Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
He clears his throat and continues. “The Whisting responds to heightened emotions, like anger or pleasure or pain or fear. I’ve been plagued by the same horrible nightmare every night ever since the Rings bonded to my soul.
The Whisting must have sensed my fear during the dream.
I must have—it must killed her in my sleep, and I didn’t even know. ”
Harvest Mother, he’s carried this guilt inside him ever since? “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” He can’t look me in the eye, so I dip my face to peer into his anguished eyes. “But just as you told me, you mustn’t blame yourself. It was an accident.”
“It doesn’t change what happened.” He shrugs. “Accident or not, they’re both dead because of me.”
He looks so miserable that tears spring to my own eyes in sympathy. I was right about his talent at hiding—he’s spent his whole life perfecting it. “They say you’re incorrigible. That you’ve slept with every maiden from here to Penrith, but none of it is true, is it?”
He nods. “It was just a cover so no one would guess my secret. Our enemies have spies everywhere, especially at court.”
“And you’re not just some spoiled prince, either, are you?” I bump him gently on the shoulder.
“Well, I hope not.” He grins, at last, and I smile back at him.
We sit next to each other in silence for a while.
I’m acutely aware of the warmth seeping through my sleeve where his arm touches mine, and I know he’s aware of it, too, but neither of us pulls away.
Something between us has shifted. The enormity of his secret weighs on me, as does the fact he trusted me enough to share it.
“What are your nightmares about?” I finally ask.
Dietan sucks in a deep breath, mustering his courage. “The end of the world. My own death. The death of everyone I love. My kingdom covered in shadow, and me at the center of it all. The cause of all that destruction.”
“They’re just dreams,” I say stoutly. “They’re not real.”
“Right.”
“I mean, they’re not prophecies.”
“But they’re not not prophecies, either,” he says, and I realize I don’t know the half of how the Whisting works. Maybe he doesn’t, either.
I don’t argue—for now.
“There were past kings who could wear the Rings and call forth visions of the future,” he continues.
“My father could sometimes intuit which general was going to win a battle, or whether the harvest would be bountiful that year. I just…know, once in a while. I sometimes get a feeling. Maybe about a person or a place. But it’s the same way I know that the Kilandrar are close. The Rings connect me to them.”
“Well, thank the goddess you did, or we’d be dead by now. Do you think they’re still nearby?”
“They’re not far. I know the Kilandrar are waiting to strike. Probably under the same command of whoever kidnapped and killed Lydia.”
“The Usurper of Penrith?” Chills run down my spine just saying his name. In Evandale, we say it’s bad luck to talk of evil things.
“That’s the only answer that makes sense. Dark forces are growing, so my father has been preparing for this.”
“They say the Usurper…”
“Is Boreas returned, I know,” he finishes.
I wrap my arms around myself. “Do you think he is? Boreas the Unbeliever?”
“I don’t know. But the Usurper has the same ambition to conquer the free kingdoms of Albion.”
I shiver, even though it’s warm in Dietan’s tent.
“They undoubtedly had to regroup when they realized their mistake in capturing Lydia, but that’s little reprieve. No matter what I do, wherever I go, people will get hurt.”
“Like you said, I know what I signed up for. I knew the risks,” I say, looking him squarely in the eye.
Dietan tilts his head to the side, looking grave and like he thinks I’m being dense. “It will only get worse. I’ve dragged you into a battle you’re unprepared to face, and I knew that the moment I asked you to come with me. It was selfish—”
“It was to save our countries!” I interject, but he plows on.
“—and I’ve put you in danger. And now that you know the whole truth about me, you should see that you need to leave, for your own sake.”
“Are you trying to scare me away?”
“I have been since the beginning. I told you not to come with me.” He sighs. “I should have forbidden you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Forbidden me? You think you can order me around just like that?”
He shrugs. “I’m a prince, aren’t I? I can order you to do things…” He grins, back to being a terrible flirt.
I snort, mollified despite how annoyed I just was. “What things?”
“Oh…I can imagine all sorts.” His grin grows wider. “Make you tear off more of your dress, maybe. I think my hand needs another bandage.”
I laugh and toss a pillow at his face.
He bats it away and stares at me so intently that for a moment, the heat between us rises again. I can feel myself melting at my core, certain that he can see it all on my face. But then he looks away, and the moment is lost.
I swallow my disappointment.
“It’s late, and you’re hurt,” I tell him softly.
“I’m fine,” he says, “thanks to you. But the Kilandrar can sense the Whisting. They’re surely on our trail. And next time, we might not evade them.”
“Then we’d best be prepared and get a good night’s rest.” I walk over to the bedroll I brought with me and arrange it next to his, along with the pillow I threw at him.
“You still want to stay here?” He sounds surprised. “After everything I’ve told you?”
“I know how to stop you from hurting yourself or anyone else now.” I point to the knife by his side. “Blood magic. It released the Whisting’s hold on you. And now we know how to fight the Kilandrar, too.” I begin to unbutton the fastenings on my dress.
His entire body tenses. “What are you doing?” he demands.
“What does it look like I’m doing? Getting ready for bed. Be a gentleman and turn around.”
Dietan falls silent and faces the other way as ordered. I quickly remove my outer garments so I’m wearing only my smallclothes and a modest linen shift. “You can turn around now,” I tell him. “Did you peek?”
“Of course I did.” He grins. “With a beautiful woman undressing in his tent, what man could help himself…”
I blush. I’ve only ever heard such praise from drunk farmers hunting for another pair of hands to cook their meals or care for their motherless children.
And yet, coming from this prince who commands servants aplenty, who has greater need of a friend than a maid, those words feel sincere for the first time in my life.
Still, I don’t want to fall for it. “I’m nothing and nobody,” I say.
“Aren Bellamore, that could not be further from the truth,” he says solemnly.
“Shut your trap.”
“I can’t win with you, can I? You accuse me of being cold, but when I’m nice, you don’t like it, either,” he says, exasperated.
I shake my head and cluck my tongue, even though I’m still blushing furiously. “When we were fighting. When I accused you of—having feelings for me…” I start. Now he’s the one blushing. “You turned the Whisting on yourself rather than let it hurt me.”
He starts getting into his bedroll and sighs. “I don’t know if I did.”
“You were able to control it. You directed it toward yourself. Dietan, you’d rather kill yourself than anyone you care for,” I say with a small smile on my face.
He notices. “What?”
“You care for me.”
“I never said I didn’t,” he says. “Of course I care for your well-being.”
Fine. Be that way, arrogant man.
Still, when we look at each other, an understanding passes between us. Something delicate, so fragile and tender that we both leave it unsaid. Neither of us speaks for a long moment.
“We don’t have to talk about that anymore,” I say with a yawn as I slip underneath the blankets. “I don’t want to cause you any more distress. I don’t want that to happen again. I now understand why you didn’t want me to sleep in your tent.”
“But you still mean to stay?”
“Yes.”
He frowns. “You’re risking your life, you know.”
I turn on my side so I’m facing him. The lamplight casts shadows on the planes of his troubled face. “Dietan, I’m not afraid of you. You would never hurt me, ever,” I whisper, and I believe it with my whole heart. Then I roll over and drift off to sleep, secure by his side.
He cares about me.