21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
I t’s dark when I wake.
Shifting onto my back, I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up, giving myself a moment while my vision adjusts to the low light. Blankets rustle when I move, the mattress creaking beneath me.
I’m in a bed?
Of course. Last night Asheros mentioned spending the night at the inn. I must have fallen asleep before we arrived. I press my palms to my chest, expecting to feel my leathers.
But I don’t.
The fabric greeting me is lightweight. My shirt. Asheros must have carried me up here and removed my leathers.
“You’re awake.”
My head snaps toward his voice. Shirtless in bed beside me, Asheros sits with his back pressed to the headboard, toying with something silver in his hands. His white-blond hair is tousled, the tendrils falling in front of his eyes failing to hide the dark circles that have taken root underneath them.
If he’s here, in bed with me, then that must mean…
Gods above.
This isn’t how I imagined our first night in bed together.
I pause.
How did I imagine our first time? Have I even ventured far enough to let myself imagine what a night of pleasure with Asheros might be like?
“Bladesinger?” He lets out a breathy laugh. “Never mind. Perhaps you’re still asleep.”
“I’m awake,” I assure him, though I don’t feel it yet. My braid has all but fallen apart, no doubt tangled from sleep. Instead of re-braiding it, I opt to let my blue-black hair fall down my back for the time being.
Asheros’s mouth curves with amusement, still mindlessly spinning the silver in his hands. “So you say.” He’s silent for a moment and his brows pinch together. “It’s early. Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough,” I say. “Though that’s not because of our accommodations. They’re quite comfortable, actually.” The light from the city lanterns lining the streets below cast a warm glow into our room, allowing me to see it in more detail. There’s a dark blue, plush-looking rug beneath the bed that takes up a good portion of the floor, two sturdy looking wooden nightstands on either side of the four-poster bed, two bureaus on the far wall, and a door that likely leads to a washroom.
“You were awake even earlier than me.” I look at him, though he doesn’t meet my gaze. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I slept…” He presses his lips together. His hands go still. “Well enough, I suppose.”
“Those dark circles would say otherwise.”
Tension works at Asheros’s jaw.
We’re silent for a moment. I want to ask about what’s on his mind, but something tells me that he’ll open up to me when he’s ready. I let my eyes fall to his hands, and I get a better look at what he’s been toying with. The hilt of his silver dagger glints in the low light—the one he used to cut my rope bindings when the troll attacked us. Which feels like so long ago.
I still haven’t asked him about it.
Or his shadow-wielding.
I gesture toward the dagger. “Is that what you use to conjure?”
Asheros leans his head toward me, pale brows stitched together in question.
“The dagger,” I explain.
“Ah.” He leans his head back, and then forward. “Yes, it is.”
“May I see it?” I don’t really know where the question came from, nor do I expect him to agree. But to my surprise, he relaxes his grip and holds the hilt out to me. I stare at it for a moment, my eyes wide. Blinking away my awe, I take it.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell him, studying the silver in my palm.
The blade itself is sleek, with a tapered edge on either side. The silver glows like the moon, and if it wasn’t solid in my hand, I might think it a thick, malleable liquid instead. Polished black leather wraps around the hilt, reminding me of a snake, and a rounded pommel of frosted metal sits at the base.
I hand it back to him, hilt first, the same way he passed it to me. “Where did you get it?”
“It was a gift,” he says slowly. “From my father. Before…” he swallows. His throat bobs, anguish wearing down his features. Cold and heavy like that of an executioner’s blade. “Before he learned of my mother’s infidelity.”
My demeanor softens. “What happened after that?”
“He never looked at me the same.” His diamond irises fix on some empty spot in front of us. “No matter what I did, it was never enough to earn his favor, because in his mind only blood makes a son. And all I am is evidence of his wife’s betrayal.”
“He thinks you’re…” My voice trails off. Heavy sorrow fills my chest. “He doesn’t believe you’re his son? ”
“According to him, it isn’t possible.” Still avoiding my eyes, Asheros shakes his head. Bitterness seeps into his tone. “He’ll never say those words out loud. Gods-forbid someone overhears and causes a scandal.”
Gods.
That’s why he flinched when I called him a bastard what feels like years ago.
Guilt flares in my chest, giving way to the pain I know he must carry with him each day. Lacking the right words, I move my body closer to him, closing the gap between us, and place my palm on his thigh. “I’m so sorry.”
Asheros leans into my touch. “You have nothing to apologize for, Bladesinger.”
“I don’t,” I say, letting my anger on his behalf bleed through my words. “But your father does. His scorn is for your mother and your mother alone. The way he treats you…” I swallow all of the crass, unladylike things I want to say. “It’s not right.”
“If only everyone in this world cared as much for what is right as you do, my Bladesinger.” He looks at me with a tenderness in his gaze I’m coming to recognize.
I hold his stare, and for a moment, I want to lift my hand to his cheek.
He takes a breath, his head shaking a little. “I’ve accepted I may never have my father’s approval. Believe me, it took years of trying and failing before I finally made peace with it. Winning my father’s favor is a battle I’ll likely never win, not as long as he’s convinced the blood running through my veins isn’t his.”
“If that’s how he’s decided to be, then he doesn’t deserve you,” I tell him, my voice firm. “You, just as you are, are worth so much more than your father’s approval.”
Asheros’s crystalline eyes glisten, his mouth taut with emotion. Taking my hand, he presses my palm to his cheek and holds it there. “You have no idea of how good it feels to hear you say that.”
Emotions I can’t place surge through me, a need to show him how I feel overpowering any thought I could have in this moment. Brushing my thumb back and forth against his cheek, I lean forward slowly until his mouth meets mine.
Our first kiss was a battle that set my blood aflame with need. But this… This is soft and gentle.
This is more. So much more.
With each subtle movement—my mouth moving over his, the slide of my hand up his bare chest, the brush of our bodies—I pour myself into him, as if my lips can show him the veracity of my regard for him.
I’d scream it from the rooftops if it meant he would believe it.
Asheros’s mouth moves in time with mine, perfectly in tune with my rhythm. His hand slips from mine, and he wraps both of his arms around me, pulling me into his lap.
Though our mouths break from the kiss, we stay there, holding each other. We don’t speak, but there’s no need for words. Our embrace says everything it needs to.
Once the air feels lighter, I lean back far enough to look at him. “I never asked you about your shadows.”
“I’m surprised you waited this long,” Asheros muses, tracing circles on my waist with his thumb.
“I haven’t practiced magic in decades. Truth be told, once I joined the Guard, physical training was my focus.” Others split their attention between physical and magical training, honing their abilities and incorporating them into their combat routines. But not me. So much so, that I’ve just about entirely forgotten the little magic I’d learned. Not that I had been very good at it. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” Asheros asks, glancing up at my face.
“Channel magic from the metal.”
“At first it was quite difficult. Conjuring is all about intentions, you see.” He pauses, pressing his lips together as though searching for the right words. “I find it easier if I’m touching the object I’m channeling from, though I’ve heard of more powerful fae who don’t need to touch the object in order to channel.”
“All right…” I nod like I understand, even though I’m not following.
“The first thing I do is envision the untapped power in my mind. For me, I imagine a lake. In my mind, the water is the well of magic that I can command to my will,” he explains. “When I’d first begun using magic, I would close my eyes and imagine myself stepping into the lake, deep enough I could place my palms beneath the surface.”
“That’s it?” I ask. “What then?”
He shrugs, though his hands don’t leave my waist. “Then, it’s simply a matter of willing the magic to conjure what you command.”
I snort. “You say that as if it were simple.”
“With enough practice, it is simple,” he says. “There comes a point when the shadows become an extension of you.”
I lean forward. “Do all conjurers wield shadows?”
As if entertained by my curiosity, his eyes brighten. “Some do, yes, but not all. Some conjure light, while others specialize in more localized conjuring, like the spell we did to speak with Viridian and Cryssa back at Orim’s family manor.”
“Interesting. Despite all my tutoring, I’ve never quite understood the difference between conjuring and summoning.”
“They are similar,” Asheros concedes. “But distinct. Conjuring is characterized as magic that creates something entirely new. Something that wasn’t there before. Summoning, on the other hand, is a matter of calling upon aspects of our world that already exist and draws from gold metal instead of silver.”
I gape. “You mean to tell me that your shadows—you create them from thin air each time?”
“Yes.” Asheros nods, lips tugged into that wicked smirk of his. “Don’t tell me that’s all it took to impress you, Bladesinger. ”
“And what if it is?”
Gripping my waist, he pulls me closer. “Then I’ll curse myself for failing to realize this sooner.”
He kisses me again, and I muss his hair when I pull away. We both turn to the window, the rising sun coloring the sky with light pink and orange hues.
“We should go.” I move away from the bed and tug on my pants. “The others will be waiting.”
Asheros’s expression shifts into something serious.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice low.
“I’m—” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he pauses. “There’s no way to know what waits for us going forward. And gods-damn it, I’m…” He lets out a breath.
“I know,” I say. “I’m nervous, too.”
What’s to come?
And what does it mean if my suspicions about the killer’s identity are right?
My heart constricts, as if strangled with iron.
Asheros stands and reaches for my hand. The motion draws my eyes to his. “Whatever happens,” he says, holding my hand gently, “you will be all right.”
“I don’t need to be coddled,” I tell him, my voice as soft as his expression.
The corners of his mouth tug into the hint of a smile. “I know you don’t. And I’m not coddling you, Lymseia. It’s the truth.”
“You’re no diviner,” I say, shaking my head slightly. “You can’t be sure.”
No one could. That was one of Ceren’s first lessons the first day I stepped into her training room.
“Listen now, and listen well, to the first and one of the most important lessons I will ever teach you. You may think you know the outcome of a battle, but that is an illusion.”
“What if we outnumber the enemy two to one?” A fellow trainee asks, cocky arrogance brimming in his voice. “We all know how that battle would go.”
Ceren only crosses her arms. “Do you know of the Battle at Lothaes?”
The trainee’s cheeks flush red, but he doesn’t shy away from her scrutiny. “Not well, Captain.”
“Then let me enlighten you.” Ceren’s stare sweeps through the training room.
Some trainees avert their eyes when her attention falls to them, but I keep my head held high. A flicker of something crosses her mouth, and she looks away from me.
“Before all of you were born, the Old Gods toyed with our realm. Every fighter at Lothaes that fateful day thought we were going to die—that we would lose a brutal battle, and with it, our kingdom would fall to the cruelty of the Old Gods.”
The entire room falls silent.
I’d learned of the Banishment of the Old Gods from my tutors. As the daughter of the Head of House, a noble fae belonging to one of the five Noble Houses, my mother thought it imperative that I learn the intricacies of Inatia’s history.
Even the bloody parts.
But I’d never heard the grim tales of our past from someone who was there. Someone who fought in the war against the gods.
Ceren continues, “And for a great while, I thought we were all going to be slaughtered. But though the Old Gods were more powerful than us, and though their armies of crepulnai outnumbered us nearly two to one, we were victorious that day.”
I suck in a breath.
I’d learned about the crepulnai during my lessons—humanoid creatures made from an essence so dark they siphoned and absorbed any surrounding light. It’s said there were so many crepulnai at Lothaes that a blanket of darkness swept the sky at high noon, so thick not even the starlight shone through. So many died at the hands of those evoked demons. The tales of their bravery are what made me decide to be a warrior myself.
“Despite the odds, we’d banished those cruel tyrants from our world.” Ceren pauses, letting silence fall around us. “The other side believed they knew the outcome of the battle. And yet, they lost. So, I tell you again—never assume yourself to be a diviner, because you can never truly know.”
Bringing me back to reality, Asheros moves both of his hands to my face, thumbs brushing back and forth against my cheekbones. “Listen to me,” he says, staring into my eyes. “I don’t need to be sure about anything but this—you. You are strong and more than capable of bringing Vorr’s killer to his knees. By the sheer force of your will, you will be all right, no matter what happens.”
Doubt floods my senses, sinking to the pit of my stomach.
Taking a breath, I nod and clear my mind. Pulling away, I gather my hair into a low ponytail. The heaviness of my doubt still lingers as I slip my feet into my boots, but I force myself to ignore it.
Asheros is right.
There is too much at stake to succumb to my self-doubt. Though I may no longer be the Captain of the High King’s Guard, people still look to me for strength. I can’t let my mind get the better of me. My fear of failure is only a distraction—an obstacle barring my way.
And if I want to capture Vorr’s murderer, and stop an all-out war between the Courts, I must rise above it.
Asheros searches my expression, the conviction in his crystalline eyes silent reassurance. His gaze leaves mine just long enough for him to pull a shirt on over his head.
I want to ask him why he has so much faith in me, but before I have the chance, he takes my hand and leads me to the door.
“Let’s grace the others with our presence, shall we?”