25. Archer #2
Saige laughs good-naturedly and I use all my willpower to stop myself from banding my arms tight around her and drawing her in close.
“No husband or lover, thank the gods,” she says.
“But Yevna and Raven are hopefully back in Hanniel by now. I’d like to think they miss my company.
Yevna will certainly be missing Grim. How about you? ”
“No one important.” Daemos winks at her. “You interested?”
Frustration ripples through me. I know exactly what the bastard is doing. “Keep it in your pants, Daemos.”
He looks triumphant. “Are you abiding by the same rules—”
“For someone who thought their brother was dead for the last two centuries, it’s a bit soon to be being such a prick,” Saige cuts him off.
This time when she defends me, all I want to do is kiss her.
To my surprise, Daemos dips his head. “My apologies. I’m afraid that’s the default amongst brothers. But I am glad you’re not dead, Archie.”
“More heartfelt words have never been spoken,” I reply flatly.
“And you’re glad to see me too…”
“And I’m glad to see you too. For the most part,” I concede.
In front of me, Saige is shaking her head. “You’d think after centuries of existence, the Azkari would be more emotionally intelligent but here you both are—”
Daemos halts abruptly, holding up a raised fist to signal that we do the same, and I draw the reigns up short. For a moment, all we can hear is the rustle of the branches in the soft breeze, and the chirping of the birds overhead—the quiet, peaceful melody of the Eldergrove.
But Daemos meets my gaze, suddenly serious. “I assume you’d prefer your existence to remain a mystery to the greater world for the time being?”
“Ideally.”
He nods. “Then take your bookbinder and get inside that tree over there. Leave the horse. Use your veil. Go now.”
I don’t hesitate. I leap down from the saddle and pull Saige off after me, setting her down as quietly as I can and motioning for her to follow me.
A few yards away, there’s a strangler fig with a decent sized hollow.
Saige slips inside, and I duck in after her.
The host tree has died long ago, and the aerial roots have grown down from the fig’s branches, reaching the soil and anchoring the fig, creating a lattice-like wall for us to hide behind, a structure that makes it far easier to veil us from sight.
I feel Saige’s eyes on me as I reach for the threads of the Weave with my mind, using them to create a tapestry of illusion that wraps about the tree, around us, concealing us from view.
It’s only when the veil falls into place, sealing us within, that I realize that the space is so narrow that Saige’s chest presses against mine with each breath she takes.
I can feel the rapid flutter of her heartbeat through the thin fabric separating us, matching the thunder of my own.
When she shifts to get a better view of the opening, her hip brushes against mine, and I have to bite back a sharp intake of breath. Every inch of her is pressed against me—thigh to thigh, torso to torso. “Look,” she whispers, pointing through my veil to where Daemos stands with the two horses.
Grim has run off somewhere, hopefully to find his own hiding spot.
In this confined space, I’m drowning in her scent—lilacs and parchment, and underneath it all, something uniquely her that makes my head swim.
“You need to stop moving,” I breathe against her ear, my voice rougher than intended. “Every time you shift, you’re—” I cut myself off, but her eyes widen with understanding, heat flooding her cheeks as she feels exactly what her movements are doing to me.
Her hand grips my shoulder for balance, fingers digging in, and I suppress a groan. This is torture. Beautiful, exquisite torture.
“Where are you from? What is your business here?” says a harsh voice from just out of sight.
Guards.
Daemos remains unruffled. “I am of the House of Whispers, here to visit Prince Eyrx,” he replies smoothly.
I wait for their reaction, for their splutter of apologies, but suspicion laces the guard’s next words. “Then why are you here and not in the citadel?”
“It’s been a long time since I wandered the Eldergrove, call it a walk down memory lane. I wasn’t aware the prince had restricted access to these parts?” Daemos sounds bored more than anything, but I know far too well the calculating that goes on in that sharp mind of his.
“There’s been reports…” the guard offers.
“Of what?”
The guard hesitates before he answers, “Strange magic afoot.”
Daemos laughs. “My good friend, this is the Eldergrove. Things would be amiss if there wasn’t strange magic afoot in here.”
“It’s not magic alone that concerns us. Just this week we encountered a group of branded Azkari trekking through our forests,” the guard says, suspiciously eyeing Daemos’ neck.
“I am no branded scum.” I try not to flinch at his words as Daemos pulls down the collar of his shirt, baring his unblemished skin to them. “Malevron is dead. Why would he have disciples roaming your lands?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” the guard replies. “We have them in custody, the Prince of Reveries is questioning them himself. Are you travelling alone?”
“Obviously,” Daemos answers.
“Then why the two horses?”
“I’m a creature of comfort. I like my things…”
“Check that tree,” a second voice orders.
I know my veil will hold, but Saige’s breathing has gone shallow and quick with fear.
I press my hand gently over her mouth, leaning down until my lips brush her ear.
“Breathe slowly,” I whisper, barely audible.
“Through your nose. They can’t see us, but they might hear us.
Especially with you distracting me like this. I need to concentrate.”
Footsteps approach our hiding spot. Through the lattice of roots, I watch a guard’s hand reach toward the strangler fig, barely a foot from where we're concealed. Saige goes rigid against me.
The guard calls back to his superior, “The magic we’re tracking—it was definitely here. Two signatures, maybe three.”
Three? My blood runs cold. The veil wavers for just a second when Saige’s fingers accidentally brush the bare skin at my wrist. I have to close my eyes, refocusing on the threads of the Weave before the illusion shatters completely.
Three magical signatures… Mine, Daemos’ and…
the bargain. It’s the bargain between me and Saige they can detect. Shit.
The guard circles to the other side of the tree. I pull Saige tighter against me, turning us both so my back shields her from view. Now she’s trapped between the tree and my body, her face tilted up to mine, our mouths inches apart—
“Is this how you welcome all guests to the House of Reveries?” Daemos drawls.
But the guard stalking the perimeter of the tree doesn’t leave.
Minutes stretch out like hours. Saige’s legs must be cramping—mine certainly are—but neither of us dares move.
The only thing keeping me sane is counting her heartbeats against my chest. I don’t want to have to hurt these men, but I will.
I will if it keeps Saige safe and out of Azkari hands.
“I do not have all day,” Daemos snaps, the wind whipping up around him, creating a whirlpool of leaves in the air. “Prince Eryx will be mortified when he hears what has happened here, you do realize that, yes? Or does the name of Dawnstrider mean nothing to you?”
The guards freeze.
“Dawnstrider…?” The guard closest to us turns to face my brother, his complexion paling. “You didn’t say—”
“Do you think you’re in a position to reprimand me for my style of introduction, considering your own?” Daemos replies coolly.
“No, my lord, my—”
“Enough,” Daemos cuts him off. “Return to your prince and tell him a delegate from the House of Whispers is their way to see him. I’ll be taking the scenic route, paying my respects to the land as I go.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Enjoy the rest of your journey,” they stammer, scrambling back.
We listen to them leave on horseback, galloping towards the citadel in the distance, off to report Daemos’ words straight to Prince Eyrx.
Saige’s eyes meet mine, questioning. What now? Her teeth catch her bottom lip, and I have to force myself to look away before I do something catastrophically stupid. I release the threads of my veil back into the Weave, and the illusion falls.
Along with the heat between us.