Chapter Twenty
Jarok
Seeing Piris and Darin at the side of the ship, leaning together in deep conversation, punched a spike of anger through Jarok’s gut. It was fleeting but there nonetheless, forcing him to steady himself as he moved toward them. Darin saw the prince first and muttered a greeting to him before turning on quick, silent feet to stalk away. As he passed, Darin nodded, his eyes hidden under his hood. Jarok thought he saw a swift smile pull up the lips Darin usually set into a hard line, but in the dark, he couldn’t be certain.
Jarok did notice Piris look back at him. He moved into Darin’s empty space beside her. The starlight, shining from above and reflected in the mirrored surface of the river below, bounced in her auburn hair, casting it in ruby tones. She was breathtaking, or at least for Jarok, who stared at her profile so long she turned to him with a sharp face.
“What?” she asked. For good reason. The peace between her and Jarok was still new, still fragile. Falling back into old antagonistic habits was easy, especially the way she’d been hurt by her father the day before. Somehow it felt good to give her the outlet, as the bite in her tone drummed up the familiar push and pull, the dramatic dance they’d done for months at this point.
No. Jarok wanted to fall into it in one sense, go back to something far more steady and sure for them both. Not linger in the odd space they now occupied, where he wanted things she did not. Where he thought himself a fool for feeling. Yet, he couldn’t let himself do it. Maybe one day the bickering would come at a more solid and playful pace, but not now. He chose, instead, to step with honesty.
“Your hair looks like rubies in the starlight.”
She blinked at him, surprised, and her face flushed before she hid it from him. Again he’d gotten nothing from her, or no words at least, so he looked away. Out on the banks of the Springlands’ side of the Great River, the greenery sparkled in its own way, the light color and soft sway something rarely seen in the Winterlands. He stood looking at a secondary beauty for a time, content to be there with her, even if they didn’t speak.
It almost startled him when Piris said, “The river is always so calm this time of year.”
It was a small opening, but an opening, and Jarok dove into it. “Really? I always imagined the Great River stayed the same. A constant of sorts.”
She propped herself up on an elbow as she angled her body to face his profile. He echoed her, so they stood face-to-face as she spoke. “No. People who don’t see it year after year, through all its changes, might think it, but it’s not so. After winter solstice it’s often roiling, churned by snows and storms. Now, as we approach the equinox, it calms for a time. Becomes this.”
She gestured out with her hands, and he followed the firm, strong line of her arm to look out at the river again. “It looks like glass.”
She nodded. “Often does, at night. Deceptively calm.”
He wanted more. Somehow needed more. “You spent a great deal of time on the river?”
“Yes. All Volesions have, of course, but my father expanded our shipping business in his youth, so there was more reason for him to be out on the river. He’d take us with him at times, especially if they were short trips to closer ports.” She paused, thinking about something that brought a small smile to her lips. “He also brought me on the river, alone. In a smaller vessel we could navigate together. It was part of our magic training. Sound travels oddly over water, which can be a good thing when you’re trying to disguise the source of sound-based magic.”
She gave him a small kernel to keep, a little insight into her past, and he wanted to return the favor. “We never came to the Great River often. Only to travel to other Fae lands if need arose. I didn’t spend a great deal of time on or around water. In fact, I can’t swim.” An odd fact to confess, maybe, but it was what came to mind.
She laughed, quiet and quick. It sounded so far from the whip-sharp laughs of derision she’d given him in the past. Her true laugh, one of amusement, was deep, rich like honey, and sent tingling tendrils of lust down his spine. “You can’t swim?” She wanted to make sure, the idea so foreign to her.
“Not a stroke. I might even say I couldn’t float, but I’ve managed to at least do that in some large bathing tubs.”
She huffed out a sound of disbelief, then turned her head back out to the water. “Maybe one day I’ll teach you.”
The thrill of a future where Piris was by his side skittered across his senses. “I’d love to learn.” He left the “from you” part of the sentence off. The way she leaned into him, he imagined she still understood.
He leaned down the inches between them. Such a small space, yet time stretched out for him. Jarok brushed his lips, soft and sweet, against hers, then swallowed her gasp before he was lost.
He came out of his lean on the railing and scooped her into his arms, pulling her firm, strong body against his. She let him, melting against him. Returned his soft kiss with more urgency and force.
Jarok didn’t want that. Not then. He wanted to savor. To linger. He pulled back, peppering her lips with small bursts, setting her tone while stoking a different type of fire. Not too high. Not tonight on the open deck of all places.
She groaned, a sound of half frustration and half pleasure, so he deepened his kiss somewhat. His tongue darted into her mouth, then retreated. He felt her tense and relax as he rubbed small circles on her back, taking the pace back down. He wanted sweet and languid, and he pulled her along with him.
He also wanted it to stop there, so he stepped back after only a few minutes of kissing. Because he was a man of control, he knew exactly when his began to fray. Piris leaned in again, so he stopped her with gentle hands on her shoulders.
“No more tonight.”
She cocked her head in question. She opened her mouth to ask it outright but stopped herself, pulling her shoulders back as she took two big steps away from him. A nod was all he got from her when she moved away. He couldn’t have that, so he called out to her, “Piris?”
She stopped but did not turn to him, so he said to her back, “Thank you.”
It was what she’d said to him the last time they’d had sex. He remembered it with perfect clarity. She’d been thankful then, for him giving her what she needed physically. He wanted her to know she’d also given him what he needed that night, with their brief chat.
Piris looked over her shoulder and one corner of her lip tipped up as she said, “You’re welcome, Prince.”
He watched her walk away before turning back to the water, smiling to himself as he replayed the encounter over again in his head, happy to have the little memory tucked firmly in his mind now. The memory of Piris giving him something more without a fight.
“Ahoy. Aye, matey and such. Or whatever sailors say.” Gem’s laughter echoed after her words before Jarok, who stood with Cylian on the deck of the ship the next morning, saw her emerge from the cabin space below. Piris followed her, laughter on her lips too.
“May be a little dismissive, Gem, don’t you think?” Piris asked as the two friends stopped in the middle of the deck. The ship’s crew wove around them, going about their business, though he saw a few smiling in amusement at the two women.
“I mean it with the utmost respect,” his cousin called, spinning around to look at the sailors there.
“I’d be laughing a little less if I were you. Maybe be a little quieter in general.” Piris, with teasing but shrewd eyes, looked his cousin up and down before she dropped the bomb. “Especially for someone who cannot swim.”
Jarok swallowed a groan. By the gods, the woman was whip smart. He’d confessed to her last night, and knowing how close he was with his family, made a calculated guess. She hit her mark.
Gem gasped. “Why would you assume such a thing. Hmm?”
Piris didn’t give him away by looking over at him, which he was thankful for. His cousin wouldn’t hesitate to wallop him for letting such a thing slip, even if he didn’t directly tell.
“I assume, Gem Aurora, because you live so far northwest, away from most standing bodies of water.”
Gem squinted at the woman and hmphed loudly, as if not believing her.
“Should we test it then? The drop isn’t far, and we’d be sure to fish you out.” Piris stepped closer to his cousin, who crouched down in a wrestling stance.
“Come closer, lady, and you’ll go overboard.”
Piris shrugged, circling his cousin. “Doesn’t matter. I can swim.” In a flash, Piris ran at Gem, who shrieked, actually shrieked, and ran as well. Ran away. Maybe for the first time in her life.
As the women chased each other around the deck, dodging sailors, their laughter echoed in the air. A bittersweet twang thumped in his chest. The sound made Jarok happy, but he wished like hell he’d made Piris laugh like that. He was usually so good at making people laugh. Never Piris though, beyond an occasional quick chuckle.
“Truce,” Gem wheezed out. “No more threats of cold water, aye?”
Piris, leaning on her knees and out of breath from running and laughter, agreed. She went up, shook his cousin’s hand, then slung her arm over her shoulder. With their heads bent together, they talked as they moved up the short stairs on the deck and disappeared behind the group of men at the large wheel.
Part of Jarok wanted to follow, to linger close so he could hear more laughter. He didn’t because he knew they both needed this. Piris more than Gem. She’d lived without friends for so long, it’d be a sin to come between the two now.
“A joy to see,” Cylian said and Jarok started, having completely forgotten his friend was there, so engrossed in Piris and her laughter.
He nodded in reply and Cylian moved closer to say in a hushed tone, “You can—”
He stopped his friend with a hand. “You don’t know what there is between us.”
“I know love when I see it.”
Jarok snorted. “Do you? Really?”
When Cylian said nothing, he turned to the lord and found fire and molten silver meeting his gaze. The flame and heat in his eyes masked a hurt Jarok hadn't known. Had never guessed. “Yes,” he hissed when he’d held Jarok’s gaze for long beats.
“Friend, I’m sorry,” the prince croaked. He’d stumbled on something Cylian kept secret, buried, much like Piris and her magics. He hurt for his friend, for his own missteps working to remind Cylian of such pain. Of the love he guessed the lord had had and lost, even if Jarok wasn’t told the details. Would never press for them.
Cylian shook his head, the fire banking, and gave a long, sad sigh. “I know. I know.”
“If there’s anyth—”
It was Cylian’s turn to stop Jarok’s words with an upraised hand. “Nothing to be done. Not now. Maybe never.” The Autumnlands lord crossed his arms over his chest and studied the river.
Jarok gave him silence. If his friend wanted to talk, wanted anything, he’d be there for him. Cylian knew it too. Instead of prying and pushing, he leaned a shoulder into the lord before pulling away to fix his stare on a similar point in the distance.
His heart hurt for Cylian, but in his eyes he’d seen an ache he felt deep in his gut. He’d been fighting it so long, despite words from Lady Volesion and now one of his best friends. He’d denied it, but now he couldn’t. From Cylian’s pain, knew he shouldn’t. He loved Piris. Gods be damned, he loved the strong, stubborn, beautiful woman. If only she loved him back.