1. Gemira #2
“That bad?”
He pours another. Then pours one for himself.
Yeah. That bad.
“Davrik showed up,” I say. “The Lord himself.”
Fletcher goes completely still.
“You’re joking.”
“Wanted to see them before the transfer.” My teeth clench. “Said if they didn’t look enough alike, he’d rough them up. ‘Hard to tell the difference with swollen faces.’”
Fletcher’s jaw locks.
“Those girls aren’t even twins.”
Cold creeps up my spine, but I shove it back down where it belongs.
“The King’s getting more desperate,” I say. “What if he tries to go after them again?”
Fletcher studies me for a moment. Then his expression softens, that easy charm sliding back into place.
“Don’t worry, the Savages will take them from here.”
I almost laugh. “What, you’re telling me fairy tales now?”
He just grins and lets it sit there like he’s enjoying the joke.
“You need to eat something.” He reaches under the bar. “Apple turnover? I know how much you love these.”
“Too sweet. Got any meat pies?”
He tilts his head, pretending to consider it. “For you, Gemmy? I’ll check.”
“Gemma,” I say, rolling my eyes. We both know I hate that nickname. But I still can’t hide my amusement.
He disappears into the back, and the tension drains out of my shoulders.
I finally look down at my leg. A shard from the window shutter sliced me, jagged and deep enough to scar. Fuck.
I pull a strip of fabric from my pocket and wrap it tight. It’ll hold until I get home, but this cut isn’t just my problem. I’d owe her, again.
I turn to face the room and feel him before I see him. Grier’s eyes are already on me, steady and intense, the kind of focus that makes the rest of the bar fade into background noise.
He’s leaning back in a booth along the far wall, watching me like he’s been waiting for me to notice. He’s with a handful of off-duty guards, their boisterous laughter cutting through the din. But while they joke and gesture wildly, he just sits back, with his large hand wrapped around his drink.
He’s all broad shoulders and controlled stillness, the kind of build that comes from years of training in the King’s Guard.
His olive skin and brown hair are the same features you’d see on most of the people in Terrath, yet somehow, he makes them look better.
And those pine-green eyes are always offering more than I can return.
A meat pie slides into my line of sight.
Fletcher leans on the bar, his grin telling me he saw exactly where I was looking. “Last one.” He winks. “You’re lucky I like you.”
I roll my eyes, but he’s impossible not to laugh at.
“Gemmy.” He presses a hand to his chest, wounded. “What we have is special.”
“What you have is a different woman every week,” I say with a laugh, which ruins the delivery entirely.
Not that I blame them. Fletcher’s easy on the eyes and easier to talk to. Half the women in Terrath have warmed his bed at some point. The other half are waiting their turn.
“And yet.” He leans closer and drops his voice. “You’re the only one I save the last meat pie for.”
I snort. “I’m honored.”
“You should be.” He raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching with amusement. “Do you know how many women would kill to be my favorite?”
I laugh, actually laugh. It feels good after the night I had.
“All right, I’m going to head home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good, because I’ve got an easy one lined up for you,” he says. “After tonight, figured you could use it. I’ll fill you in then.”
A voice bellowing from across the room pulls our attention. “I’m telling you, the Thornwick sons got it this year! The Thornwick nobles always make it through the Weeping Woods!”
“Fucking trial season,” Fletcher snorts. “Get some rest, Gemmy. You look like shit.”
“You sure know how to charm a girl, Fletcher.”
He shoots me that boyish grin, then turns back to the bar.
I finish off the meat pie and slide off the stool. The whiskey’s done its job, and the ache in my leg has dulled to a throb.
I push through the door, and the cool night air hits my face, sharp after the bar’s heat.
I’ve barely made it three steps when I hear the door open behind me.
“Leaving without saying hi, Gemma?” His voice is low, rough, and my favorite bad decision.
He closes the distance between us with that unhurried confidence, stopping just close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. His gaze drops to my leg, then back to my face.
“You’re hurt.” His voice tightens.
“You should see the window,” I say, keeping it light.
His jaw works, eyes darkening as they trace the wound. “That was Fletcher’s Davrik job, wasn’t it?”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to.
“I told him to send someone else.”
“Course you did.” A small smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.
“Come back to my place. I’ll clean it up properly.”
“Not tonight, Grier.” I flash him a grin.
“Gemma, not like that—”
“It’s always like that.” I give him a knowing look.
For a moment, we just stand there. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. Close enough to do something stupid. Again.
“How’s Finn? He hasn’t been home all week,” I say, deliberately shifting the conversation away from wherever that look in his eyes is headed.
Grier’s expression softens, just barely, with concern that’s always there when we talk about my brother.
“He’s fine. You know how it gets with the trials ending.”
I nod and force my weight back onto my heels. “I should be getting back.”
“You should.” He doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
His eyes drop to my mouth, just for a moment, then back up to my eyes.
“Gemma.” The way he says it is the problem. He makes it hard to keep things simple, wanting more than I can offer or risk.
“Goodnight, Grier.”
I turn before I can change my mind, and his hand brushes my wrist as I go, our habit we never named.
“Stay safe, Gemma.”
I don’t look back. I know better.
The streets thin out as I make my way home. The flat is dark when I slip inside. Mom’s waiting at the small table by the window, with a single candle burning low, turning a sprig of sea holly between her fingers.
She looks up, relief washing over her face. Then her eyes drop to my leg.
“Tides, Gemma.” She’s already up, grabbing the cloth and salve she keeps by the basin.
She examines the wound, fingers gentle but sure.
“This isn’t what the training was for.” Her voice brings me back. “It was supposed to keep you safe.”
“I know, Mom.” There’s no point arguing. We’ve had this conversation so many times the words have worn smooth.
“Finn embedded in the castle, you both running jobs for Fletcher—” She shakes her head. “All of my children, neck-deep in a rebellion that will get you killed.”
“Someone has to fight back,” I try.
“The rebellion will survive without you.” She looks at me. “But I won’t.”
She sighs, more to herself than me. “We should move, all of us, somewhere far from here. Somewhere safe.”
Somewhere safe, as if that exists.
Northpine had felt safe once. The northernmost village, tucked in the shadow of the Windthrone Mountains, where winter came early and stayed late.
The cabin we grew up in sat among endless pines, snow piling so high some mornings we couldn’t open the door.
Other families rationed through winter, but food was never our problem.
Mom always had a gift for growing things, even when the ground said otherwise.
Our days had been spent training with our mother in those quiet woods.
Sword fighting in clearings, knife throwing at targets carved into tree trunks.
The art of moving through the forest without disturbing a single branch.
We complained constantly, especially about learning how to wield magic we’d never have.
“Mom, we’re never going to be awakened. Why do we have to learn this?”
Her answer was always the same. “Training in the shallows saves you from drowning in the deep.”
The memory fades as her hands press against my leg. I sit and let her work.
“This is going to scar,” she says as her hands slow on the bandage.
“I know.” I can’t meet her eyes. The guilt settles heavy in my chest.
She finishes wrapping but doesn’t let go. I finally look up.
She stares back at me with those piercing teal eyes threaded with green at the edges.
The same eyes that make merchants slip extra pastries into her basket, make even the stingiest vendors cut her deals.
There’s something magnetic about her; there always has been.
She’s always stood out in Terrath, with her black hair and warm brown skin. Finn got every one of her features.
“Please be careful. I trained you in the shallows so you wouldn’t drown, not so you could dive into the deep.”
The corner of my mouth tugs up. She catches it, and her own smile breaks through.
She presses a kiss to the top of my head and pulls me against her.
I close my eyes and breathe her in, and I let her love settle over me.