Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter
twenty-two
We hasten back to the city by portal. Even so, we are not quick enough. By the time Soren and I reach the harbor’s edge, somewhat breathless from our silent sprint along the ramparts, the Dyvedi faction has already disembarked and an altercation is brewing.
A line of Paexyrian face off with a line of Ember Guild. Yara, Thisobei, Bretiax, and Harpina glare relentlessly, looking fierce as ever in their flight leathers and strapped to the teeth with weaponry, from their throwing stars to their sleek silver bows to their curved scimitars.
Cadogan, Mabon, Jac, and Farley stare back.
They are also heavily armed, Jac with his double-bit battle-axe, Farley with his bow, Mabon with his crossbow, Cadogan with his broadsword.
They do not seem daunted by the feminine fury directed their way.
Mabon and Cadogan stand shoulder to shoulder, opposites in appearance yet fully aligned in their sedate expressions.
Farley is grinning wide, auburn hair wind-tousled, looking for all the world like he is enjoying the drama.
And judging by the lovestruck look in Jac’s eyes as they roam up and down Bretiax’s lithe, leather-clad body, he does not find animosity even a remote deterrent to affection.
Soren falls back as I approach, apparently preferring to watch the face-off from afar.
Farley spots me first. “Ace! Hell, is that you?”
In a breath, I am surrounded by the familiar faces of my friends.
Warmth floods me as my eyes shift from one to another.
I’ve hardly allowed myself the space to miss them since we parted.
But there is no way to disguise the surge of joy I feel as Farley’s arms tug me into a tight embrace, as Jac chucks me lightly beneath the chin with his fist, as Mabon clasps my hand with his large one, as Cadogan gives my shoulder a fond shake.
“You’re here,” I say, ignoring the thickness of my voice and the way my eyes prickle. “You’re all here.”
“You thought we’d leave you with only this rabble for company?” Jac teases, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the Paexyrian.
Yara huffs in annoyance.
“I for one never miss a wedding,” Farley puts in, green eyes dancing as his voice drops. “All the better if it’s in a new city. So many potential conquests to acquire…”
“We’ve barely made landfall and already he’s thinking about his cock,” Cadogan mutters.
Mabon snorts. “That surprises you?”
“Any more days at sea, he might’ve crawled into your hammock looking for love.” Jac elbows the stocky bald soldier.
Mabon shakes his head tiredly in response.
“He should be so lucky,” Farley retorts. “Given the snores that echoed from your side of the crew quarters, my hammock would’ve been a reprieve.”
I hear a few of the Paexyrian smother laughs.
Jac replies by way of a suggestive finger raise.
“Gods help us.” Cadogan sighs, then looks at me. “Are you well, Rhya?”
“Look at her.” Farley gestures vaguely at me. “Of course she’s well. She’s damn near glowing.”
Was I?
“Don’t you flirt with me, Farley. I’m not one of your…”
The words dry up on my tongue. For at that moment, my awareness is tugged toward the end of the dinghy dock where a tall figure is standing with his back to the city, his eyes on the sea gate as it slowly ratchets closed under the power of the churning waterwheels.
Even in silhouette, I know him instantly.
The rigid lines of his frame. So much strength kept under such unflinching control.
My feet carry me to him without thought, a moth to flame.
I hardly notice the Ember Guild falling silent in my wake, hardly feel the weight of the Paexyrian stares riveted to me as I move down the dock.
My footfalls strike like anvils, a match for the one that is compressing my chest as the distance shrinks.
Half of me aches to fly to his side; the other half screams that I am walking in the wrong direction entirely.
I’m not breathing, not blinking, not even thinking as I come to a stop five careful paces from him. My mind blanks.
He knows I am there. I watch the breadth of his shoulders expand on a massive inhale, steeling himself before he turns to face me.
Gods, I wish I’d braced myself.
For the moment our gazes meet, the fire I’ve spent the past few weeks allowing to smolder into ashes reignites, sparking up from my stomach into my throat. His dark eyes are aflame with a heat he cannot quite bank, even as he strains to mute his maegic from searing down the bond that connects us.
“Pendefyre,” I whisper, voice as fractured as my feelings.
His jaw tightens.
He says nothing.
But those eyes, those flaming eyes…They are speaking plainly as they chart a course down my body, taking me in as though I am a stranger.
I cannot blame him for that. Last he saw me, I was a weary skeleton in a wet novitiate’s uniform.
Now tight dove-gray leather is sculpted over every curve of my body.
Two daggers fill the built-in sheaths—the glyphed one he gave me months ago, and a new one gifted to me by Vaughn on his second day in the city after he accidentally knocked me into the canal with a bit of overenthusiastic gesticulation that clipped me midchest. My new golden whip hangs in a neat coil at my belt.
It is more than altered attire, though. My long hair flows loose down my back, freed from its orderly braid.
My formerly pale skin is tinged with a hint of tan from all my time spent in the sunshine, and a good deal of it is exposed by the sleeveless corset.
The dark whorls of my Remnant peek out the top of the tight-laced bodice.
And the body within it is no longer lacking food or sleep.
Three weeks of resting on a down-feather mattress and silken sheets, plus steady access to Soren’s cooking, has nourished me in a way I have not experienced since childhood.
Perhaps not even then, for though Eli and I never went hungry, we were never entirely able to make ends meet, either.
Especially as the crops began to fail and the game grew scarce.
For the first time in my life, I am healthy.
Penn, on the other hand, has never looked worse. He is still handsome as ever, but there is a drawn pinch to his features, along with a scoring of deep shadows beneath his eyes. He has not been sleeping, nor eating, from the looks of it. Not much, and certainly not well.
Questions rush through my head as my gaze roams over him—ones I have not allowed myself to ask in our weeks apart, knowing the want of answers would torture me.
Is he still bunking at the barracks? Does he still visit the ward chamber each night?
Who is there to pull him back from the brink, if not me?
Has he no regard for his own life? How fares the rest of the city?
What has changed since we last spoke? And what will change now that we are finally face-to-face once more?
My lips press together, straining to keep the torrent of questions from bursting forth. I wish I could read his emotions through the bond, but he is keeping them well in check, even if it takes visible effort. His hands fist tightly at his sides; his jaw locks like a vise.
“I…You…I did not think…” I suck in a breath, then start again. “I was not certain you would come.”
He flinches, a tiny quake rocking his broad frame. “I do not run from my obligations. I said I would come. I have come.”
The cold detachment of his tone is a lash straight to the heart. He is angry, but there is something else just below the surface of that furious front he is putting on.
Pain.
Torment.
Desolation.
Gods, guide me through this without falling to pieces.
My throat is thick. I swallow against the lump lodged inside it. “Of course. I just…I never heard back from you.”
“I did not realize you wished for a response.” He speaks through clenched teeth. “Your singular letter three weeks ago, informing me of your location, certainly did not leave me with that impression.”
My eyes press closed for a beat, guilt berating my heart. “I’m sorry, Penn. I did not mean to—”
“I do not need your apologies. It is done. In the past. We do not need to discuss it further.” He sucks in a calming breath, reining in his temper before it sparks out of control.
“I did not come here to retrace old ground or rehash old arguments. I have more important things to speak with you about, if you will listen.”
“I have never once shied away from the things you had to say to me,” I remind him.
He is the one who’s always withheld.
“I know that.” Flames leap in his eyes as they hold mine. A muscle begins to tick in his cheek, as though he is waging war inwardly. “Rhya, I must tell you…You must realize that I…”
The pound of boots stalls his tongue. The force with which they are coming down the dock is impossible to miss.
I turn to watch Soren—who, since the start of our acquaintance, has only ever moved in absolute stealth—stomp toward us in a manner designed specifically to interrupt.
There is an easy smile on his face, but it cannot compensate for the ice floes in his eyes, cold enough to chill any perceived warmth of welcome.
“Pendefyre.”
“Soren,” Penn returns. “Your timing is inopportune as ever.”
“One could say the same about yours.” Soren’s smile turns sharp. “Your ship appeared on my horizon at a most unfortunate time. I was in the middle of something important.”
A flutter of nerves explodes in my stomach.
“Feel free to get back to it,” Penn says. “Rhya and I can manage without your company.”
Soren’s scoff holds the faintest edge of bitterness. “Oh, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Not while you are here, at least. The matter is…delicate. It will require all my attention.”
Skies.
My cheeks flush red. I pray Penn will not look at me and question why.