28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I wake up feeling lighter. As if an unseen burden has been lifted from my shoulders.
Though his eyes are closed, I can tell Asheros is already awake. He breathes in an even and relaxed pace. He looks so at ease, so peaceful, that I almost don’t want to move, fearing that I’ll bring an end to this moment.
“Good morning,” he says, opening his eyes. I find the pale blue of his gaze immediately, wondering how I let my pig-headed stubbornness stop me from seeing what was there, all along. He looks at me as if I’m the moon, and him, the tide .
Utterly devoted.
I could stare at him like this for an eternity and still never have enough.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, grazing the backs of his fingers against my cheek.
I smile. “Yes, I did.” Waggling my brows, I add, “Very well.”
Grinning, he rolls his eyes. “Good gods, Bladesinger.”
“What?” I laugh. “A few orgasms do much good for the body.”
He leans forward, close enough we brush noses, and dons that wicked smirk. “Next time, it will be much more than a few.”
My core aches at the thought, and I bite my lip. “Oh, I’m very much looking forward to that.”
“I thought you would,” he says, his voice rough. “As much as I’d like to have you again, and again, and again, right now, we really should be getting up.”
“Do we have to?” I whine. “I’d prefer to just stay here and fuck while the world burns.”
“If that’s truly what you desire, my Bladesinger, then you need only say the word.” The lust falls from his expression, and his mouth tightens. “But I know you care very much about the fate of the realm.”
Wiping my face, I sigh. “Why do you have to be right?”
“It’s my curse to bear.” The corners of his mouth tug upward into the hint of a smirk. “To be devastatingly handsome and knowledgeable.”
“Oh, come now.” I give him a light shove, then stand and retrieve my clothes from where his shadows had thrown them last night.
“You know you love me,” he teases.
“And you’re lucky I do,” I counter, my voice light with amusement.
“You’re right,” he admits, baring his heart to me. “I am so gods-damned lucky you love me.”
Turning around, I tilt my head back to kiss him. His hands rise to my cheeks, cupping my face. We hold the kiss for longer than we probably should, then break apart to get dressed. Once we’re fully clothed, we emerge from the tent.
The others are gathered around what remains of the campfire talking.
Ronan’s the first to see us. “There you are,” he hollers. His mouth splits into a wide smile. “We weren’t expecting you two for at least another couple of hours.”
Placing a hand on my hip, I arch a brow.
“Unless they finished another round without us hearing,” Savell adds, throwing sideways glances at Asheros and I, a small smile playing at his lips.
“Oh, please,” Gryska chimes in. Chuckling, she shakes her head. “After all the racket we heard last night, we would know if they went at it again.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Asheros’s cheeks flush red.
“Don’t tell me you’re shy, now,” I tell him through the bond.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Bladesinger.” Winking at me, he adds, “If they could hear your screams of pleasure, then it means I thoroughly worshiped you the way you deserve.”
Heat dances across my cheeks as his words bring forth naughty, naughty memories.
“Here we go,” Ronan teases. “Now they’re talking in each other’s heads and eye-fucking.”
“Oh, leave them alone,” Kheldryn scolds, though the others break into fits of laughter instead. Ignoring them, she turns to us. “We’re all really happy for you. Both of you.”
Taking my hand, Asheros smiles at me. “Thank you.”
“Of course, we are,” Savell says, his tone shifting to something more serious. “And while we’re happy for you, we need you both to stay focused.”
“Right,” Asheros replies, leveling his expression. “Illnamoor is waiting.”
Nerves gather in my stomach. Gods, I wish it wasn’t. Who knew what could be waiting for us there. What if we’re too late? What if the red-eyed male is already there?
What if he already killed—
Asheros gives my hand a light squeeze, bringing me back down to earth. A wave of comfort flows down the bond. Meeting his eyes, I take a deep breath.
“What’s our plan?” Savell asks, looking at both of us. “Even without the threat we’re facing, I don’t recommend going in blind. ”
“The first thing we’re going to do is arrange a meeting with my mother,” I say. “Since we suspect an attempt on her life, we’ll want to alert her immediately so she can increase her security detail.”
“Then what?” Savell crosses his arms, pressing them flat to his chest.
“Then, we lay a trap for the red-eyed male,” I tell him. “We create what seems to be an opportunity for him to strike and wait for him to take the bait.” I turn to Asheros. “Would you be able to restrain him with your shadows?”
He nods. “For a decent period of time, yes.”
“A decent period of time is all we need,” I say. “I’ll speak to my mother about having some of her guards assist us. Once we uncover the red-eyed male’s identity and take him into custody, we’ll leave it to Viridian to decide his fate.”
As High King, it’s solely his right to punish traitors who have committed crimes against the kingdom, and by association, his crown. But even beyond that, it’s his right to avenge his father’s death.
Seemingly satisfied, Savell dips his head, arms falling to his sides. “Good. Let’s be off.”
T he next few days are a blur. We barely stop to make camp or rest, even for short periods of time, fearing that if we do, we’ll be too late. In the nearly two months since I left High Keep, we’ve never driven ourselves to the brink of exhaustion the way we do now.
The red-eyed male is fae , I tell myself. Like us, he’ll need to stop for food and rest—even with those gods-forsaken wings of his, though they’re not of this earth. My practical mind knows that to be true. Still, worry claws at my throat, threatening to choke me.
Inhaling, I force myself to clear my mind. I’m in control of the reins, guiding our mount along the mountain road. The pure, mountain air is crisp on my tongue, the breeze cool on my skin, and though neither of us knows what will happen once we reach the city, Asheros’s presence at my back is silent reassurance.
Keeping my eyes on the horizon, I squint into the sunlight. Wide, slanted roofs come into view, glimmering with steel encrusted stone tiles. Illnamoor—the city of falling rivers.
My home.
“We’re here,” I say, my voice heavier than I intended.
Asheros drapes an arm around my waist, pulling me closer.
Narrowing my eyes, I clench my jaw. We ride closer, approaching the city walls which lie at the highest point of the valley before us. Sprawled across the mountaintops, beginning some distance ahead and continuing high above where we ride, rest elegant buildings crafted from smooth ivory mountain rock with steel-infused paint accenting the graceful arches over windows and doorways in careful strokes. Water rushes beneath artfully designed bridges, the intricately carved structural supports splitting what would be one massive waterfall into five smaller ones.
As a child, I was fascinated by how the entire city had been simultaneously built, both into the mountain and above free flowing water. It seemed that wherever I stepped in this city, the chorus of its many waterfalls always surrounded me.
There were many times when I’d wandered off, following where the sound of the rushing water led, and been late to my lessons. My mouth tightens. Those would have been happy memories if not tainted by my mother’s displeasure. Her look of disappointment was always the same. A stern, hard line at her mouth. That exhale through her nose.
My mother was the kind of mother that would never tell you when she was disappointed in you. She’d leave that for me to decipher from the subtleties she’d lay as hints.
Waves of comfort radiate from the bond, washing away the phantoms of my childhood failures. I lean into Asheros, and he presses a kiss to my head.
When we near the gates, I tug on the reins and slow our horse to a stop.
The guard peers down at us. “Who goes there?”
Angling my head, I give the best impression of the dignitary my mother had always wanted me to be. “Lady Lymseia Wynterliff, second-born daughter of Head of House, Lady Kylantha Wynterliff. I’d like to see my mother at once.”
“Of course, my lady,” the guard stammers. “Right away, my lady.” He turns around. “You! Come on, then, open the gates!”
Closing my eyes in time with my breath, I let Ceren’s words guide me.
“As Captain, half the battle is in that room,” she’d told me, pointing to the throne room, where High King Vorr had waited to hear of my nomination as her successor. “I have trained you well in the art of combat. You are more than skilled with those short swords you have come to claim as your own.” She’d paused, pressing her lips together. “But even in all my years as Captain, I have never mastered the art of demanding respect from those who wear fine clothes, from those who have grown comfortable in their luxury. Not through the use of my words.”
“What do you mean?” I’d asked, absolutely bewildered. “You’re the most highly decorated warrior in the kingdom. There isn’t anyone here that doesn’t revere you.”
“That is because of my feats in battle, my successes in the wars against the Old Gods, not because of anything else,” she’d told me, resignation dampening her words. Then, she looked at me with her eyes ablaze in a way I’d never seen before—a look I’ll never forget as long as I live. “ But your mind, Lymseia. Your mind is sharper than any sword. Use it to your advantage, and you will triumph in battles fought with words.”
Exhaling, I open my eyes as the gates swing inward. Gripping the reins, I urge our horse forward though every fiber in my body is telling me to turn back.
“Your mind is sharper than any sword,” I mutter to myself, over and over.
My mind is sharper than any sword.
Ceren believed that.
It’s time I did, too.