Chapter 21 #3
She shook off the echo of Jaz’s words and refocused her gaze on the sky above her, a million lights twinkling as if the gods had placed diamonds and jewels amongst the stars.
That haunting melody from earlier had begun again too and the song was threaded through her veins, sending chills across her skin.
It was a beautiful sound – an ethereal night of magic and love and loss.
She wished it could stay like that forever.
It was a silly wish. She would be leaving for Malarye in a few hours, and she wanted to be well rested for whatever awaited her in the kingdom on the continent. Hark seemed to understand it when he met her gaze, tucking a stray strand of soft gold behind her ear.
‘Let’s go,’ he murmured, laying a kiss softly on her head as they turned from the wonders of the lanterns.
She let him lead her back up the mountain, his fingers twisted in hers as she stared out over the valley, the lanterns peppering the darkness.
Perhaps this was what she had waited for all her life.
Perhaps this secret corner of the world would be enough to chase away the shadows that haunted her.
Perhaps this was enough to show her that she wasn’t broken beyond fixing.
Perhaps it was enough to show her that she wasn’t broken at all.
‘You are not broken.’
A peacefulness floated to her through the bond, the final words of her dragon before Thara rested, like Arla should be.
But Hark had been looking at her all night with fire in his eyes, and where their skin touched now, she was sure she would be set alight.
Claret Hall was silent as they entered through the courtyard, its people and soldiers and maids all enjoying tonight down in the valley as equals. The mountains stood tall around them, steadfast protectors against any who would try to breach the walls of their kingdom.
Arla didn’t let her mind drift to Sylvie and the Red Blades.
They wandered the halls without speaking, too content to bask in each other’s company. They made it to the lovely oval room with the tall windows, and Arla was reluctant to let her hand leave his as Hark poured them both a drink.
‘Are you ready for tomorrow?’ he asked, collapsing into the cushions beside her. Arla sidled up to him, resting a cheek against his shoulder as if the act of not being able to touch him was an affront to the gods.
‘I’m always ready, Stappen. You know that.’
Truthfully, she hadn’t let her mind stray too far towards what she would find in Malarye or the people that awaited her there.
She preferred it that way. Cyrus had sent her on so many jobs and to so many different locations over the years that she would never get anything done if she took the time to worry over what would await her in each location.
‘I wish you’d let me come with you,’ he said with a sigh, bringing the whiskey to his lips.
Arla could feel the tension in the hard ridges of his body, the clipped tone he used only when she knew he truly cared about something.
She smiled softly, her finger swirling the rim of the glass she held.
‘You have Flambriar to look after. The people need you here, Hark. And I won’t be going alone, I have Thara.’
The words that left his lips next had her heart racing. ‘You’ve been keeping secrets. I know you’ve been up to something. That there’s something on your mind.’
Her mind immediately went to Sylvie and the secret of the Red Blades. ‘I… I haven’t kept anything a secret.’
A low whistle forced its way through Hark’s teeth. ‘You’re a terrible liar, Arla. Always have been. I want to know who it was you killed. Why there isn’t a body, and why you haven’t spoken of it since.’
Oh, she’d been such a fool. He’d figured it out. That she’d seen someone spying on Flambriar and hadn’t told him. Why hadn’t she told him?
‘Hark, I…’
He cut her off before she could make an excuse. ‘You’re reckless, you know?’ he began, his body so preternaturally still as he pinned her with an icy gaze. ‘I found out from the maids that you’d killed men at the northern border. That you left Flambriar to do so,’
Her heart steadied at the lie. He hadn’t found out she’d kept spying soldiers from him, only the lie she had told Lilith and Rheia. ‘Hark, they deserved it,’ she began.
‘I’m not saying they don’t deserve it,’ he snapped, wringing his hands in his lap. ‘But that was dangerous, and you didn’t tell me. What would have happened had you got hurt?’
Too many lies, and she’d made them all up to protect her own fragile heart. To pretend that things were okay and Flambriar wasn’t being tracked down, just as she’d told Hark.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, her eyes meeting his. ‘I didn’t want you to worry. I was with Thara and I was so angry when I saw those men, that…’
The words did nothing to ease the grim set of his mouth.
‘I can’t lose you again. Not like before. We barely made it out last time and there were both of us, Arla. You going to Malarye alone … I won’t bear it if something happens to you.’ His hand reached for her knee, the contact firm as if it would anchor him and the worry he couldn’t tamp down.
‘Listen to me,’ she said, placing the glass on the table and turning to face him. ‘I will be fine. I am an assassin, you know, and this time I won’t have you to distract me. There will be no sword wounds. I promise.’
At the ease in her voice, he seemed to relax slightly, though if the clouds gathering in his eyes were anything to go by, she doubted Hark would have the luxury of sleep whilst she was gone.
Fine. She’d have to get rid of those storms herself.
Her hand trailed lightly up his arm, and within seconds she saw the shift in him, the way his eyes turned to such a dark blue, like waves crashing against cliffs. The way a smirk teased the corner of his mouth. The way his hand tightened on her knee.
‘You know, I could have fallen at your feet tonight,’ he said, his voice rough and lovely.
‘Well, why didn’t you?’
His eyes flared and she revelled in the game she played. Like a mountain cat toying with its prey.
‘Because,’ he murmured, sprinkling kisses across the bare skin of her shoulder, ‘the things I would do to you require no audience, Dragonhart.’
Her blood heated at the title, her skin suddenly too tight, too much.
‘And what things would they be?’ she whispered, her heart stuttering in her chest as his hand brushed across every inch of her bare skin.
He chuckled low in his throat, something wicked and sinful in the sound that had her arching closer to him.
‘As delightful as you are right now,’ he said in a guttural voice that had her legs tightening around him, ‘you are mine and I won’t risk any of the others finding us in here when I show you just how much I’ve been waiting to worship you.’
Mine.
Her blood heated, molten and throbbing between her legs.
‘Then by all means, don’t keep me waiting.’
A dark laugh escaped him, and then they were racing through Claret Hall, laughter and kisses and sinful touches scattered behind them as they crashed through the doors to Arla’s rooms, the stars the only witnesses as he laid her on the bed and devoured every inch of her.