26. Saige
Saige
As we emerge from the hollow of the tree, Archer distances himself immediately. My heart is still hammering from his touch, from the press of him against me, but he’s already halfway back to the horses, heading straight for Daemos.
A look passes between the brothers, an unspoken exchange that I have no hope of understanding.
But then, part of me is glad. Glad that after all this time, Archer still has someone in his life who knows him well enough to speak without words.
The thought makes me miss Raven with a pang and I reach down to pat Grim, who has surfaced from the underbrush with a dirt-covered snout.
No doubt he misses Yevna too, and it strikes me that I can’t remember the last time they were apart.
For the first time since starting this journey, I want to go home.
I want to fulfil this bargain and get back to the bindery, back to my family.
There’s no denying the attraction I have for Archer, but it would be foolish to believe it’s more than that.
I am bound to him by our deal, and once it’s done, we will go our separate ways.
What else is there for a mortal bookbinder and an Azkari war hero?
We’re not lovers. We’re not even friends. Those were the rules.
Deep voices drift towards me and I look up.
The brothers are talking in whispers to one another, arguing in the language Archer has used before…
It’s like poetry, its notes soft, the rhythm rich with musicality.
They speak it passionately, their hulking frames at odds with the lyrical, evocative sounds.
I observe the Azkari from the fringes of the clearing.
Daemos is leaner and lither than Archer’s imposing physique, though still intimidating in his own right.
Like Archer, he has green eyes, but his are lighter, more of a soft spring hue than the intensity of Archer’s emerald irises.
He carries himself differently, perhaps it’s that he’s more polished—where Archer is all jagged lines and rough edges, Daemos has an elegance about him, although that same predatory Azkari nature still simmers beneath the surface.
When Daemos’ eyes flick to me, making it all too clear that I’m the subject of their conversation, I lose my patience and stride towards Archer’s stallion. Inelegantly, I fit my boot to the stirrup and drag myself up into the saddle.
“We have places to be, don’t we?” I say pointedly. “Books to retrieve and restore?”
To my annoyance, another look passes between them before Archer swings himself up into the saddle behind me. His hand brushes my waist as he reaches for the reins, his forearms resting on the tops of my thighs as he guides the stallion onward.
“What were you talking about just now?” I ask, wishing I could see Archer’s face so I could read him better.
“The temple,” he replies. “There are measures in place to keep people from entering and Daemos thinks it’s best if I don’t take you inside.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think I need a master bookbinder to assess the Confluence before it’s moved. And that means you’re coming with me.”
Still reeling from our proximity in the tree, the edges of my frustration fray, morphing into want at the slightest touch.
Not for the first time in my life, my body is out of my control, only this time, it’s not pain.
It’s need. My breasts are heavy with it, with the need to be touched, my nipples hard and sensitive against the fabric of my undergarments.
I inhale deeply, trying to steel myself against the sharpness of the desire, but all I can think about is the way his thick thighs cradle mine, the way he’s pressing into my backside.
Behind me, Archer’s chest hitches, his breath becomes more labored, his knuckles paling as he grips the reins tighter. Perhaps I’m not the only one affected… I shift in the saddle, just trying to get comfortable, I tell myself, and—
“Stop that,” Archer hisses.
“What?” I ask, all innocence.
“You know what.”
Feeling rebellious, I wriggle again, before all the air is stolen from my lungs. My back arches involuntarily. A hard length meets the base of my spine.
“Is this what you want?” Archer growls, his words dripping with sex.
With a subtle cant of his hips, he rocks into me and I bite back a whimper.
I’m almost drunk with lust. Is it the bargain?
Does it somehow intensify my reaction to him?
The words form on my lips to ask, but then…
that would be voicing whatever this is aloud.
We seem to have reached some unspoken agreement since we woke up tangled in one another that as long as we don’t speak of it, we’re not breaking our own rules.
He rocks against me again, his arms tightening around me, his biceps brushing the sides of my aching breasts as he murmurs, “Two hundred years, Grayson… Be careful what you unleash.”
A moan threatens to burst from my lips at the dark promise in those words but then—
“When you two are done grinding on one another, there’s an inlet up ahead,” Daemos interrupts cheerfully. “We should camp there.”
My face flames, imagining how wanton I must look, how sex starved I must be to be rubbing up against an Azkari on horseback in broad daylight.
Archer’s body heaves against mine with a sigh. “He really does have shit timing.”
“Should we be stopping so soon?” I ask as the Azkari unsaddle the horses. “It’s still hours until dusk.”
“The Prince will sense my movements now he’s been informed I’m here,” Daemos explains.
“He is connected to the land, the trees, the very earth upon which we stand. I don’t want to move too fast after my encounter with the guards.
He’ll know something’s not right, he may even have the foresight to add more security to the temple. ”
“We don’t want him to know what we’re after. Not yet,” Archer adds. “I put a veil over Saige, Grim and myself as soon as the guards left. We don’t want to cause alarm.”
“I didn’t notice you do that,” I comment.
“You were a little distracted…” Archer murmurs so only I can hear.
My blood heats, but uneasiness blooms in my abdomen. “Are you saying we’re stealing from an Azkari prince?”
“What does it matter who we’re stealing from?” Archer counters, tossing his saddle over a branch.
I take the brush from the saddle bag and start on the stallion’s damp coat. “I just figure the consequences might be a tad more severe stealing from royalty.”
“Not as severe as Malevron getting his hands on the Confluence first,” Archer replies, watching as I run the brush over his horse’s flank.
“He’s got a point there,” Daemos interjects. “Besides, this is an excellent spot to go fishing.”
I blink at the warrior, sure that I’ve misheard him. “Fishing?”
Daemos beams. “Exactly. Archie and I used to go fishing all the time in our younger years.” He looks to his brother, grinning. “Remember the stream with the rainbow trout? And that time you fell in with all the bait?”
Archer is staring into the forest intently, a far-off expression drifting across his face.
“Arch?” Daemos prompts.
“Yeah.”
“You remember the—”
Archer flinches. “I said yes, I remember.”
But something about the distance in his gaze tells me that maybe he doesn’t, that his mind was leagues away from childhood memories and brotherly bonding.
I finish brushing down the stallion and see that Daemos is done as well. “Let’s go then.” I find Grim lying amongst our packs, his paws crossed over before him. “Coming?”
I’m met with a heavy sigh, and woeful eyes behind long gray fur.
“Guess not.” I scratch him behind the ears. “I’ll try and catch something for you, boy.”
Archer is quiet as we make our way to the small cove carved into the riverbank.
Ancient tree trunks lean protectively over the inlet and smooth stones line the shallows where twisted roots create natural perches for us to stand and survey the water.
Here, fallen purple petals drift atop the current as it slows to a gentle eddy and dragonflies hover above the sun-warmed shallows.
Archer scans his brother skeptically. “Do you even have anything to fish with?”
“I always have my wits, Archie.”
Archer snorts as we trek down the gently sloping banks. “Debatable.”
“What’s debatable is your sense of style,” Daemos quips. “You do know there are colors other than black? You look like you’re going to a funeral.”
“Fingers crossed it’s yours.”
Daemos gapes with mock outrage. “Rude.”
“You’re one to talk, ridiculing a prisoner of war for their outfit.”
Daemos shrugs. “Suppose it suits you. Black, just like your heart.”
Archer smirks and sends an onyx flame shooting for his brother’s heels. “And my magic.”
He’s rewarded with a yelp and a curse from Daemos.
That has me smiling to myself. Despite the centuries of absence and resentment, the brothers fall back into an easy rhythm of sibling bickering. There’s love there, their fondness for one another manifesting in stupid barbs and jests.
“Your poor mother,” I chime in. “I can’t imagine dealing with you two and a third brother as children. You must have driven her mad. Three Azkari boys? The woman deserved a medal.”
“That she did…” Daemos says quietly, exchanging a look with Archer.
It feels like I’ve said the wrong thing, and I feel stupid for bringing up their mother. They haven’t spoken of their parents. I don’t even know if they’re still alive. But Daemos starts whistling and whatever tension I felt dissipates almost instantly.
A soft breeze rustles through hanging clusters of wisteria, and I can hear bees humming somewhere above, drunk on nectar.
I follow Archer, breathing in the earthy scent of damp soil and moss, the freshness of the water and floral notes of the wisteria, and then…
the fragrance that has become familiar and addictive—agarwood, amber and orange blossom—him.