CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sitting by the fire, Ethenn palmed his small dagger, attempting to perfect the trick Brea had taught him.
When she’d shown Ethenn and Evylin how she always kept a blade hidden in the sleeve of her coat, he’d decided he wanted to learn to do the same.
So she’d sat down with him, helping him learn the secret of easily concealing and retrieving the blade without cutting yourself.
Thus far, he’d determined it was nearly impossible.
Still, Ethenn sat, working on the skill while everyone else lounged after dinner. He’d nicked himself half a dozen times already.
When he hissed at the seventh prick, Ilain looked over at him. “Do you have a particular penchant for pain?” she teased. “Or are you just too stubborn to quit while you still have a hand?”
On Ethenn’s other side, Rafferty sniggered.
“Skills like this take practice,” Ethenn said. “Sometimes, that means getting hurt in the process.”
Ilain’s eyes twinkled in the firelight. “And what happens if you pass out from blood loss?”
“Then I’ll try again when I wake up.”
Her quick chortle made Ethenn feel inordinately proud.
Ilain patted his knee. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said and turned away.
Smiling to himself, Ethenn continued his practice. He hadn’t been fully honest with Ilain. Yes, sleight of hand like this took practice, but that wasn’t the only reason he was so doggedly trying to learn.
Brea’s words stuck in Ethenn’s head. “You’ll need several years more practice to truly become a master.”
It wasn’t that Ethenn minded being a subpar Warrior.
It was expected. He was young and inexperienced.
Until four months ago, he’d never been trained in combat.
All his experience came from hunting and the instincts that had helped him win brawls in Trollenston’s fighting ring.
He shouldn’t be as proficient as Evylin or Brea.
Yet, he was disappointed in himself. And worse, he was confused.
Why would Ilain choose him to be her husband? If she was determined to be a ruler, if this had been her desired destiny since youth, why would she choose him? Several other male Warriors, who were undoubtedly more impressive and mature options, were available, so why would she choose him?
Ethenn flicked his wrist, but the dagger stuck in his sleeve again, its point sharp as it pricked him. He grimaced but kept silent.
He’d been told time and time again that Ilain Calder was the most powerful Mage in two centuries. Why choose a man half her age with abilities that couldn’t even begin to compare to those she displayed naturally? It didn’t make sense.
While conversation rolled around him, Ethenn kept his eyes on his task until Brea spoke up.
“Vayden,” she said casually, “sing something for us.”
Ethenn looked up, knowing the woman’s schemes. Though Vayden shrugged, unbothered with performing in front of their troop, Ethenn didn’t have any interest in dancing in front of the camp. “No,” he said sharply.
Everyone looked at him in confusion.
Heat crept up Ethenn’s neck in time with his rising agitation. “Not here.”
Brea ignored him. “I think the ‘Ol’ Barrow’s Reel’ would be a good start,” she said to Vayden. “It’s got an easy rhythm. Not too slow.”
“I don’t know how to dance, Brea,” Ethenn protested.
Rafferty started laughing. “Are we having a party?” he asked.
“Ethenn is learning control,” Brea corrected, then gave the Warrior a flat look. “If I am going to train you, you will do as I say, whether you want to or not. If you refuse, I will no longer offer my assistance.”
Ethenn clenched his fists, the dagger in his sleeve slipping down to embed itself into the heel of his hand. “Bloody hell,” he exclaimed, then fiercely pulled the blade free. A hot trickle of blood welled out of the cut, filling his palm.
“Heavens,” Ilain muttered, then grabbed his wrist. “Let me see.”
While she ministered to the cut with a warming burst of magic, Brea waited for Ethenn’s submission.
He ground his teeth against the pain in his hand, the embarrassment of the moment, and the fact that no matter how much he didn’t want to dance in front of everyone, he couldn’t afford to lose his trainer.
“Fine,” Ethenn said bitterly. “I’ll do it.”
Brea nodded and turned back to Vayden. “‘Ol’ Barrow’s Reel,’” she repeated.
Vayden smirked. “Is this dance a free-for-all? Or is it only Lainy who gets to join the corporal?” he asked.
“He’s my husband,” Ilain said.
“Doesn’t mean he has to dance with you.”
The skin on his hand now healed, Ethenn stood and held it out to Ilain even as he addressed her brother. “I won’t be dancing with anyone else,” he said.
“Pity,” Vayden said. “Isla’s a right fine dancer.”
“Why don’t you ever dance with me, then, love?” Isla replied.
“Because I’ve two left feet, dearest, as you well know.”
Letting Ilain lead him over to more open ground, Ethenn tried to forget the presence of the others in the camp around them.
A particularly hard feat when Rafferty was making snide remarks to Thom, who was failing to hold in his laughter.
Evylin slapped Thom on the back of the head, then turned to Deckard. “Help Ethenn,” she said.
Deckard frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t know how to dance,” she said. “Teach him.”
“I can teach him,” Ilain said.
“It is the man who leads,” Brea interjected. “Let a man teach him.”
Though Ilain pursed her lips at the lieutenant’s orders, she stepped back nonetheless.
With a sigh, Deckard rose. He came over, offered an apologetic look to Ethenn, and then walked him through the proper form and steps of the most common Ephrian dances.
Deckard demonstrated with Ilain so that Ethenn could watch before attempting it himself.
Then Deckard guided the couple into the proper positioning.
Once Ethenn clasped Ilain’s hand in his and set the other on her waist, Vayden asked, “Ready?”
Ethenn took a deep breath. His palms and fingers burned where they touched Ilain, but he refused to let his nervousness show. “Yes,” he said.
In a steady, rich baritone, Vayden began to sing.
Ethenn didn’t move.
“You’re supposed to move your feet,” Ilain advised quietly.
“I’m getting a feel for the rhythm,” he said.
“Oh.”
After several more beats, Ethenn took the first step . . . and promptly landed on Ilain’s toes. She grimaced, and he apologized, but she pressed him to keep moving even as several in the group fought off laughter.
Evylin shushed Rafferty and Thom, then grabbed Deckard’s hand, taking the opportunity to dance with him as well. Ethenn appreciated her attempt to make the moment less awkward, though it didn’t help much.
He glanced down, eyes on the ground. Carefully, he stepped to the rhythm, the toe of his boots brushing against Ilain’s dark skirt.
“Look up,” Ilain instructed.
“If I do that, I’ll step on you.”
“You can’t lead the dance if you’re looking at your feet.”
He scoffed. “I can’t lead the dance if I injure my partner either.”
A gentle laugh filled her voice as she said, “Look at me, Ethenn.”
Afraid he’d crush her toes, Ethenn lifted his eyes cautiously. The night had come, casting heavy shadows through the camp and across her face. However, her vibrant hair glimmered in the firelight.
“That’s better,” Ilain said, even as he stumbled through the next few steps. “So why does Brea have us dancing again?”
“Evidently, it helps a fighter gain finesse,” he explained.
“And you’re lacking that?”
Thinking she should already be aware of his failings, Ethenn nodded. “I’m lacking a lot of things,” he said.
Her lips twisted up in a wry grin. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Her hand squeezed his shoulder. “You have strength, intelligence, and me. What else could you need?”
Unsure if she was poking fun at him or not, Ethenn pressed his lips together in a false smile.
He focused on the steps, carrying them over the grass in a box-like pattern.
Ilain was a graceful dancer, as he would have expected.
It was as if her lithe figure was made for it.
She moved like a flame over a candlewick, seamless and graceful, her body seeming to float.
Vayden completed the “Ol’ Barrow’s Reel” and began a second, slower song before Ethenn could suggest stopping. He sang in Schonese, the words flowing with a languid poignancy. Isla joined in with harmonies, her voice smooth and sultry, perfectly complementing his deep, steady timbre.
Ethenn kept his eyes on Ilain, working to ignore the more romantic lilt of the ballad.
A gentle breeze swept some of her fire-bright hair across her cheek, but she didn’t bother to fix it.
To his searching gaze, her expression remained unreadable, the sharp planes of her face almost ethereal in their exquisite refinement.
His heartbeat ticked up as the cool of magic niggled at his mind.
Being this close to her, touching her, always brought out the Warrior in him.
And that worried him. If he was already attached to her now, what would happen once they Bonded?
Would his magic overtake him completely?
Would he become a brute he didn’t even recognize in his pursuit of her?
Was he willing to accept that possibility?
“You’re staring at me very intently,” Ilain said, breaking Ethenn’s concentration.
He stumbled over the next step but managed to gain his footing once more. “I’m trying to focus,” he said.
“By using magic?” she asked.
“No,” he replied. “Just, you know, on the dance.”
“You could use magic,” she suggested. “It’d make it easier.”
“Wouldn’t that be cheating?”
Her nose wrinkled as she smiled. “When given the opportunity, I always cheat.”
“That’s not very honorable of you.” Ethenn couldn’t decide if her admission was a character flaw or not.
Her hand shifted higher on his shoulder, sending a short burst of chills through his coat and underneath his tunic. “Perhaps not. But it’s made me very successful, and I find I’ve yet to regret it.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. “You’re a very strange woman, Ilain,” he said.