Chapter Ten
No lad, no lass, no lover fair
can hold him past the dawn.
There’s nothing in this world he loves
for the Kraken’s heart is gone.
Popular sea shanty
Aleksi’s suite was empty when he went to dress for the ball.
He suspected that Einar had dressed early and escaped to his ship; he’d had precious little time to spend with his crew of late.
Naia, meanwhile, had likely gone to prepare for the evening with her treasured friends, Sachi and Zanya.
The day had been rife with upheaval, and it would no doubt comfort Naia greatly to see some familiar faces.
It left Aleksi alone, with not even an errant servant for company, a situation that, frankly, delighted him.
Back in the Sheltered Lands—and especially at his villa—there were always people milling about, seeking out his attention and approval.
Here, when the locals milled about, they did so around Naia and Einar.
Here, he might be a god, but he was no one of consequence.
It was shockingly restful.
At least one of the palace staff had been here, though, because the huge hammered-metal tub had been filled with fresh water.
Aleksi tested it with one finger and found that it had cooled past the point of comfort.
His sigh of resignation turned into a groan, and he stared down at the shimmering, tepid surface in consternation.
He had spent too long in Elevia’s quarters, discussing the messy situation in the fallen former Empire, and now he would pay the price with a cold bath. Oh, well. Far worse things had happened to him, so he turned and undressed, dropping his discarded clothing on the bench opposite the tub.
But when he turned back to the bath, the water was gently, insistently steaming.
Aleksi glanced around the empty room, then smiled to himself. Naia had said that the island would protect him and Einar, but he had not realized that care extended to creature comforts. But the room felt . . . expectant. Heavy with anticipation.
“Thank you,” he whispered aloud.
He lingered in the hot bath, just as his thoughts lingered on Naia and Einar.
Though the three of them had slept together in his massive bed, they had not been physically intimate since their return to Rahvekya.
They had not planned it to be so, had simply been relishing other intimacies—tender embraces and soft whispers and laughter in the quiet dark.
Would it be different now? Would she be different? Somehow, Aleksi did not think so. The core of who she was had always shone through the newness, the sparkle of the Dream that surrounded her. In a way, she had always been shallow, welcoming waters and warm sand.
No, if anything, anyone, had changed now, it would be Einar. He had already worshipped Naia as a supplicant would a saint. How much more intensely would he feel that reverence now?
Aleksi shivered. Anticipation was a delicious thing, one that was not appreciated—or practiced—nearly enough.
Too many people treated it as a preamble, a mere obstacle to overcome in pursuit of pleasure.
He, on the other hand, had always rather enjoyed allowing the sensation to slowly unfurl until it bloomed like a flower.
But tonight? He had a feeling about tonight.
He climbed from the tub and wrapped up in one of the tundra cotton robes.
The fiber seemed to vary in shade, from celadon to cerulean.
This particular garment had been woven of fibers that were a cool teal, more green than blue, the exact shade of the sea glass trinkets the locals had been gifting to Naia.
Aleksi passed over the Imperial finery that had been left for him. With so many other members of the High Court in attendance, he felt more comfortable in his usual fashions. He pulled on tight black pants, knee-high boots, and a loose linen shirt.
He was just fastening the buttons on his wine-colored velvet jerkin when the knocker sounded, reverberating through the room.
“Enter,” he called out in invitation, expecting a palace staff member, Einar returning from his ship, or even Elevia, with more questions about the island or Gwynira’s security measures.
It was Ash who walked in, decked out in enough finery to do his beloved steward back at Dragon’s Keep, Camlia, proud. He was dressed much as Aleksi was, only instead of a jerkin, he wore an exquisitely embroidered tunic shot through with orange and red threads.
It was a far cry from what he had worn when he arrived. The breastplate and bracers and bare feet were the quintessence of the Dragon at war. This, on the other hand, was Ash, heading into a different, subtler sort of fight.
Aleksi whistled as he straightened his shirt cuffs. “Very nice. The last time I saw you this dressed up, you were getting ready to greet your intended bride.”
Ash’s gaze lost a little of its focus as he drifted into memory.
Aleksi remembered that day, as well—the curiosity, the hope tempered by pain.
Longing and dread in equal measure. The very air around Ash had shimmered, his pale-blue wishes breaking through the darker emotions like light piercing a heavy fog.
Aleksi was so, so glad it had all worked out.
“And you look ready for a night of entertainment at your villa.” Ash studied him, not with sartorial admiration but with . . . concern. “Are you well?”
“What, was Inga’s questioning not comprehensive enough for you? As near as I can tell, I am fine. Beyond that, I have no reassurances to offer.” He held up an empty glass. “Would you like a drink?”
“Very much.” As Aleksi turned to fulfill the request, Ash spoke again. “Inga is worried about your body. I’m worried about your heart.”
Aleksi glanced back at him, unsure exactly where his friend was going with this line of inquiry. “Is that so?”
“I know better than anyone that falling in love in the midst of a war means having your emotions held hostage,” Ash said softly.
“Yes.” Out of an abundance of caution, Aleksi opened a sealed bottle of wine and poured two glasses. “But life is like that sometimes. Such things are rarely scheduled for our convenience.”
“And Einar . . . He’s never shown much interest in anything besides his personal war against the Empire. And now I understand why.”
“Mmm.” He handed off one of the drinks and sank to the sofa. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really on your mind, Ash?”
He cradled the glass in one hand without drinking. “Even I’ve heard the songs they sing about Einar in the taverns. He’s spent nearly two thousand years breaking hearts in every port in the Sheltered Lands.”
“Ahh.” It seemed that Ash believed all the lies Einar had told—even to himself—about the Kraken’s lack of heart. “And so we come to the real issue.”
Sighing, Ash shook his head. “It’s all one issue, Aleksi.
You would know his intentions better than anyone.
I believe he cares about you, and I can see that he makes you happy.
I’m grateful to him for that. It’s just .
. .” He struggled for a moment, as if he had the right words but did not want to give them voice.
“Say it, Ash,” Aleksi whispered.
He finally did, his dark eyes troubled. Tormented. “Last time nearly broke you.”
Of course. There was no one else in the world who knew just how much losing Alysaia had hurt Aleksi.
After all, Ash had loved her as much as Aleksi had, in his own way.
He had been the one to come to Aleksi’s villa and sit with him, in the darkness of their shared grief, as the moons passed into years.
Aleksi remembered that grief well. It had been all-encompassing, a feral beast that had clawed at him—and everyone around him. Naturally, Ash still bore the scars of watching him go through that. Of going through it with him.
Only the absolute truth could assuage Ash’s fear. “Alysaia was arguably an even worse idea than Einar. My best friend’s wife. So many ways that could have exploded in all our faces.”
“But it worked.”
Only because Ash had . . . allowed it? Wanted it? Alysaia had been fond of Ash, and they would have been happy enough. She might even have fallen in love with him in time. She never would have been unfaithful to him, and Aleksi never would have seduced the Dragon’s consort.
Ash could have kept them apart, but he had not.
Instead, he encouraged their attachment, though it had cost him the closeness he might have shared with his rightful consort.
In his wisdom, he had known that keeping them apart would have been tantamount to stealing something from Alysaia—and from Aleksi, as well.
And he cared too much about both of them to do that.
He had let her go so that he would not lose her completely. Aleksi understood that. Wasn’t it exactly what he’d been thinking about Naia and Einar all this time? He knew, in all modesty, that he could have prevented their attachment from deepening by charming and wooing one of them for his own.
But every one of them would have lost something precious.
Ash remembered those dark days after Alysaia’s death, but perhaps it was time to remind him that pain was not all that Aleksi carried with him from his years with her.
“Loving Alys was a terrible idea,” he reiterated softly. “And do you know what I regret about it?”
“What?”
“Absolutely nothing.” Aleksi finished his wine, then stole Ash’s glass and drained half of it. It was a sweet wine, with a bit of a rough edge. He liked it. “Do you remember when she decided to develop her own cultivar of grape? She wanted her very own wine—the Consort’s Vintage.”
Ash winced. “I don’t think anyone could forget having tasted that. I’ve fought wars that were easier to stomach than that wine.”
“And it showed.” Aleksi laughed at the memory of Ash’s face, screwed up in frantic disgust, as he passed the glass back to him.
“I finished every bottle of that cursed swill. I refused to throw it out, even when she begged me.” His laughter died.
“That’s what I remember most. Not the end, but everything that came before it. ”
Ash finished what remained of his wine and set the glass aside.
“You made her happy. I had few enough consorts over the years who truly were, so I was grateful to you for that gift. But when you give your heart, you give it completely. For the first decade after her death, I was afraid she’d taken it with her. ”
“She did,” he said simply. “Because there is no other way to give your heart. Alys could not help leaving me. Perhaps Einar won’t, either, or Naia. Or maybe they will walk away, with their souls light and their eyes clear, to live without me. None of what might be changes what is now.”
Ash reached out to grasp Aleksi’s hands. “Then I hope they bring you as much joy as possible, my old friend. You deserve to be loved.”
“Thank you.” Then, just as sincerely, he added, “You’re a raving hypocrite, you know that?”
“It has been said,” Ash replied without hesitation. “But if you want to say it again, I probably deserve it.”
“Of course you do, coming here to warn me about the dangers of giving my heart too recklessly. You, of all people.”
A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Ash’s mouth. “Are you saying it was reckless for me to fall in love with two women who were sent to kill me?”
“Tragically so. And yet, who can argue with the results? That love saved your life.” In so many ways—immediately, and from the far slower death of being alone and lonely. “See? Hypocrite.”
“Only the kind of hypocrite we all are, brother.” Ash squeezed his hands.
“It is easier to suffer my own heartbreak than to watch the people I love in pain. But you’re right.
If you told me I would lose Sachi or Zanya tomorrow, I would only love them harder today.
Every moment with them is worth a century of pain. ”
But would you let them go? The words echoed in Aleksi’s heart but died on his tongue, because he already knew the answer. Ash would tear his own heart from his chest—literally—if that was what it took for Sachi and Zanya to be happy.
How could the god of love do any less?
But if he said that, Ash really would be worried. So he changed the subject instead. “How are Sachi and Zanya? They put on brave faces, but they seem exhausted.”
Ash slumped back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Zanya is in worse shape, physically. The rest of us can help with those newly awoken to the Dream, but Zanya is the only one who can help those connected to the Void. But Sachi . . .”
She would be blaming herself for all of it—for not being able to reason with Sorin, for having to wrench away his stolen bits of the Dream without a good way to return them to their rightful owners. She had been faced with an impossible choice, and had done the only thing she felt was right.
“She takes too much on herself,” Aleksi murmured. “What is happening to those poor souls in the Empire is Sorin’s fault, not hers.”
“So we tell her, day after day. But she can feel it in the Dream. Their pain, their terror, their confusion. And when we can’t save someone, it’s like a piece of her dies.
” Ash rose and retrieved the bottle of wine.
He poured himself another healthy serving and swirled the liquid in the glass, staring down into it.
“As I said. It is easier to shoulder your own heartbreak than to watch someone you love in pain.”
Aleksi did not like any of it. “Watch out for them, Ash. And . . . take care. Aside from the obvious, we don’t know what this sort of thing can do to them.”
“I know.” Ash sipped his wine and smiled.
“We came here because we needed to be sure you were all right. But I’ll admit that I was glad for an excuse to take them away from the mainland, if only for a few days.
The work in the village was exactly what they needed—problems they could fix.
And tonight . . .” He lifted his glass in a toast. “Tonight, we should all embrace joy. We will return to the fight soon enough.”
“Agreed.” Aleksi rose and straightened his clothes. “Let’s go dance with our lovers.”
And remember why we fight.