70. Zarek
Zarek
OLD GODS
That was definitely Petrys.
I couldn’t make out what he said, but if Gerard isn’t already killing him, then I’m going to. We’re several days from the Vsenrog border, but still. The gods only know who could be in these mountains, listening for a human voice. And it’s hard enough to hide four horses without screaming like that.
It’s not like Petrys to be so careless. Something about that idiot from Marion really sets my brother off. Yes, Gerard is an ass, but it’s unusual for Petrys to let someone get under his skin like that.
I glance over at Lilias. She smiles at me, and for a moment, I seriously contemplate just letting my brother and Gerard have at it while I fuck my wife, here, beneath the dappled shade of the aspen trees and the mountain wildflowers, and to the nine hells with the rest of the world. It would be lovely.
Until we brought an entire battalion of Vsenrog soldiers down on what’s left of the Marion royal family hiding in the old hunting lodge.
I sigh as we jog toward the thick grove of pine trees where we set up our camp. One of the horses raises his shaggy head and snorts as we approach; Lilias doesn’t seem concerned, so that must be normal horse behavior.
At least I don’t hear any more screaming. I clench my jaw and wrap my fingers around my dagger as we push our way through the dense trees hiding our little campsite. I see the four saddles on the ground, the rumpled bedrolls—
“Godsdamn it,” I snarl.
Those assholes really are trying to kill each other.
They’re on the ground by the bedrolls. Petrys is on top of Gerard, bending low against his body with his back to us and his legs on either side of Gerard’s hips. I pull my dagger from its sheath, ready to threaten both of them with whatever it takes to get them to calm the fuck down.
Lilias grabs my arm and pulls me back. I glance at her. She’s watching the two men with wide eyes and a very strange expression. I turn back to my brother.
Oh.
Gerard’s hand is buried in Petrys’s hair, and his shirt is half off. But he doesn’t seem to be fighting back. I can’t see their faces; from the angle of their bodies, they must be way too close for them to be doing anything but—
Oh. Right.
They aren’t trying to kill each other.
They’re kissing each other.
I turn back to Lilias, and the moment our eyes meet, I know with absolute certainty that there’s no way I’m going to be able to hold it together. Laughter bubbles up inside me like steam in a kettle.
And Petrys would be horrified. He’s always been so secretive about his private life. Gods, knowing we’ve seen this would be the last thing he’d want.
I grab my wife’s hand and pull her out of the trees. We make quite a bit of noise as we crash through the underbrush, but I don’t think either Gerard or Petrys is going to notice.
I go as far as I can before laughter bursts out of me like an explosion. I collapse on my knees in the alpine meadow and laugh until my eyes tear up. Lilias falls to her back next to me, giggling and snorting.
“Oh, my gods,” I finally say, wiping my eyes. “Did you know?”
Lilias shakes her head against the grass. “I had no idea. Gerard said a few strange things about Petrys, but I really thought they hated each other. I didn’t think they’d end up—”
Our eyes meet, and we both burst into laughter again. One of the horses wanders over with an expression on his wide face that could only be described as concern. For some reason, this only makes me laugh harder.
I let myself fall back onto the grass, my sides aching, my vision blurred, my heart lighter than it’s felt in years. Above us, a few thin clouds dance high in the cerulean sky. I turn to my beautiful wife and watch two emerald butterflies circle each other above her dark hair.
Laughter is its own kind of magic. Like love.
“Did you know?” Lilias asks, turning to smile at me.
I shake my head. “Petrys never tells me anything,” I admit. “Especially not about his love life.”
For some reason, this makes her giggle, which makes me start laughing again.
Lilias moves closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder as I watch the sun begin to trace her fiery path across the sky.
The horse grazes next to us and, somewhere in the distance, birds sing to each other, a dozen lilting little melodies woven together by the wind.
Something pulls my skin tight and makes me shiver.
I frown. That feeling comes again, like something dancing just on the edge of consciousness. A whispered voice outside a door, perhaps, or someone calling you from a dream. It’s the same feeling that’s been tugging at the edge of my awareness ever since we crossed into Marion.
I sit up in the grass. Lilias rolls off my arm with a sleepy, muttered protest. The meadow is filled with sunlight. A gentle breeze makes the flowers nod and dance. There’s nothing strange here, nothing different. And yet—
My eyes linger on the far side of the meadow, where the stream of melted snow runs down the mountainside in a series of rocky falls. Willow bushes line that ribbon of cold water, their soft green leaves shimmering in the light.
Another shiver moves across my skin as I stare at the stream. There’s nothing there but dancing leaves and sparkling water; still, I come to my feet.
“Zarek?” Lilias says. “What is it?”
I shake my head and glance at the horses. All four of them have their heads down, ripping grass and wildflowers out of the earth with contented snorts. If it was an animal, some sort of predator, the horses would know, right?
My hand drops to the dagger Petrys gave me, and I walk silently toward the river, watching the willows. If they move against the wind, I’ll know something is there. Or someone.
Lilias walks beside me. I glance down and see a blade in her hand, the same dagger I strapped around her thigh before the Planting Festival, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst.
“Oh!” she cries.
She presses her hand to her lips as her eyes go wide. I follow her gaze, across the wildflowers, to the soft green of the willow boughs.
And to the creature on the far bank.
It’s dark, and long, and it’s looking directly at us. I frown as I try to make sense of the serpentine curves of its seated body.
An otter? No. A fox? No.
It’s nothing I’ve seen before, and yet somehow, it feels almost familiar. Sunlight dances off the water as it tumbles down the mountain and catches in the mist, making rainbows that rise and fall before the creature’s ebony legs.
The animal tilts its head and blinks two massive silver eyes. They look like twin moons shining against the midnight darkness of its body.
Nothing has eyes like that. No creature of this world.
I shiver again; magic swirls across my skin, light and delicate, like silk and velvet. Nothing like the crackling fury of what Varitan threw at me. Magic. A different kind of magic, wild and free.
Some part of my mind whispers that I need to tell my wife what happened with Varitan, about breaking glass and silver chains. About the palace wall that I somehow tore down to protect her.
Lilias whispers something that I slowly recognize as a prayer. The creature tilts its head in the other direction, blinks again, and then shakes. Tendrils of dark fog rise from its body as the creature stretches impossibly long limbs out against the rocks.
And then it turns and flows away, running downhill like the river, until its shadowy body is entirely swallowed by the willow bushes on the far bank.
I exhale slowly and wonder how long I’ve been holding my breath.
The world comes back, the sound of the river, the whisper of grass bowing to the wind.
“Oh, my gods,” Lilias gasps. She turns to me with tears running down her cheeks. “Did you see it?”
I nod. My mouth feels dry.
“Anura’s mother said there was still magic in these mountains,” she says, in a soft, reverent voice. “She said, if you were very, very lucky, you might one day see a mountain spirit.”
“My mother called them old gods,” I whisper.
I never knew if she was teasing me, telling me to watch for the old gods when Petrys, Gerrart, and I went into the mountains to pick raspberries. Telling me they moved like shadows, and they would keep children safe in the wilderness.
I slide my dagger back into its sheath. Something feels strange—
Lilias laughs. I turn to my wife as she wipes the tears from her cheeks and beams at me.
“They’re never going to believe us,” she finally says, with a wild grin.
“No,” I agree. “They’re not.”
Lilias takes my hand, and we walk together through the meadow, our fingers interlaced, the horses grazing around us, the clouds dancing above, and the old god of the mountains watching us with wide, silver eyes from its secret den.
It’s only once we reach the trees that I realize what felt strange when I slid my dagger back into its sheath.
It’s the silver chain in my pocket, the one I took from Varitan’s table in Vsenrog.
When I used it to break the window, the magic trapped in that metal burned and made my gut twist. But now, it’s cool against my fingers.
And, when I brush the metal links, magic flows into my skin like water pouring down the mountain.