a candle through my eyelids vanishing into night.
Kye’s voice returned, smooth and low in my ear. “All dark. No more wood. You can look.”
He began to shift away, but I didn’t want him to leave. My fingers curled around the hand that tried to go, pulling him back. Tugging him in, where his chest loomed over mine and his warmth encased me. My heart battered my chest, my head scrambling to keep up with what my hands were doing as they slid up his arms and over his shoulders. Into his hair, still damp from my stream of water, his curls soft under my touch.
He met my hands around his neck, lacing his fingers between mine. The only light in the room snuck in under the door, and I watched as the shadow of his mouth hovered open. He pulled one hand from him, pressing something small and round into it. I paused, realizing what it was.
A ring. A ring smooth and thin. Simple and utterly unique. Stolen from my finger two months ago by a pirate with angry red claw marks over one eye as I sat chained to the wall.
In the dark, the soft cotton of Kye’s shirt stroked my arm as he transferred his weight between his feet. “I found it in Sero’s saddle. There’s something I need to tell you.”
My breath hitched as I folded my fingers around the band, the soft bite of shock clouding my thoughts. I thought I’d never see it again.
“What do you need to tell me?” I asked, my voice suddenly raspy.
Kye led me to the edge of the bed, sitting beside me. The mattress dipped under us, thatched straw grating as it bore our weight. “There is lore behind this pair of rings.”
“This pair? My ring?” My words echoed in my head.
My ring.
I watched his thumb as it drummed over his thigh. “My mother was called the Princess of Thieves,” Kye said. “Her father dealt in the riches of the black trade of Cressi, and these rings were part of her dowry. They’re called the Soul Rings. They belonged to my parents.”
“To your mother and the King.”
Silence trickled around us, through the walls and across the floor. “No,” Kye answered softly. “To my parents.”
He waited for me to conceive a thought that had begun to materialize in my mind weeks before. “Who?”
“A man she was in love with,” he said simply. Wistfully.
“But Hadrian?”
“Shares the King’s blood.”
“And Jonet?”
Another one, Cemre?
Kye sighed. “She and I share a father.” He leaned back on a palm, the mattress protesting as he shifted away. “The rings are said to be made of the blood of two souls who lived and died by sea. If a couple makes love while wearing them, it ties them together. Body and mind.”
Two souls who lived and died by sea.
Naiads?
“It only works once,” he continued. “Once you tie to a soul, you can’t take it back. You can’t choose another instead.”
“These rings were supposed to be saved for Emilius and her,” I ventured, trailing the steps of his story. “But she shared them with another man first.”
The blurred silhouette of his head nodded. “And he never forgave her for it.”
“Your father?”
“No. The King.”
He waited for me to understand, but my brows twinged in confusion. I rolled the delicate ring in the center of my hand. “How would the King have known?”
Kye’s heart rate increased. Acrid fear escaped him, sour dread filling the air. “The rings bind two souls, body and mind . My mother gave Emilius a false ring. He expected to take her to bed and live the remainder of his life hearing her thoughts. But their wedding night came and went. And he never did.”
I blinked into the dark, the significance of his words slowly sinking into my bones. My legs straightened as I lifted off the bed, and the unmistakable sound of Kye running a rough hand through his hair met my ears.
Body and mind. Hearing her thoughts.
“You gave me this ring,” I said, turning to face him, though all I found was the rigid outline of his body, chin tucked into his chest and fingers deep in the roots of his hair. “You gave me this ring and took me to your bedroom—”
“I couldn’t do it,” Kye murmured.
“And the beach at Cynthus Castle—”
“I couldn’t then, either.”
I backed away, bare feet sliding over the cold floorboards.
“Well, you didn’t have the chance to,” I snapped. “We were both captured.”
“I meant to,” he said, voice tight. The scent of his fear, of his desperation engulfed me in a cold, tight cloud. His heart raced as he stared at the floor. “Both times, I meant to. Someone was hiding in the palace, trying to kill my brother, and I thought it was you. And I told myself you wanted me, anyway. That you sought out my presence in the halls and on the grounds. That you lingered when I touched you. That you had arranged our marriage to suit your own nefarious plans, so why shouldn’t I use my own tools to understand who and what you were?”
My back hit the wall, and I struck a blind hand, searching for the door.
“But when I had the chance, I couldn’t. I pretended to find your knife the night of our wedding to give myself a way out. But I was more determined on the beach. Then you reached for me and I froze. I realized I couldn’t—and then suddenly there was a sword at my throat. I should have noticed Kriska, Leihani, but I was too busy panicking inside my head, knowing I was taking something from you. Something that was yours, that I had no right to take. Something that, in my heart, I knew I wanted you to give me freely.”
The doorknob met my palm, and I curled my fingers around it.
Kye swallowed. “I couldn’t take your thoughts and live my life listening to how much you hated me every day. Not when I knew I loved you.”