35. Maren
Maren
Leal and Dimas rode with us to Calder’s gates.
I might have protested, but they’d lent us mounts to carry us back. They’d also stopped in Ochire on their way to Ascento, where General Senan had paused to restock supplies before his return to Winterlight, and news regarding the war trickled from the two men as we rode.
“Conflict with Rivea is at a standstill now,” Leal informed us between bites of a mushy-looking pear.
“Reports are the Rivean King has been acting oddly. Accusing his council of holding meetings without him and claiming he never made proclamations that his people watched him make. Sentries say their army has vacated the mountains, and Illuskia sent an urgent missive to your father”—he paused to tongue some gritty fruit from his molars—“to ask if their princess can stay in Calder in the event of an invasion.”
Aren’s nose scrunched like he’d just felt himself step in something repulsive and had made the poor choice to investigate under his shoe. “The Princess of Illuskia? Aalto save us all if she does.”
I said nothing. I’d heard of the princess, often disparagingly, only a handful of times, but truthfully, the only thing I knew about her was that there had once been talks of joining the kingdoms through a betrothal between her and Kye.
That was, of course, before he sailed to Leihani in a rowboat to escape his future.
Mihauna alive, maybe she really was terrible.
Leal stretched toward the junior captain enough to flick his ear.
Aren batted him away. “What was that for?”
“When are you going to drink that bottle you nicked from Dimas’s mother?”
“I didn’t nick it. She offered it to me. And I’ll drink it when I’m plum ready.”
“Why plum?”
“What?”
Leal’s brows furrowed. “Why plum? Why not when you’re just ready?”
“Will Senan still be in Ochire when we arrive?” Diara asked.
A few heads swiveled to look at her, but she ignored them, watching Dimas and waiting for an answer.
She’d let herself into my room the night before, waiting for Kye to leave before asking if we might stop in the logging town so she could check on her mother.
The quiet winegrower’s son’s cheeks dusted pink under her gaze. “It’s possible. He only came to Calder City in hopes of regaining his royal commander.”
Everyone’s gaze swung to Kye. Aren scoffed. “Might not need a commander if Rivea takes their feud east.”
Leal sighed. “Is it because you love plums?”
“Suns drench the skies, Leal. Drop the plums.”
“Do you or do you not,” Leal said slowly, “have a plum on you now?”
Aegir rode close to me, watching the exchange with strained interest—if interest was a pet he could keep on a tight leash.
I privately wondered whether he’d spent so much time around humans before, if he was well-versed in human warfare.
His Oculos, Sindri, had fought for Rivea for twenty years, so I could only assume he’d gained some knowledge.
He leaned toward me, keeping his voice low. “Are you planning to continue improving your star-wielding while surrounded by humans?”
I shrugged carelessly, catching the stringent flex of his mouth.
My hand slipped into my pocket, turning the stones in my hand as if they were lucky coins.
In truth, I hadn’t stopped practicing. I searched for electric charges within the air, releasing tiny sparks where I knew they’d pass unseen and unheard like static hiding under a coarse rug.
The only ones who had noticed were Kye and possibly Kolibri, who had suffered just enough shocks from touching me to raise suspicion.
Aegir clicked his tongue, neglecting to comment on my poor commitment to his lessons. “I do not think we should stop in Ochire.”
“No?” I glanced at him over my shoulder. “My husband’s welfare as a commander means so much to you?”
Aegir grunted quietly. He made an expression that I assumed he only made while avoiding expressions altogether.
His eyes shuttered down, and he drummed his fingers absently on his thigh before carefully saying, “You’re careless when he is near.
Sloppy. I’m worried you would follow him into a fire to make sure he didn’t burn, and you’d use yourself to shield him. A Naiad Queen does not follow a human.”
I huffed a laugh, a short, ironic breath of air.
Half chuckle and half disbelief. Then stared ahead, gauging my own reaction through his eyes.
Satisfaction fell to the bottom of my stomach like flakes of snow, collecting in a blur of white and cold and stillness in every direction.
I’d been right. Even though they’d never outright said so, the Naiads peered down their noses at a cordae between Kye and me.
“I did follow him into the fire, Aegir.”
He shook his head. “Theia’s design. Not your own.”
My mouth pursed. “Are you doubting Theia?”
Aegir’s fingers combed down his neat beard. “You act as if I hate humans. I don’t. I just don’t have a taste for people that aren’t my own. Your colony is the same.”
I didn’t mention that I held my own doubts about the Goddess of the Moon.
That I was almost certain she’d laid a track for me to follow, one I could neither see the end of nor step away from.
That she’d shown me my ancestral line, thousands of faces dating back thousands of lives, and had landed on her own.
You are the beginning.
My gaze shifted across the riders of our group, Naiad and human, chatting away. Kye was watching us. He held my eyes for a long moment before glancing away.
Aegir considered him as well, attention slanted sideways as if Kye was a shadow on the wall that he didn’t enjoy looking at yet didn’t trust prying his eyes away from.
I raised my chin. “What should I walk through fire for, if not for my cordae?”
The Venusian shook his head, and I couldn’t decide if he found the question too difficult to answer or simply foolish. “He’s not your cordae.” A long, tired sigh escaped his lips. “Keep practicing your star-wielding.”
He slowed his horse, dropping away and leaving me to ruminate on his words. Ahead, Leal’s voice carried across the trees. “Think Aren might actually hate plums?”
General Senan was still in Ochire.
I’d traveled through the logging town briefly before, on the way to the mountains.
It wasn’t nearly as grand as Calder City, equipped with the simple export of felled timber.
Dust seemed to settle over the city like soft, fawn-colored dandruff, the scent of fresh cedar and sap clinging to my hair and clothes.
Kye stretched and fidgeted as we slunk through the streets, avoiding the troops stationed along the market outskirts.
He cast long glances in the direction of the flags and horses, worry etched in the corner of his eyes like a sailor spying a storm on the horizon.
I’d thought he’d settle as we ventured deeper into the wooded hills where Diara’s cousin’s manor rose slowly from behind the snow-dusted pines. But he didn’t.
“The general won’t see you from here, Kye,” I said when it became clear he had nothing more to hide from.
“What?” Kye peered down at me like he’d briefly forgotten his name. “It’s not that.”
The way he said it—it’s not that—as if he privately wanted Senan to spot him, wanted to ride to Rivea, ushered a sudden chill down my spine.
I pressed my teeth together, my best attempt at controlling my own face. “What is it?”
Kye reached to scratch under the curls at the back of his neck. He gave me a lopsided smile. “Nothing.”
I leaned back in my saddle, coaxing Kolibri to a reluctant stop. If there’s one word a woman can’t let go, it’s that one. Nothing.
It was impossible to ignore. The word nothing was like a loose thread introduced to bored fingers.
A picture hanging slightly too heavily on one side.
Nothing begged a second glance, and a third, and possibly a fourth.
Nothing never meant nothing. Nothing always meant something, and not just any something, something with a dark edge, something he knew I wouldn’t want to hear, something worth tucking out of sight and hoping I’d forget it.
Kye laughed softly, pulling his own horse to a halt a few paces ahead. He gazed back at me patiently. “Stop looking at me like that.” Mother moon. I schooled my face back to neutrality, and Kye’s mouth twitched. “It’s nothing, Leihani.”
I squeezed my thighs, prompting Kolibri back into motion. “If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be gazing back like that.”
He gnawed slowly at his lip. Somewhere in the distance beyond the modest houses and pale-green saplings, an axe struck rhythmically against a tree.
Snow had begun to spin in the air, the flakes tiny and thin, dancing lonely against the wind.
I waited, letting silence drift over us until Kye felt the need to fill it.
“I was raised for a sole purpose, Leihani,” he said slowly.
“I wasn’t born to be a king, which is a relief to fucking everyone.
I’d be a horrible king.” He gave a small, disparaging laugh, shuddering as if the words left a chill against his skin.
“Tensions with Rivea have been growing since before I existed. And many of the men in Winterlight are friends. Sons of lords I grew up with. I always thought I’d fight alongside them. Lead them.”
I fought the urge to cross my arms, siphoning the meaning from his words, which felt like convincing water to separate from oil, to rise against gravity. “You’d rather be there?”