CHAPTER THREE
We left the icewine and crept toward the camp, then between the first row of tents.
The soldiers were organizing gear, cleaning cannons, and cooking meals in pots – small cauldrons suspended over fires.
There was no immediate sign of Trevellyan; he’d disappeared into the labyrinth.
I thought of raising the alarm, but decided it would be better if we could remove him without the army noticing the intrusion.
“Go that way,” I told Graene, and gestured to the left. “I’ll go right.”
She nodded and we split up, moving briskly as we searched and darting into shadows when soldiers passed.
I found a larger tent in the middle of the camp. Logical to conclude it belonged to the man in charge – and might be Trevellyan’s destination.
I waited for a soldier to pass, then snuck to the front flap and glanced inside. I found Darien standing alone behind a table and frowning down at a spread of parchment. I moved inside, stood in silence for a moment as he reviewed… and I reviewed him.
“Princess,” he said, without looking up.
“I’m not a princess anymore. And how did you—”
He flipped over a sheet of paper. “You smell like flowers. A rarity in a moving army.”
He looked up, hobbled around the table to a low bench, and sat down, propping his injured leg onto a wooden chest. He wore no jacket – just dark trousers and a linen shirt open to the waist, showing a bit of bare skin and muscle. “What brings you here?”
In for a copper coin, in for a gold. “There’s a man snooping around the camp. He may try to cause trouble.”
“Aren’t we all friends now?”
“He doesn’t think so.”
“Description?” Darien asked. When I told him, he called in a guard, gave him instructions to search. Then he returned his gaze to me. “You’re good with a bow.”
“Clearly not good enough.”
That had him smiling. His face was dangerous enough already; the dimple that appeared at the corner of his mouth and the joy in his eyes was absolutely destructive. “You don’t seem to be afraid of me.”
“You didn’t burn my village. I don’t think you’ll attack me here.”
He inclined his head then rose and walked toward me. I hadn’t been quite so near to him before, and he was a more powerful presence up close: a full head taller than me, his shoulders wider, and his body hard with muscle.
“I should have known you were a princess when I saw you in the woods,” he said.
At my raised brows, he pointed to my feet. “Good boots. Good cloak. And I bet you have soft hands.”
“I do not have soft—”
He took one of them before I could object, ran his calloused finger across the palm, the fingertips. “You’ve nocked your fair share of arrows,” he concluded, “but you don’t work with your hands.”
I didn’t like the way his fingers lingered, like the touch was its own promise.
I didn’t like the darkening of his eyes.
But I didn’t pull my hand away, because for all that he was a warlord, a general, a momentary enemy, there was something soothing about his nearness. How could he be both shelter and storm?
“I wasn’t allowed to join the army,” I said.
He looked interested at that. “That was your hope?”
“I can track and shoot as well as any of the others and better than some.”
“Yes. I’ve seen your work.”
“I won’t apologize.”
“Good. I’d be disappointed if you did. Always protect the things you cherish, Princess.”
“My name is Dahlia.”
He frowned, crossed his arms. “Do dahlias grow here?”
I shook my head. “There are no flowers in the Edgelands. We’re too close to the ice, too cold even in summer. Trees, ferns, moss, grass in the high pasture. No flowers.”
“Then why are you named after one?”
“A storybook my mother had as a child about a girl who lived in a cottage in the woods surrounded by flowers. She talked to birds.”
“You don’t seem like the bird-talking type.”
“What do I seem like?” My voice was softer than I’d meant; it sounded like the voice of a woman who really, really wanted to know how a man saw her.
“I’m not entirely sure,” he said just as quietly. Something built between us, some unfamiliar fire, and he dipped his head, his gaze dropping as his lips moved toward mine.
He was going to kiss me, and despite the circumstances, I found myself moving forward.
“Get your filthy hands off of her.”
I jolted in surprise, looked back. Trevellyan stood behind us, a fire in his eyes and his lips curled into a grimace. I pulled my hand away; Darien’s fingers momentarily tightened, but he let me go then looked over at the intruder. “I don’t think she needs you to speak for her.”
Trevellyan took a step forward. There was sweat on his brow, and he smelled of alcohol, even from several strides away.
“You’re drunk, Trevellyan,” I said. “Go home.”
“You go home. You have no business here with these ruffians.”
“You should do as she suggests,” Darien said. “She’s got more brains than you.”
“Fuck you,” Trevellyan said. “This is all your doing. And now you’re sullying my princess.”
He lunged forward, and only then did I see the knife in his hand. The world seemed to slow, everything else around us frozen in place as he reached for Darien.
Enemies in every corner, I thought. And which, right now, was worse?
My father had managed a fragile peace – the only peace that ended with the Edgelands intact.
An assassination attempt would rip that peace apart.
If Trevellyan managed to kill Darien, his army might destroy the Edgelands out of spite.
If Darien lived, he wouldn’t leave Trevellyan alive. Death was inevitable.
And then there was the other matter, the realization that sent a splinter of fear through my heart. I found I didn’t want Darien dead.
So I moved, putting myself between them, and saw the hatred in Trevellyan’s eyes shift toward irritation… then surprise… and when the blade punched through my abdomen – simul taneously cold and hot – horror and regret.
Darien called for guards as Trevellyan stared, looked down at his bloodied hand.
I looked at the handle of the knife protruding from my flank. “He stabbed me.”
“So he did.”
My vision grayed and I felt myself falling. It was Darien who caught me, who carefully gathered me into his arms. “Why in the name of the gods did you do that?”
“For the Edgelands,” I said.
And for some reason, for you.
* * *
I woke to overpowering thirst and made a sound more animal than human. My head was lifted, fingers warm and gentle at my neck. But I smelled poison – bitter and sweet.
“No,” I said, and tried to turn away from the smooth cup that was pressed to my lips. “Poison.”
“Not poison. Medicine. A tisane for healing.”
“Smells awful.”
“Probably tastes it, too. But it’s kept you alive. Drink.”
Kept me alive. I didn’t know what those words meant, not until I swallowed the drink, which smelled of cherries and grass and acrid smoke. But I kept it down by force of will, determined to also keep hold of this world.
The cup was removed, a linen pressed against my lips.
“What happened?” I asked.
“You took a blade meant for me.”
Now that the smell of the tisane was gone, I could smell him in the room. Leather and smoke and maleness. I opened my eyes. Darien perched at the edge of the bed; he wore a dark, quilted tunic today, his hair loose around his face.
“It did not feel good,” I recalled.
“Stabbing rarely does. Is he your intended? That Trevellyan man?”
I snorted, and it hurt. I pressed gentle fingers against my abdomen, and the sudden flash of pain burned the rest of my grogginess away. “Not on this side of Oblivion. He’s an arrogant arse.” I looked up at him. “Where is he?”
“In your father’s dungeon. A bit bruised, but alive.”
“Bruised?”
“Your father objected to his stabbing you. Knocked him out with a single punch.” Then he frowned. “If not Trevellyan, are you promised to someone else?”
“No. Are you offering?”
He was quiet long enough that I looked over at him, found him gazing back at me. “If I was?”
“We’ve only just met.” I think I meant it as a question – why does this connection feel so strong? Why does this feel so familiar, when we’ve only just become acquainted?
“I like what I see,” he said.
There was a knock at the door, then it opened. A healer moved in, ignored Darien and came over to me. “She needs sleep, not warmongering strangers.”
“She struck me first,” Darien said, and with a long last look, left the room.
* * *
I slept off and on for two days, hearing snatches of move ment and conversation, but mostly unaware of the world.
When I finally felt well enough to sit up, the room was empty, the sun low and bright. Pain still echoed, but its sharpness had diminished.
Servants and my mother and father came and went, offering me balms and more drinks and demands I continue resting. And then they left, and the Golden King stood in the doorway.
“You’re awake,” he said, with no little relief on his face.
“I am.”
“I’m glad, not just because I’ll be able to tell you my goodbyes.”
“Goodbyes?”
“It’s time for us to go.” He stayed in the doorway, and I found I wanted him to come closer.
It was better he left. Better that I didn’t crave his nearness. Better that I wasn’t tempted.
“Do you want to remain in the Edgelands?” he asked.
“It’s my home.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I haven’t been anywhere else. I have no other answer to give.”
He came into the room now. “You could come with me. Be my empress.”
“You aren’t an emperor, and I’m in no shape to travel.
” It was evasion, and it didn’t even sound convincing to me.
But giving him the answer I wanted – that I’d love to be swept away from the cold and damp and mud and ice, and that I wanted him to do the sweeping – would be illogical and ridiculous. Wouldn’t it?
“Yet,” he said. “To both.”
“I can’t be with someone who destroyed my home.”
“As I suspected, you have good judgment. And since I didn’t destroy your home, that won’t be an impediment.”
“The wall—”
“The wall is antiquated and needs replacing. I’ve started that process.”
“You’re very clever.”
“Thank you,” he said, and gave me that endearing smile. “Tell me what I can give you.”
“You’re bribing me?”
“Yes. I find I don’t like the idea of not seeing you again.”
“There’s quite a distance between seeing me and marrying me.”
“A distance I’m apparently more than willing to cross.” He leaned forward, brushed back a lock of my hair. “Silver Dahlia, what do you want most in the world?”
Color. Sunlight. Warm rooms.
“Gather every flower in the Four Kingdoms and build a capital full of blooms.”
“And if I do, you’ll come to me? You’ll join me in the capital and be my bride?”
There was no hesitation in his voice, or in his eyes. But I’d given him an impossible task, so there was no real harm in saying yes. “Where will your capital be?”
“The Lowlands fortress.”
I lifted my brows. “The ruins in the swamp? I hear the air’s so full of bugs they blot out the sun.”
“It won’t be ruins or a swamp when I’m finished with it.”
“You have a lot of plans.”
“I do.” He lifted my hand, pressed his lips to it. “So I’ll take your bet and add to it: I’ll win the world for you, Dahlia. I’ll unite the Four Kingdoms, bring peace to the land, and build you a city of flowers.”
He couldn’t. No man could do all that, not even in a lifetime. “Good luck,” I told him, and prepared to never see him again. Maybe he noticed that in my eyes.
“I will see you again, my Dahlia. All of you.” Then his hand was on my cheek, and he lowered his mouth to mine. This kiss wasn’t about the fire that sparked between us. It was soft and warm and tender. He pulled back, and I felt the loss keenly. A tiny death. A small grief.
I found I wanted to believe him.
And that was scarier than any reiver.