Chapter 1 The Interruption
The Interruption
“My name is Teorin Rathmor.”
Rathmor. I did not look away. “Explain.”
He looked at me like he was deciding where to start. Before he could answer, footsteps crossed the deck.
“Oh, good,” Nyara said. “You’re both standing here looking unbearable. I was afraid I might miss something.”
She had brought someone with her, a dark-haired man with bronze skin and a linen coat belted neatly at the waist. Nyara slipped her hand through his arm. “Asharin, this is Talen. He is Alarnan, charming enough to be dangerous, and has promised to tell us where the best fruit is when we arrive.”
“Princess,” he said, dipping his head.
I returned the greeting, but my attention had already shifted back to Teorin. Nyara didn’t seem to notice.
“Junis is helping Eravic,” she continued. She caught my eye and gave a small lift of her brows, then glanced at the Alarnan. “And I thought it only fair to warn you that I shall be below deck for most of the voyage.”
I forced a smile, masking my irritation while Nyara continued on beside us. But even with her still there, the name would not stop turning over in my head.
Arven was Teorin Rathmor. My husband’s brother.
How the fuck could he be Teorin Rathmor?
She turned to me, still in no rush to leave. “Eravic says this one saved you,” she said, her attention shifting to Teorin. “Apparently Alarna assigned him as your protector?”
Saved me. I already knew that. But hearing it spoken aloud, with him standing there saying nothing, made the lack of explanation feel intentional.
“Something like that,” I said.
Nyara looked at me sympathetically. “You look tired.” She turned to Teorin. “You should stand guard while she takes a nap, or whatever it is that protectors do, cousin.”
Teorin gave no response.
Nyara gave my arm a brief squeeze. “Try not to die while I’m gone. Alarna will be terribly disappointed.”
She paused, glancing at him. “Haven’t seen you in decades, and now you turn up on an Alarnan ship. What are the odds?”
She turned before he could answer, leading her companion toward the stairs. The wind pressed harder once she was gone.
I turned back to him. “Explain.”
His name keeps turning through my thoughts. Teorin. Arven. The two refuse to align, and trying to hold them both at once leaves something in me slower than it should be.
He draws in a breath.
The nausea starts low in my stomach and rises hard enough that I reach for the rail as the color drains from my face.
“Asharin.”
“I know,” I managed, though the ache along my ribs tightens at the same time the nausea twists through me, the two folding together until I can no longer separate one from the other.