Chapter 19 #3
Tears stung my eyes. I breathed deeply and banished them.
“We’ll talk about that later,” I managed.
Released his hand, so he wouldn’t hear of our sister’s demise before I was ready to tell him.
Happy things, first. “He’s here, somewhere.
” I searched for him among the soldiers, noting Sir Arquan entering the keep, likely to speak with Renn .
. . and tried not to think too hard on what they might discuss. Family, first. The rest . . . after.
I spied him sitting beside two others of similar rank near the wall. Picking up my skirts, I hurried over, Dan on my heels until he, too, spotted his brother.
A muffled sob caught in his throat.
Brien turned at my arrival, then noticed Dan behind me, and his face went slack. He stood, nearly dropping his bowl. “Gods be, Dan?”
He laughed and hugged his younger brother, beating a hand on his back as men do. “I barely recognize you! What are . . . ?”
You doing here, he was going to say, but as he looked over Dan’s shoulder to me, I knew he remembered. Dan was a crafter.
And like Brien, Dan would be going to war.
I stayed out late with Brien and Dan, after dark, until Sten came to fetch me.
Even then, I made sure Dan got situated with the other new recruits, that the officers knew his name, and that he’d have a decent place to sleep.
Only then did I return to the keep, Sten gesturing I was to go to the west tower and not the east. I took the stairs a little too slowly, twisting the end of my braid clockwise, then counterclockwise, around my index finger.
His bedroom was perhaps not the best place to meet, but I hadn’t seen any of the Antsan delegation since entering the keep. Then again, Renn had utterly spoiled any good feeling he’d crafted with Princess Azra already.
Renn had retired for the night, still dressed, sitting on the edge of his bed, reading over what looked to be a report of some sort.
He didn’t look up as I entered, yet the moment I shut the door, leaving Sten in the hallway, he said, “You realize how hypocritical it is to constantly worry over my health when you take such poor care of your own, yes?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I crossed the small space and sat beside him. Defensive anger prickled beneath my skin, but cool logic won out. He was right.
“Yes,” I admitted. It’d been easy to look after myself in Sesta. I’d so little else to do but play in my lumis as a child would a sandbox. But here I became busy. Distracted. Seeking out anything and everything that didn’t involve my heart.
“Is this a once-a-year thing?” He set the report aside and fixed those vivid blue eyes on me. They rivaled the candles. I was surprised he’d lit candles when he could ignite the gods’ light so easily. “Should I mark in my calendar when you intend to pass out next?”
I frowned. “If this is an attempt at a jest, it’s poorly done.”
“Is it? I find myself hilarious.”
Anger bristled, and I was sure he felt it. “I apologize for the oversight, but you made it a spectacle long before I did.”
He glowered.
“I don’t like Azra,” I confessed. “I don’t trust her. But we need her.”
“May need her.”
“You humiliated her. Publicly.”
He scoffed. “She humiliated you publicly.” His eyes narrowed.
“She is a princess. An ally.”
“A figurehead and physical pressure to sign the deal they want, only.”
I threw up my hands. “And how will the negotiations fare now? I know Sir Arquan spoke with you—”
“He is aware of Azra’s miscreance. He apologized.”
My blood simmered. “And did you? To either of us?”
He flinched, chagrined. “I forget how toilsome it is to argue with you.”
“Did—”
“I did not”—he stood and faced me fully—“and I will not. She is showing a pattern of perniciousness.” Thorns prodded the bond. “Is she the only one?”
I recalled the Antsan soldier speaking with the pantler near the portcullis, weeks ago, calling me a whore. Brien, too, had heard rumors. How many thought such a thing of me? Had the rumors spread naturally, or had they been intentionally planted by a na?ve and jealous woman?
Scalding anger and twisting guilt bloomed through the link.
“I . . . didn’t think of it,” Renn confessed.
“On the ship . . . my men are loyal. Private. I didn’t think what my indiscretion might do to you.
” He wiped a hand down his face. Looked away.
Blond hair fell into his eyes, but he did nothing to push it away. “I’m sorry, Nym.”
I clutched the edge of the mattress. Peered out the east window, but it was too dark to see much. “Thank you, for looking after my family while I was . . . away.”
I received a subtle grunt in response.
“Will he be safe, Renn?”
Wilting, he dropped back onto the mattress. “I presume you mean Dan.”
“He’s only sixteen.”
“I will do my best. I swear it.” Another thorn of guilt. “The crafters under drafting age will be looked after. I am glad he reported. We need all the help we can get.” He glanced at me. “Did you know? About his craftlock?”
I nodded. “I found out when I went to Fount last winter.”
He considered this.
“I’d wondered if he would answer the draft. I’m glad he did, and yet I wished he’d stayed home.”
We sat in silence for a few beats, before cold fire began licking at the bond.
“Who else?” he murmured. “Who else has that harpy poisoned?”
“I hardly know any by name, and it will gain you nothing to make an example out of them. Even boorish men can hold a sword and defend their country. Even harpies make useful allies.”
Renn dropped his head into his hands, elbows on his knees. “I’m the source of all your suffering, Nym. I’m the one who took you from your family. I’m the reason Nicosia—” Emotion choked his voice, and he took a moment to bridle it. “Antsan and Azra, and your . . .”
Had the events of the day happened differently, the deprecation would have confused me. As it was, I knew what he meant.
My heart. Half my heart.
“I gave it to you, Renn,” I insisted.
His eyes shimmered fiercely, but in the bond the roses grew, and aged, and died, their thorns hardening and digging.
Renn cursed again, because he knew I felt it.
Cautiously, like he was a spooked horse, I touched his arm. He gradually relaxed under my touch, almost like a lumis would. I embraced him from the side, pressing my cheekbone to his shoulder.
“You have given me hope,” I whispered, carefully unwinding the thorns. “You have fed my family. You’ve protected my honor. Made me laugh. Navigated this new . . . maze . . . of myself and guided me through my brokenness. Held me, even when we were continents apart.”
The thorns softened, new and green.
“You gave me freedom, purpose. Healing. And you gave me a very nice necklace.”
A chuckle caught in his throat. “You broke it,” he murmured.
I chastely kissed his cheek, released him, and turned him so he faced me.
“This is all . . . trying . . . but it only breaks my heart because you gave me a heart to break. So why should I not give part of it back to you?” I ran a knuckle along the stubble on his jaw.
“I’ll do better, caring for it. I promise. ”
He let out a long breath.
“And you must do your part.”
He snorted. “I’ll marry King Vitsoph before I bind myself to that viper.”
“Renn—”
A knock on the door, firm, not soft.
Renn cursed. “I should have met you in Eden’s room. This isn’t going to look good.” He rose and crossed to the door, pulling it open hard enough that his gods-touched strength nearly ripped it off the hinges.
But it was only Sten. Sten, with a grave expression.
Fire and thorns receded entirely. I stood as Renn asked, “What? What’s happened?”
“Whitestone.” The guard spoke just above a whisper. “He’s here.”