15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
W e leave for Esvelon the next morning. Our packs are filled nearly to the brim with at least seven days rations and waterskins we can refill. If we continue at an even pace with minimal delays, we should reach the city by the time we exhaust our supplies.
Savell, Ronan, Orim, and Kheldryn position themselves atop their mounts, double-checking their packs are secured to their horses.
Asheros takes my hand and leads me to the last horse. My breathing quickens, heart pounding against my ribcage, but I don’t fight his advances.
Amusement crosses his expression, lifting the corner of his mouth. “Nervous about riding with me again, Bladesinger?”
“You wish,” I reply, hiding my body’s reaction beneath a mask of bravado.
But it’s true. I’m not nervous. There is something else entirely to blame for my quickening heartbeat.
And it’s most definitely not fear.
He smiles, and it nearly steals my breath away. “That’s my fighter.”
The way he says those words only adds to the feeling that pulses through me in waves. It’s akin to the adrenaline that courses through me before taking up my sword. The thrill of the coming fight, like sparks running through my bones. Yet, it’s a different feeling all the same. It’s hope and excitement and endless untethered possibilities. As if I’m soaring high above the clouds where only the gods may tread despite my feet being firmly planted on earth.
“Speaking of,” he says, letting go of my hand and reaching into the pack strapped to our mount, “you may need these.”
With his palms facing upward, he cradles two long leather-wrapped steel objects in his hands, cradled like an offering.
My blades.
Relief floods through me at the sight of them, and I automatically wrap my fingers around the hilt of each one. I tilt them back and forth, watching the sun glint on the silvery- blue metal. In one swift motion, I slide them into their sheaths at my hips.
“Thank you,” I say, bringing my gaze up to his.
“There’s no need to thank me,” Asheros murmurs, eyes locked with mine. “They belong to you. I should have returned them long ago.”
My lips part for breath, and I can’t help but search his expression, looking for some ounce of deception. But I find none.
“May I?” he asks, holding out a hand.
I nod, giving him wordless permission. Taking my hand again, he lifts me up while I pull myself onto the horse’s back. Barely a moment passes before his body warms my back, settled in place behind me.
Once he’s ready, Asheros raises a hand, just higher than his temple, and directs two fingers ahead in a forward motion. Taking the reins, he orients us toward the road, a subtle motion of his legs urging our horse forward. I glance over my shoulder. Just like when we’d traveled before, the others fall in line behind us, immersed in their own conversations.
Facing forward again, I tilt my head down slightly, bringing my chin down toward my shoulder. To Asheros I say, voice low so the others can’t hear, “Savell is very protective of you.”
And the least trusting of me. Of all Asheros’s companions, he’s the only one who hasn’t let his guard down as far as I’m concerned .
“He…” Asheros swallows. “He has reason not to trust fae.”
I furrow my brow. “But he is fae.”
“Demi-fae,” Asheros corrects.
Savell is demi-fae?
I think of the only demi-fae I have the privilege of knowing well. My High Queen, Cryssa. She’s demi-fae, her ears rounded like those of a human. If not for her auburn hair—very similar in shade to the dark red of her aunt, Maelyrra Pelleveron, and cousin, Nisroth—one would think she is fully human. When I first met her, I’d thought so, too.
Though I can’t see it myself, I feel the crease forming between my brows. “His ears—”
“They’re pointed, like ours, I know. Some demi-fae inherit more fae-like traits than others.”
My eyes widen. “Ah, I see.” Hesitating, I press my lips together. Dread fills my stomach. Though I know where this is going, I ask anyway. “What happened?”
For a moment, Asheros doesn’t speak. Just when I think he’ll refuse to answer, he clears his throat. “He’s the son of a human courtesan in Greyhelm,” Asheros lowers his voice some more. “His father has never, not once, taken interest in him. Hell, I doubt Savell even knows his father. That male left his mother to raise him on her own.” He sighs, breath heavy with the gravity of his words. “But, the work of a courtesan doesn’t pay well, and all too often, Savell was left to raise himself.”
I lower my eyes and press the heel of my palms to my thighs, curling my fingers inward.
Asheros takes a moment before continuing. “When he was barely out of his childhood years, his mother died from illness. Still no word from his father. The fae in the city saw him on the streets, ragged, scraggly, starving. They knew he was one of theirs yet, they did nothing for him.”
I can’t see Asheros, but the venom and disgust in his tone is enough to tell me his mouth is curling with loathing. “They saw his human heritage as a stain upon them. And so, they let a boy struggle each and every day, just to take another breath.”
“What of the humans?” I ask, my own revulsion rising to the surface.
“That’s the cruel irony of it all.” Asheros laughs, but the sound is devoid of humor, a bitter shell. “Some humans helped where they could, but the miners didn’t have much to spare. Others ignored him, no better than the fae.”
The fervor with which he speaks moves me, and had I not been sitting with my back to him, I would be compelled to look him in the eyes.
“My father and I were passing through the city square upon our return to the Larmanne Manor,” he says slowly, as if he’s reliving the day. “In truth, I can’t recall why my father stopped. I dismounted my horse and told Savell that if he came to the Larmanne Manor gates before dawn the next morning, I would give him work, warm food, and a place to sleep.”
“A servant’s position?” I ask.
“No. The role of my personal assistant.” Asheros’s voice lifts, and there’s a smile in his words. “He’s held that position ever since.”
Feeling lighter, I relax my hands. “Does your father know?”
“He must. I don’t know how he couldn’t. Savell has always accompanied me unless I ask him to step out when discussing private matters.”
Confused, I cock my head, the horse’s steady trot a soft, even rhythm in my ears. “How have I never seen him at High Keep when you’ve come for council meetings?”
Asheros casually adjusts his grip on the reins, and I can’t help but get distracted by the way his arms lightly brush against my sides. “When my father and I leave Greyhelm, Savell keeps an eye on things for me.”
I’d once thought Asheros cold and indifferent.
Now, I’m beginning to see how wrong I was.
Warmth seeps into my chest, a flicker of surprise at its core. Perhaps he’s beginning to let me see what lies beneath the mask he wears.
“You return his trust.”
“I do.” Asheros is quiet for a moment, before clearing his throat. “You know, for all his talk and supposed unwillingness to help you find Vorr’s killer, I know he’s glad we’ve changed course.”
“Really? Why is that?” I ask.
“Cryssa and Viridian’s union, their reign…” Asheros’s voice slows. “It gives him hope. It gives me hope. Hope for a better world where humans and fae can see past the shape of the other’s ears and look beyond the simple or finely made clothes the other wears.” A pause. “If Viridian abdicated the throne and someone else took over, that hope would be squandered.”
Cryssa and Viridian’s love broke Vorr’s curse. Their love brought Cryssa back from the cold clutches of death. Their love united a demi-fae and noble fae, and, in a way, the Gold and Bronze Courts, two Houses known to be rivals, despite Maelyrra’s rejection of Cryssa.
If love could do all of that, what else could it do for this kingdom?
“The bonds of love are stronger than any force in this world,” I murmur. A second thought comes from somewhere deep, in the corners of my mind, like a child that’s been too afraid to speak.
What could a love like that do for the wounds of my past?
“Do you truly believe that, Bladesinger?” Asheros’s voice is ripe with an emotion I can’t seem to place. “That love can save us all?”
His question gives me pause. For most of my life, I’ve relied on Ceren’s training and held tightly to those principles. To believe in what can be seen and heard. To depend only on my own skill and that of my fellow Guards. More than once, those lessons have saved my life.
But this ?
This falls beyond the realm of what I know. What I’ve been taught to believe. So, I answer him as honestly as I can.
“I want to.”
He doesn’t say anything for what seems like a long while. Treetops sway in the wind. Leaves rustle. The clap-clap-clap of our horse’s hooves against the gravelly road and the muffled murmurings of our companions’ conversations fall around us—a soothing, yet peaceful reminder that neither of us is where we used to be.
That, somehow, we are no longer who we used to be.
“Me, too, Bladesinger,” Asheros says at last. “Me, too.”
A smile parts my lips.
“Now, if you repeat anything I told you,” he says, his tone losing its weight, “I’ll deny having this conversation.”
Shaking my head a little, I chuckle, glancing at him from over my shoulder. “How dare I expect anything more from you?”
“Truly, Bladesinger,” he quips, lips parted and tilted upward, flashing those perfect teeth again. “You should know better by now.”
“I’ll be sure to do better next time,” I counter, humor brightening my voice. “Just to spite you.”
Brows raised, Asheros gapes at me, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “Those are fighting words, Bladesinger.” He leans forward and winks. “I do hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“You said it yourself. I’m a fighter.” I tease. “It’s you who should be afraid. Especially now that I’m armed.”
“That you are.” His voice softens, eyes searching mine. He stares at me as if I’m something to be revered. As if I’m a goddess made flesh.
His attention doesn’t make me want to retreat, or shy away from the light. Instead, I want to bask in it, as if he’s the sun, and I, the moon, cold without his warmth.
Kheldryn’s words echo in my head again, but this time I can’t seem to will them away.
“Maybe, in marking you two as fated, the gods weren’t telling you that he’s your enemy, but rather, that you and he would become something so much more.”
When Theelia, the Goddess of Fate, marked Asheros and I as fated, I’d wondered why. Why him? Why wait to make her will known then, and not sooner when we’d first met?
The bonds of love….
Perhaps there’s some truth to Kheldryn’s words. Perhaps Asheros and I aren’t destined to kill each other after all.