TWO #2
A man is standing just beyond the council members, arms folded, his golden, sharp eyes on me. Tall. Straw-colored hair falls to his shoulders. A refined presence that is practiced and controlled.
But I feel the weight of his assessing gaze.
“Malek,” Rowena says, turning without hesitation. “You missed all the fun.”
“Seems I arrived just in time,” Malek replies, his gaze flicking briefly to me before settling on Thane. “Warlord. It’s good to have you back so soon.”
Thane’s lips form a hard line. He’s likely thinking of the real reason we’re at the capital: to research the curse flowing through his blood.
Then his expression smooths into a warm smile. “Hello, Malek. Being Warlord tends to pull me in several directions at once.”
He takes Malek’s hand, shaking it firmly. “It’s good to see you.”
“We weren’t expecting you,” Valen says smoothly, stepping forward. I hadn’t noticed him dismounting to join us.
Valen turns to Rowena and Sera. “It’s wonderful to see you both after all this time.”
Their hands disappear in his larger ones as he takes them in greeting.
“You as well,” Rowena says, her eyes bright.
They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, like no time has passed at all.
Sera smiles warmly, her dark braids falling over her shoulders as she dips her head.
“I was nearby,” Malek cuts in. “And it’s not every day that a lost legend arrives at the gates of Volcaris.”
His eyes cut back to me, a spark of curiosity in them.
Recalling Thane’s counsel on what to expect when Lord Toren Hale and Lady Evelyne of the Greythorne Keep visited the outpost weeks ago, I straighten, lifting my chin.
“And now that I’m here?” I ask.
“Now,” Malek says, his lips curling into something like a smile, “we see if you live up to the name they’ve given you.”
Thane’s jaw ticks.
“She already has,” Thane says, with all the certainty of a Warlord.
Malek’s expression doesn’t change, but his gaze flickers slightly.
Thane stands beside me, not in front of me, not shielding me. His fingers lace with mine.
His voice, when he speaks again, carries the weight of the Warlord. “It’s easy to sit in the capital and weigh the worth of others, Malek.”
A beat.
“Harder to stand beside them when it matters.”
Malek continues to smile, his eyes dropping quickly to our joined hands, then back up to Thane.
“A fair point, Warlord.”
But there is something else in his gaze now. Something like intrigue.
Lyra approaches us with Garrick on her heels.
“Gods almighty, woman! Go easy! You were on death’s door only hours ago,” Garrick barks, exasperated.
His hands hover at either side of her, ready to catch her if she so much as wobbles. Thane cocks an eyebrow at his childhood friend, clearly surprised to see him hovering like a mother hen. Garrick rolls his eyes in response.
Lyra waves him off with a lopsided smile and slides into the conversation like she’s been here all along.
“I like to make an entrance,” she says easily.
“More like a disruption,” Garrick mutters, standing at her side with a hand braced against the small of her back.
Lyra grins. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
Rowena’s face brightens instantly. “Ah, you must be Lyra.”
“That depends.” Lyra crosses her arms, angling her head. “Am I famous or infamous?”
Lyra sways a bit, and Garrick immediately reaches for her. His jaw clenches as she nearly stumbles, and for a moment worry outpaces the irritation on his face. He wraps an arm around her waist to brace her.
She’s still so pale. The only color on her face is the purple shadows beneath her eyes. Even her usually pink lips are almost colorless. Her copper hair looks too bright against the white of her skin.
But the weakness weighing on her body doesn’t touch her spirit. That’s Lyra, always up for anything, no matter what.
Lyra looks up at Garrick and scrunches her nose in appreciation before pressing a kiss to his cheek. Garrick only groans.
I suppress a grin. He’s clearly only now realizing what he’s gotten himself into with her.
“It seems like maybe you’re both,” Rowena ventures.
“Good,” Lyra says, grinning. “Then half my work here is already done.”
Sera sighs, smiling. “You and Row are going to get along superbly.”
Rowena’s eyes bounce between Garrick and Lyra, noting this new development in his life. She wags a finger between them.
“So . . . what’s happening here?” she asks, a mischievous glint in her eye.
For someone her size—someone who has to tilt her head back to look up at Garrick and Thane—her presence somehow makes both men seem smaller.
Thane chuckles, probably grateful to have Rowena’s attention directed anywhere but at him. Garrick groans again, rubbing his face with his free hand.
“Oh! He’s my man,” Lyra responds brightly, resting a hand on Garrick’s chest.
I gape when I see color rising in Garrick’s cheeks. Thane discreetly elbows me, and I snap my mouth shut. Between us, the bond thrums with . . . amusement.
I peek at Thane—he’s working so hard not to laugh, the corners of his eyes twinkling.
“Is that so?” Rowena presses.
Sera places a hand on Rowena’s shoulder. “Now don’t start harassing Garrick just because you’ve known him since he was in nappies.”
Lyra actually guffaws as the tips of Garrick’s ears turn red.
Thane can’t hold it in anymore and bursts into a full belly laugh. My eyes widen with delight as I look around; Valen, Rowena, and Sera are laughing too. Only Malek stands quietly, a small smile on his face.
That’s when I notice two men and a woman walking down the steps of the Ember Throne.
“Oh, fuck off, you lot,” Garrick snaps. “Yes, I’m her man, she’s my woman. Now be off with yourselves.”
Rowena collects herself as the laughter around us fades.
“I approve,” she declares. Then she turns to the rest of us, gesturing broadly. “Since my dear brother is apparently incapable of doing introductions properly—”
“Rowena—” Thane tries to interject.
“—I’ll do it myself.” Rowena spins on her heel, facing me first.
“Amara, you’ve already met Sera. The love of my life, the only person with enough patience to put up with me. She may be quiet, but don’t let that fool you—she’s got a sharp wit and has all of the power in this relationship.”
Sera arches a brow but doesn’t deny it. With her bronze skin and dark hair, she’s another striking contrast to her wife. Her deep blue eyes sweep over us, sharp and knowing.
“I like her already.” Lyra grins.
Rowena gestures to the three figures standing behind her—the ones I saw walking down the steps moments ago. “And these,” she waves dramatically, “are the unfortunate souls who make up our council.”
“This is Lord Edric Voss. You’ll like him, Amara. He’s old, cranky, and thinks most problems can be solved with brute force. He has served the realm for a long time. As a veteran of war, his knowledge and experience have been vital this past decade.”
The broad-shouldered man steps forward, silver threading through his dark hair, hazel eyes set deep beneath a permanent scowl. A jagged scar cuts along his jaw.
“Brute force has solved many things,” Edric says, unimpressed.
“My point, proven.”
“I can already tell we’ll get along,” I say, smiling at him.
Edric grunts. I take that as a win.
“This is Lady Sienna Dain. Political genius, diplomat, expert strategist—and always the best-dressed person in the room.”
The caramel-skinned woman steps next to Edric, every movement precise, controlled—nothing wasted. Short, sleek brown hair frames a face that gives nothing away, her dark blue eyes confirming her heritage.