Chapter 15
Wheat stalks swayed in the warm air on either side of her, and a black beetle crawled up her calf. She ferried the shining insect into her hand before releasing it into the air, buzzing as it flew away. She watched it forlornly, her lips pinched.
“Jealous of a bug?”
She snorted softly, but it was half-hearted. “Aren’t you? He’s free to go where he pleases and do what he wishes.”
“His lifespan is probably only a few days.”
“Of freedom.”
The man chuckled, his voice rough and deep.
She liked the sound of it much more than she wanted to admit, even to herself.
Last week, he had tried to tell her his name, but she’d stopped him.
Names would make their meetings far too real, much too personal.
Knowing his name would break the bubble of the dream, the one in which she could always come here and laugh with him.
“When is your wedding?”
She sighed sharply and turned to face him. “Do we have to talk about that?”
His gaze was heavy on her, his voice steady as he replied, “Ignoring it will not change your fate.”
She rolled her eyes. “When are we going to talk about you?”
He tilted his head, lifting a shoulder. “There’s not really much to talk about.”
“Hmm,” she hummed, lips tilting up. “You know what I am. Don’t think I can’t sense what I’m sure you can feel.”
He stiffened. “It’s nothing. Besides, plenty of humans have magic.”
“Not like yours. It’s too potent. Which parent is missing? Or are you an orphan?”
He eyed her with that same unflinching gaze. “So delicate with my wounds,” he murmured, raising a sarcastic brow.
But the soft way he said it, looking at her like that, had her stomach dipping.
A gentle heat spread inside her, slowly melting into an ache at her core.
She shouldn’t be feeling this…this want, looking at him now, but she couldn’t deny it, not as their gazes caught and her breath shuddered audibly.
Something was shifting between them, and she didn’t know how to stop it.
Perhaps it wasn’t even possible, not if she remained here.
She stood abruptly, the wheat tickling the sensitive skin of her thighs. “I should go,” she said quickly, turning and hurrying away from him.
But he caught up with her, a little breathless as he admitted, “My mother raised me alone. She passed when I was seventeen.”
Pausing, she turned, meeting his earnest dark eyes. “You feel it most when you are around fire, don’t you?”
His brow creased, but as she’d expected, he nodded.
“I believe your father might have been one of the bastards of Vulcan. Though, he is rather tight-lipped about his personal affairs, so I have no idea who it could be beyond that.”
“I see.”
She searched his face for any sign of distress, but his expression remained the same. Tilting her head, she said, “That doesn’t bother you at all?”
He shrugged, though she caught the flicker in his jaw. “My place in this world remains the same.”
“You’ll just remain a farmhand then?”
His lips twitched. “Don’t look so disappointed, princess.”
She froze at the nickname. Or was it more than that? The man grinned, and she hated how much she liked his smile. It was dangerous.
“Ah, I thought so.”
She took a step closer to him, narrowing her eyes. “How did you know?”
“A guess,” he said, dipping his chin to look her directly in the eye. “Based mostly on your clothing and speech. I second-guessed myself because of your hands, though.”
“My—why?”
He took her hand in his, his fingers and palm dwarfing hers. She shivered, her breath catching when he brushed his thumb along the tops of her fingers.
“You have the calluses of a warrior. Princesses aren’t typically armed.”
She dared a glance up at him again. “They are where I come from. And you’re very observant.”
“Mm, only of things that interest me.”
Her heartbeat quickened when his hand tightened around hers, their fingers tangling.
She let her eyes flutter shut, letting the solid warmth of his presence and the heat of the summer sun settle around her for just a few stolen moments.
His lips brushed against her forehead, and she exhaled sharply.
“Tell me your name,” he whispered, his breath disturbing loose tendrils of her hair.
She lifted her head to find his gaze molten as he stared at her. A careless, thoughtless decision had her lifting on her toes, her hand curling in the waves of hair curling at the nape of his neck. She brushed her lips against his, and he groaned softly, affected by even her subtle touch.
“No,” she murmured just before pressing her lips to his.
He was ready for her, his broad hand sliding to the small of her back, the other untangling her hair from the loose braids.
When he teased the seam of her lips with his tongue, she opened her mouth, moaning softly.
He tasted like honey and smoke, and she found herself wanting more, wanting everything from him.
But she needed to let him go. She had already put him in enough danger by spending any amount of time here. And if Kronos ever found out…
She broke away, gasping. He didn’t let her go far, though, pressing her forehead to hers as his breath came in broken, heavy gasps.
“You’re afraid,” he said roughly, placing a hand lightly over her sternum. “I can hear your heart pounding.”
“Mortals cannot sense that,” she said, shutting her eyes. “So you know for sure now what you are.”
His lips brushed over her eyelids, and her eyes burned at the gentleness in his touch. She had to save him, had to run from this field and never look back. It was the only way.
“I’m not afraid,” he said quietly.
She opened her eyes. “You should be. If he were to ever find out about this, you would wish you were dead long before you took your last breath.”
He tensed, and she could sense the anger brewing in him like an inferno, rising to the surface of his skin. There was no mistaking it now, the fire that ran within his blood. She wanted to douse herself in his inferno, to burn with him. Instead, she stepped back, finally creating some distance.
“I’ll be alright,” she told him softly, holding his gaze.
She saw the understanding in his eyes—she was not coming back.
Still, he said to her, “Come back if you need a place to cry in secret again. I’ll always be here, waiting.”
She smiled sadly. “Don’t waste your time. Live your life and be happy. Goodbye.”
He opened his mouth, but she ran before he could stop her again. As she passed through the barrier between their worlds, she finally let the silvery tears fall, shimmering like starlight as she left the man and his fierce kindness behind.
Soren woke to find her pillow damp with tears she had shed in sleep.
Her dreams were becoming longer, more real.
When she was younger, they had merely been flashes of a place or a person.
Sometimes, they had even just left a feeling, but now, she saw this unknown goddess’ life play before her in clarity.
She knew now that the visions had to be from the past. The veil between this world and that of the gods had been shut long ago.
She rubbed the sleep and tears out of her eyes before she dressed and crept out of the tent quietly.
Last night, she had waited until the princess was asleep to enter the tent, instead sitting by the creek until the moon was high in the sky.
She did not want to know what the princess thought of her now.
In fact, the idea of facing anyone was daunting, Vane included.
When she approached the training field, she paused. He was sitting near the edge of it, cross-legged and facing away from her. She debated calling his name, or even just turning and leaving altogether, but the deal Commander Eton had offered her weighed heavily on her mind.
You help us win this war, Cavell, and you go free.
The fate of Mise rested on her shoulders now. She could be responsible for its demise and become a free woman, or she could stand with her home kingdom and forever be hunted by Aren’s king. She had quite suddenly made herself too important not to be noticed now.
Briefly, she wondered what the goddess in her dreams would do.
Would she fight for herself or her people?
Soren had no idea who her loyalties were to, besides the man in the field.
Now that she was awake, a familiar blur settled over most of the dream.
She could remember what she had seen but could not see it any longer.
The commander had told her if she accepted his offer—if she chose to live rather than run or be killed—she would spend most of her time with Vane.
She wasn’t sure how he was going to help her train with Thessa, since he was not a rider himself, but she hadn’t dared ask.
She had merely nodded and left quietly. The commander had let her go, free for one final night—except that she had never really been free.
Freedom was a foreign concept to her. The shackle around her ankle had always ensured that.
She took a breath, and Vane shifted and then rolled his neck.
“Are you going to just stand there, Sora?”
She clenched her jaw then called back, “That’s not my name!”
His entire body stilled, sudden tension filling the space between them. But he broke it quickly, clearing his throat and turning to face her as he drawled, “Apologies. I see lots of trainees come through and then go off to die. It can be tiresome to remember all their names.”
She scuffed at the mud with a booted foot, her stomach turning as she asked, “What happened to Yella?”
Vane stood, stalking towards her with a stealth only a seasoned warrior could achieve. He stopped in front of her, crossing his arms over his chest. He held a dagger in one of his large hands, the blade curved and wicked.
“I think you’re smart enough to know the answer to that question.”
Her gaze dropped. “She’s dead.”
“Regrettably.”
A disbelieving laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “You don’t care?”