Chapter 29
Seren
The weight of something large, heavy, and unfamiliar rested on my hip and I stirred, only dimly aware of my surroundings.
The Bellwether. The bed meant for one.
Rykr.
Drawing a shallow breath, I tried not to move. I couldn’t blame him for curling his arm around my waist as we slept but he’d also unconsciously dragged us closer together. My ass was tucked neatly into his groin, his knees were pushed into the back of mine, and his foot was draped over mine.
Warm, intimate. Too close.
If we really were husband and wife, I would have rocked myself back against him. Through the thin fabric of my shirt over my backside, the hardness of his cock pressed against me. It was tempting. Waking up like this in a lover’s arms would have been exhilarating, welcome.
But Rykr wasn’t my lover.
He wasn’t my real husband, either, no matter what Tara had implied.
Even if we survived the Skorn, he wouldn’t stay.
And if I let him leave, I’d be a traitor. Especially if his plan was to return to Lirien and warn his people of the war Haldron was planning.
The consequences of his escape … I suppressed a shudder. I wouldn’t think about that yet. If I did, I might lose my nerve.
What had I expected, really? That saving his life might mean something? That Rykr, of all people, would give up Lirien for me?
Fool. I was never seen as anything special. Needed. Anything other than a pretend warrior. The thought cut deep, but I shoved it aside. Feelings had no place here.
What mattered was breaking the bond, to give us each the best chance at survival. Imagining anything else was a dangerous fantasy. I would never force him to stay. Which is exactly why I need to get out of this bed.
Carefully, I reached for the small satchel of Ibarran spell powder on the nightstand. Dipping my fingertips inside, I took a small dusting and turned toward Rykr. I whispered a spell, then blew the dust from my fingertips toward his face. It settled there with a faint blue glow, then vanished.
The sleeping spell would deepen his rest, making it easier for me slip free.
With clever, slow-paced maneuvering, I got out of bed. Only when I was dressed and easing into the hallway, though, did I finally let myself breathe.
Crossing the hall, I tapped with a fingernail on Amahle’s door.
A few moments later, she opened it, her dark eyes peering into the dim lighting. “You realize you’re not in the forest, right? We can sleep past sunrise here.”
I shrugged. “Speak for yourself. Next time get me a bed for two. Rykr practically spent the night on top of me.”
Amahle lifted a brow. “That’s easy. Next time, you get on top.”
“Very funny. Care to take a stroll to the repository with me this morning? It’ll be fun.”
Amahle wrinkled her nose, considering. “Only if we stop by a bakery along the way. I’m not giving up the chance to eat all my favorite Emberstone foods for your side quests.”
“Deal.”
As I waited for her to dress, I leaned against the hallway wall, smiling to myself. Having her here grounded me. Even with the weight of everything pressing down, Amahle’s presence was like a semblance of normalcy to the world I’d existed in before Esme had been taken.
Funny how I hadn’t appreciated the simplicity of my life back then.
My worries had been about small things—staying safe, finding food, enjoying time with Amahle and Ciaran when our duties permitted.
Now, every decision felt like a step closer to failure, the weight of Esme’s absence a permanent albatross on my shoulders.
A faint tingling spread through my fingers, the familiar aftereffect of spellcraft—but this time, it lingered, an odd numbness I couldn’t shake. I flexed my fingers, unease curling in my stomach. My spells had always come easily, like second nature, so why did it feel like something was slipping?
Maybe I’d stop by the House of the Veil before heading to the repository. My mother might have answers.
We left the inn within minutes, heading into the quiet of Emberstone at dawn.
Inside the mountain, the illusion of daylight and weather was cast by magic, the cavern ceiling shifting with the outside sky.
The only advantage was that it never actually rained here, though lightning storms were interesting.
Amahle treated me to pastries from her favorite bakery, filled with cinnamon and fruit and drizzled with tangy, sweet icing, but the sweetness did little to ease the unease in my chest. My hands still felt strange, as though resistant to the spell I’d cast.
Now wasn’t the time to doubt myself.
“To the repository, then?” Amahle asked as we headed back onto the streets.
“Actually, I want to stop by the House of the Veil, first.” I hesitated, but this was Amahle, and she’d want to know. “I’ve been having some strange tingling in my hands. I want to ask my mother about it.”
And if Haldron really was King Magnus’s brother, she’d know.
But why didn’t she ever tell me?
“Tingling?” Amahle raised a brow.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. Just something I noticed after casting a spell.”
“That doesn’t sound good, Seren.” Amahle’s frown creased her forehead. “I say this with love, but you look … tired. Rykr’s not keeping you up all night, is he?”
I should have known she’d bring this up. I jabbed my elbow into her side. “Amahle, no.”
“Don’t pretend I didn’t interrupt something last night. I felt bad enough about it. Hopefully, you were able to resume after I left.”
“You didn’t interrupt.” At her skeptical gaze, I wrinkled my nose. “There may have been a kiss, but it was nothing. Just a momentary lapse in judgment.”
“If a man like Rykr was in my room, I’d invite all sorts of lapses in judgment.” Amahle grinned, rummaging in her bag for another pastry. “Don’t pretend you don’t like him, Seren. The heat between you two sizzles. That performance in the sparring ring … just damn.”
Despite my protests, the memory of that kiss made me want to squirm—in a good way. His hands on my skin had been incredible, the taste of him better than I’d dreamed.
And I did like him.
More than that. I care about him. That’s why the thought of him leaving was impossible to face.
Stop it, now.
This wasn’t some ordinary Viori man that we could gossip and giggle about.
I tightened my resolve, jutting my chin. “It doesn’t matter. He’s Lirien, I’m Viori. That’s never going to change.”
We were nearing the House of the Veil on the city’s eastern side when I saw it—a flash of a familiar light blue cloak in the distance, hurrying away. Mother.
I stilled.
Amahle followed my gaze. “Lucia?”
I nodded.
“Where’s she going?”
“I don’t know. But I think we should find out.” I put my hand out to stop Amahle from stepping forward. “At a distance.”
“You want to follow your mother and spy on her?” Amahle’s dark eyes glittered with confusion.
Do I? But something in the urgency of my mother’s movement worried me. She’d stayed with the tribe to heal the wounded—supposedly—so why was she leaving so early?
“Just for a little while. To see where she’s going. We can catch up with her if needed, but she’s acting strangely, don’t you think?”
“Why do I get the feeling this morning is going to be less fun than you promised?”
“Feel free to go back if you want.” I meant it, too. It wasn’t fair to drag her into whatever this was.
Amahle rolled her eyes and started walking. “You know I’d follow you to the worst part of Lirien if you asked.”
Amahle didn’t just say things like that lightly. Her loyalty wasn’t the blind kind—it was fierce, earned, and it made my throat thicken.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I don’t know, I just get this feeling like I should let this play out.”
“Oh yeah?” Amahle’s eyes twinkled with amusement.
“Well, Ciaran and I know better than to ignore those feelings of yours—and not just because you’re brilliant and got us out of more than one tough scrape with your little spells and quirky bits of knowledge you tuck away for the right moment.
Like when you saved Ciaran from the harpies. ”
A laughing groan escaped me.
Ciaran. The harpies. Gods.
In one of the encampments where we’d stayed, Ciaran had become obsessed with hunting the harpies—magical creatures with the bodies of eagles and heads of women who were all-knowing. He’d actually found one. And the damned thing had snatched him up in its claws, trying to carry him off.
Amahle had landed an arrow in its wing, forcing it to release him—right into a freefall to his death. Until I cast a spell, weaving the tree branches into a net that caught him.
He’d been bruised and bloody and broken an arm, but he’d lived.
“I didn’t do it alone. We always were a good team,” I said, but the words were bittersweet. I’d always thought the three of us—me, Amahle, and Ciaran—were unshakable. We had faced harpies, storms, and worse, always pulling each other through.
But this wasn’t just about survival anymore. Rykr had changed everything, and no amount of clever spells or quick thinking could undo that. “Now Ciaran’s upset with me because of Rykr.”
We turned a corner, slowing as we searched the street for my mother.
There she was, far ahead, still moving at a brisk pace we could hardly keep up with. “Ciaran’s just angry because you brought a Lirien home,” Amahle said in a low voice.
“He’ll come around,” I said, but the words felt hollow. “Right?”
Amahle shrugged. “He’s always carried a torch for you, Ser. Maybe it’s not Rykr he hates. It’s the idea of anyone who isn’t him.” Amahle frowned suddenly, squinting as she tried to trail my mother. “Where is she going?”
“You see? I’m not imagining things, am I? She’s acting strange.”
“If I can be honest, Ser, your mother has a level of strange that’s also part of who she is. Not that I don’t love her, but the Ibarran priestess in her scares the hell out of me, too.”