15. Tivre
Chapter fifteen
Tivre
W ith Hazelle and Zari off gallivanting, doing who-knew-what and talking to who-knew-who, Tivre closed the cabin door once more.
He ran a hand through his hair, raking the white locks into messy peaks.
Time to salvage what he could of this mess.
As a Godspeaker, he could see the future…
Sometimes… Occasionally. When the divine wanted him to, but not always, which meant surprises like this one served to annoy him greatly.
Meanwhile Daeden studied the room with a warrior’s intentions, checking for escape routes and threats, classic Oathborn behavior. Daeden tugged on the small lamp, which didn’t move, and turned to examine the wash basin next before Tivre caught his arm. “Enough, Dae. We’re safe.”
The nickname slipped out, revealing that affection Tivre still had yet to master.
Daeden made a noise of slight disagreement.
He supposed Daeden was right to doubt the statement. So, he adjusted his topic. “You two came all this way to give Zari a sword?”
“It was Hazelle’s wish,” said Daeden, then added, “I am glad to find you alive, Tivre, no matter how we parted.”
“Mm.” Tivre ignored the comment because Daeden would disapprove of the con that Zari represented.
In fact, Daeden would disapprove of just about everything Tivre had done since leaving the isles.
Attempting to smooth things over, Tivre tried for the smile that always made his lovers blush.
Something about the way it leaned. People were always thrown off by tilted things. Always wanted to fix them.
“Miss me?” Tivre asked softly.
“I could ask the same of you, for all that you have ignored me these past months.”
“I do not enjoy watching you take Oaths.” Tivre offered him the rare truth.
“It is my destiny to do so!” Daeden snapped. “And if you are so opposed to the life of an Oathborn, perhaps you should refrain from continuing to take them as lovers.”
Tivre raked his hands through his hair, then realized the verb Daeden had used. “Wait. Continuing to take…”
“Sen Zari,” Daeden ground out, though he retained his manners by affixing the Oathborn honorific to Zari’s name.
Of course. Daeden had noticed the single bed and jumped to the same incorrect assumption as Zari.
Really, did no one realize that a bunk bed cabin would simply be a nuisance?
Tivre considered explaining those details, then considered explaining a great deal of things, then everything he couldn’t tell Daeden, and decided a far different course of action would take precedence.
One that he was far better at than providing explanations, if he had to rate his skill at both.
Beside, Daeden was still standing there, arms folded, golden brow arched, looking unruffled and calm. Tivre preferred him in the opposite of both states. He’d said so, more than once. But again, words. So useless, so clumsy, and so often unnecessary.
Tivre tugged on Daeden’s collar, to make him bend. Their lips collided in a mix of frustration and hunger. Let that action speak for itself , he thought. While it was rather nice to see his ex-lover a little jealous, Tivre didn’t need to deal with an envious Oathborn in addition to everything else.
Daeden growled, low. “Do you think kissing fixes everything?”
“It certainly is a more enjoyable method than many others.” Like being honest. Or communicating.
“You hold no affection for her?” asked Daeden .
Tivre wished they’d stuck to kissing. Even if he wished to be truthful, which he absolutely did not, he couldn’t describe his feelings regarding Zari Ankmetta.
Affection? No, he didn’t think so. Even though she was rather plain by human standards, and incredibly so by fae’s, she was not unappealing to look at.
Nor was she uninteresting to talk to, which was always an important element in a lover.
Still, she was Zari Ankmetta, the girl he’d seen in a thousand visions, all of which had made one thing clear; Any fondness for her would end in destruction of all Tivre held dear.
Besides, Daeden was here, and smiling at him, and very, very handsome. “None at all,” Tivre finally answered.
Sighing, Daeden pulled him close, a low growl escaping and betraying his hunger. There . This was easier than talking. With one hand stroking down the curve of Daeden’s neck, Tivre pressed a kiss to the bit of collarbone exposed, enjoying how easily Daeden’s expression turned languid.
“You’re doing that thing.” With impossibly fast reflexes, Daeden caught Tivre’s wrist, “Where you kiss me right out of my reasonable thoughts.”
“I like your reasonable thoughts,” Tivre murmured. Other lovers before Daeden had been sparks in the night, momentary attempts to ward off the darkness. Daeden was like the dawn. Brighter than any before, more hopeful, more wonderful. “And I’d like more time to focus on kissing you out of them.”
“As you have fulfilled the Queen’s wish, perhaps she will permit you respite from your duties.”
Sweet, foolish Dae, who would always believe the best in people. No, rest would not come for Tivre, not until he was dead. Tivre kissed him again, just to know what that hope tasted like, before blurting out, “Did you know this bed folds down? From the wall? I can show you, and—”
Uninterested in Rhydonian technology, Daeden pulled him back down. With one hand he set to work on Tivre’s belt. As much as he would have enjoyed explaining more about the marvel of modern trains, Tivre decided that Daeden’s current pursuit was acceptable, as well .
It had been months since they’d last kissed, and Tivre found himself surprisingly overcome with emotion at how right, how good it felt with Daeden. Which was stupid, given that kissing an Oathborn was never a good idea, especially when one was plotting to undermine the Queen.
Then, Daeden did that lip-biting maneuver that he was so damn skilled at, and most rational thoughts fled Tivre’s brain. He let out a low growl, matching Daeden’s intensity, and tangled his hands in the golden hair, tugging gently.
Daeden asked, between kisses down Tivre’s neck, “How long do we have before the girls come back?”
“If I lock the door, a few hours.”
“Do it. Zelle will be safe with a new Oathborn at her side.”
That was the problem. Zari wasn’t an Oathborn. Unlike Daeden, she had no superior skills, no innate senses to keep herself safe. There wasn’t a drop of fae blood in her, either, which meant no magic for her to rely on. An Oathborn was an apex predator. Zari was about as dangerous as a potato.
Still, she was with Hazelle, and the train itself was safe, as far as Tivre could tell.
Whatever flickers of magic he’d perceived must have been Hazelle and Daeden.
The broken magic? That was surely Javen, but he couldn’t have followed the train, not when Tivre had woven spells around the whole station to cloak his trail.
Daeden furrowed his eyebrows at the zipper on Tivre’s trousers.
This was the first time he would have encountered such a thing, unlike Tivre, who’d unlaced, unbuckled, and unzipped all manners of Rhydonian clothing.
Dropping his hand, Tivre undid it for him, and was rewarded with his lover’s delightful ministrations.
Tivre focused once more on Daeden, on his lips, his muscular body, all of him so perfect and so dangerous.
No matter what sweet words the fae had said, Daeden was Oathborn first, and a fae of flesh and blood and beating heart second.
Then again, at least Daeden had a heart.
Tivre was sure his own had turned to stone ages ago .
The way Daeden touched him, coaxed him toward release, though, made Tivre wish he could care more, made him wish he could promise Daeden that nothing would come between them again. Such things would be lies, though.
Destiny always had a way of ruining any affection Tivre held toward someone.
“Wait,” Tivre whispered, for he was close to the edge and wanted this small, wonderful moment to last. “Kiss me again.”
Daeden moved up on the bed until their faces were level, and did as asked, his fingers running through Tivre’s hair. When their romance had first begun, Daeden never dared to touch the white locks, as every fae was taught the snow-colored hair was a mark of divine favor. Now, he was far braver.
Except at this moment, he was frowning. “Your glamour is slipping,” Daeden commented, wrapping a lock around his finger. The brown color was sliding away, leaving it white once more.
“I know,” Tivre muttered.
“And you’re unarmed. I was at least expecting you to have a few knives on your belt.”
Also true, apart from any magic he might summon. “Dae, trust me. Anything you can point out, I’m probably aware of.”
The wonderful heat of the moment dissipated, as Daeden, once more the trained warrior, seemed to take in just how unprepared, at least in his eyes, Tivre was. With a disgruntled snort, Daeden moved off the bed.
Tivre sighed. “I’m trying my—” A sharp, sudden spike, another hint of magic pushing against his wards cut him off, stealing his breath as swiftly as a punch to the gut. “Did someone follow you?”
Daeden shook his head. He closed his eyes, listening, attuned to everything around him. “I don’t sense anyone.”
Which meant whoever, or whatever, had interfered with Tivre’s wards was powerful enough to also cloak their presence from an Oathborn.
If Tivre wanted to find out… he’d need more power. Right now, his magic reserves were drained. This far south he had only one choice; to surrender to the goddess’ will and beg them to allow him a bit of their deeper power .