Chapter 56
DREAM
“TELL ME YOU ACCEPTED HIS terms.”
Santhe’s words were not unexpected, but they still cut. Felíne couldn’t blame her. The man Santhe loved was King Domitan’s captive and had suffered gods only knew what kind of horrors. Of course, she would want him returned at any cost.
Kal, however, did not offer an immediate reply. He stood impassively, like a great tree of the forest, rooted and foreboding.
Santhe’s expectation turned to outrage as she understood Kal’s refusal. “What the hell is the matter with you? Accept Domitan’s terms, Kal. Get Cinah out of there!”
Adder spoke gently. “It’s not that simple, love.”
She snapped at him like a spitting cobra.
“The fuck it’s not. Cinah has suffered for years at that monster’s hands.
He’s sacrificed more than all of us! And not once has he complained.
” She pegged Kal with an accusatory glare.
“Not once. We finally have a chance to free him, and you’re telling me you’re not going to take it? ”
“I didn’t say that, Santhe.”
She glared harder. “Fuck you, Kalevar Kaine. If you don’t do right by him, then fuck you.”
Adder glanced around, inspecting shadows for potentially curious eyes. “Maybe we should discuss this somewhere more private.”
“No,” Santhe said. “We’ll discuss this here.”
“She’s right, Kal,” Felíne said, drawing all of their focus. “You need to accept the king’s terms. I’ll not have your friend’s blood on my conscience.”
Kal’s brows lowered over his burning gaze. “Rescue one innocent life by condemning another? No.”
Santhe was about to argue further, but Felíne beat her to it.
“Kal. You’re not condemning me. You know I have to go back.
You’ve known it for weeks.” Felíne reached for him.
His black eyes flared with golden light.
Her next words were a self-inflicted wound, and she steeled herself against the pain.
“You were always going to have to let me go. At least this way you get something in return. You get to save your friend.” She glanced at Santhe. “You get to keep your family.”
Kal leaned in close. The violent energy radiating off him, combined with his armored, weaponed stature, would have intimidated even the most seasoned of warriors. But Felíne wasn’t a warrior; she was the woman he’d claimed, and she wouldn’t be cowed.
“I already told you,” he said. “I won’t let them take you.”
Divine mercy, if only she could talk sense into this stubborn ass of a man. “Blessed gods, Kal. No one is taking me. I’m offering to go.”
His face was a hand’s breadth from hers. “If you wanted a man who would allow you to martyr yourself for the greater good, you chose the wrong one.”
Of all the bullheaded, asinine, infuriating—
“I call in my life debt.”
Kal’s head swiveled in Santhe’s direction with such predatory regard that Felíne was suddenly concerned for the woman. Adder whistled low.
Santhe raised her chin in defiance. “I saved your life, Kalevar Kaine. You owe me a debt. I’m calling you on it. I want Cinah.” Her eyes flicked toward Felíne for the briefest moment, and Felíne thought she glimpsed a fleeting blink of sympathy. “At whatever cost.”
Kal straightened and stalked toward his friend. “I’ll get Cinah back,” he declared with a conviction Felíne herself could not muster. “And it won’t be costing us anyone. Save your life debt, Santhe. You may yet need it.”
Felíne woke to darkness. It took her a moment to gather her bearings as the blur of fatigue slipped its gauzy veil from her conscious mind.
She sat up and realized she was in Kal’s bed.
A frown worked its way between her brows.
Felíne was sure she’d fallen asleep on the couch.
In fact, she was certain, because her insistence on sleeping in the living room had sparked an argument.
One which Kal finally ended by throwing up his hands, stalking to his bedroom, and muttering something about difficult women under his breath.
Santhe had opted to stay at the Porters’.
Felíne wasn’t sure where Adder lay his head once they’d retired for the night.
She only knew they’d all been emotionally strained, exhausted, and collectively thin on patience.
Kal had a plan that involved rescuing Cinah from the king’s clutches while simultaneously keeping Felíne out of them.
Adder thought it could work. Santhe thought Kal was a fool to take such a risk but agreed they had a chance of pulling it off.
Felíne believed the plan was doomed to fail. But there was no deterring him.
They’d parted ways after discussing the particulars for the umpteenth time and agreed to meet at Meress’s stable an hour after sunrise.
Adder would advise the Conclave and instruct the required members of the militia.
By the time Felíne and Kal had returned to his cabin outside the city’s boundary, Felíne was so tired she could barely walk a straight line.
She’d doggedly fought for her spot on the couch, not wanting to complicate their relationship further, and promptly fallen asleep.
Now, here she was, wide awake at gods only knew what hour, in Kal’s expansive bed alone, having undoubtedly been put there by him. The window was cracked open to allow a gentle breeze during the warmer afternoon, but Felíne shivered as the chilly pre-dawn air kissed her exposed skin.
She slipped from the cozy cocoon of sheets and furs and padded on bare feet in search of her grumpy defender.
She found him in the basement, a bottle of whiskey uncorked on the bar.
He stood at the far end of the spacious room, half-wreathed in shadow, head bent toward his chest as though gazing upon something at his feet.
Kal’s head tilted infinitesimally at the sound of her approach.
“I told you I didn’t want to sleep in your bed.”
Kal didn’t reply.
“You put me there anyway.”
He hummed.
“I think that’s your problem, Kal,” Felíne said. “You have a habit of ignoring what people want in favor of what you think is best for them.”
He looked at her then, eyes streaked with incandescent rays. “Were you more comfortable on the couch or in my bed?”
His bed. Obviously. “That’s not the point.”
“Enlighten me, then. Please.”
Felíne took a breath and hugged herself.
“I told you who I am, what is expected of me. You know the Goddess’s prophecy is real.
For gods’ sake, Kal, we felt their magic.
Walked through their home. We saw their lives.
You know what’s at stake if I don’t return to Asteros.
” Her voice hitched. Kal only listened, silent as a grave.
“Yet your solution is to search for a loophole. One that doesn’t exist, Kal.
You are braving a monsoon with a stick boat and a paper sail. ”
“You’re telling me I should just hand you over to Domitan?” He searched her face, looking for what, Felíne didn’t know. “That you want to go back?”
She ached for how fervently she wished he’d understand. “I don’t want to go back, Kal. I must. The future of our people depends on it.”
Kal faced her, one arm snaking out and pulling her into the heat of his body.
“And what about this? Hmm?” He dipped his head and ran the tip of his nose along the curve of her jaw, causing her body to flush with heat.
“You say I ignore what you want. But you want this, Felíne. You’re desperate to feel more than what they’ve allowed you.
You’re starved for a life free from these manacles of duty. To be rid of this burdensome fate.”
Felíne took a moment to find her breath.
“You’re right.” Gods, was he ever right.
She pulled back to study the face she’d come to adore so ardently.
The rounded tip of his nose. His strong jaw.
The stubble darkening his chin. Those deep-set obsidian eyes fractured by brilliant shafts of golden light.
“But that life does not exist for me. It is a dream, Kal. A beautiful, impossible dream.”
He assessed her a moment before replying. “It doesn’t have to be. My plan will work. We’ll get Cinah safely away, deal with Domitan and his retinue, and then we will find a way to defy a goddess.”
He said it lightly, yet the conviction in his tone weighed worlds.
Felíne realized then that she was fighting a losing battle.
This conversation was like her archery training in the glen.
They were trying and trying to connect but missing the target every time.
He couldn’t understand why she didn’t see things as simply as he did, and she couldn’t fathom why he refused to acknowledge that there was no point in trying to change fate.
Felíne sighed and stepped out of his reach, gaze dropping to the ancient trunk at her feet.
The first time she’d seen it, she’d assumed it was filled with more weapons and armor, possibly additional texts.
The lid had been propped open, and Felíne saw none of those things.
Instead, whatever lay inside shimmered like liquid silver, drawing her curiosity and distracting her from their impasse.
Kal tracked her change in focus.
“What is it?” Felíne dropped to a crouch and reached out a hand to skim her fingers over the strange, luminescent fabric.
Kal lifted the garment with exceeding care. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen. The intricate threads were woven so expertly that it must have taken a master an age to fashion. The fabric was soft as silk, yet it possessed a tensile strength uncharacteristic of any homespun material.
“Silverskin,” Kal said.
Felíne’s hand stilled. She looked up at him. Kal’s attention was trained on the garment, an indecipherable expression on his face. His throat bobbed. “It belonged to my mother.”
Oh, Kal. “It’s beautiful.”
“My father intended it as a wedding gift. My mother told me he spent countless hours holed up in one of his studies crafting it.” Kal draped the material delicately over the closed lid of the trunk.
“It’s as light as lace, yet stronger than iron.
Father wanted something that looked like a gown but functioned like a piece of armor.
He created it to embody the way he saw my mother.
Lovely and unyielding.” A rare, nostalgic smile played across Kal’s lips. “She hated it.”
Felíne started. “How could anyone hate such a gift?”
“Oh, she loved him for making it. She wore it on their wedding day. But my mother wasn’t a typical lady. She didn’t delight in frivolity. Gowns were too cumbersome to wear while wielding a bow and a blade.”
Ah. Felíne didn’t imagine the last Bladesinger of Ilistaar maintained her reputation by fighting whilst gowned. She traced the elegant cut, close-fitting bodice, and rippling skirt. “Well, I think it’s exquisite.”
“I thought you might,” Kal replied with the ghost of a grin. “I’m giving it to you.”
Felíne gaped. “Oh…no, Kal, I couldn’t possibly.”
His gaze heated. “Yes. You could.”
Her throat swelled, thick with emotion. “But it’s your mother’s. Kal, this gown is priceless. You should give it to someone who…the woman you…”
Felíne couldn’t finish the sentence. The woman he loved. One he could marry.
Kal shrugged, as though the matter were simple. “My mother is dead. The garment is mine. I’d like you to have it.”
She wanted to accept it. She wanted to hold him and kiss him and tell him she’d never been more honored by such a gift. “It’s too much,” she said instead.
The shadows played along Kal’s features like old friends as he faced her. “Tell me you agree with me,” he said suddenly. “Tell me you believe we can find a way out of this curse, and I’ll take it back.”
Felíne’s face crumpled. “I can’t do that. I won’t lie to you again.”
Kal’s fingers flexed. “If there were another way—”
Felíne pulled his hands into hers. “There is no other way, Kal. We tried, but we are out of time. Millions of people will die if I don’t go back.”
“I don’t care about millions of people,” he said, expression inexorable, tone resolute. “I care about you.”
Tears threatened. If only she could be so selfish. “My fate—”
“Fuck that fate!”
Felíne flinched. The heaviness, the helplessness she felt devoured her.
“Fuck that fate,” Kal said again, but soft as a velvet rose.
He took her face in his hands and touched her lips with his.
They were warm. “You’re mine,” he breathed, the intoxicating scent of honeyed bourbon spilling from his declaration.
“From the moment I first saw you in that garden, painted in moonlight, surrounded by jasmine, I knew you were mine.”
The air fled Felíne’s lungs.
“Please,” Kal pleaded. This powerful, fearsome, hardened warrior begging her nearly unraveled the very fabric of Felíne’s resolve. “Please tell me you believe we can find another way.”
Felíne choked on a sob. It was too much.
The silverskin gown. The weight of her responsibility.
Kal’s confession. “I am so sorry,” she rasped, tears flowing freely.
Because even if his plan worked, even if the King of Asteros fell, if the Fates were freed, and all oppression were lifted, the shurii would still be blighted by a goddess’s curse.
Felíne would still be the Prima, faced with an immutable prophecy. Her future would still not be her own.
And so Felíne did what they both knew she would always have to. She turned away, leaving Kal with his shadows, the burn of her refusal, and the broken fragments of her heart.