33. And Everything They Cost
And Everything They Cost
SERAPHAE
Caelan had no intention of behaving in his own court.
I had made peace with that. He was a prince. Princes did whatever pleased them. What apparently pleased him was pleasing me.
That had involved a balcony overlooking the city, which he discovered he liked very much. The council table, after he conveniently cleared the room of advisors.
I had tried to keep our arrangement quiet.
Caelan had been shameless about it from the beginning, and the secret lasted approximately three days.
The palace staff knew. I suspected they had a betting pool.
Maelor knew because we had forgotten about the state of the study desk the morning after, and he had walked in behind Caelan to collect a report.
Caelan shuffled through the wreckage until he found what he was looking for. Handed Maelor a deeply wrinkled document with the composure of a man who had no reason to explain himself.
Maelor looked at the desk. The objects on the floor. The report in front of him.
“You're a prince.”
“Yes.”
He took the report by its corner like it was tainted and left without another word.
Spring in Twilight smelled of turned soil, sharp florals, and the honey-sweet drift of veyras from a nearby bed.
Caelan said the council would stretch into the evening. He had kissed my hand and dismissed me when he caught me shifting my weight behind him.
Brie and Maerith sat across from me at one of the stone tables in the estate courtyard. I poured from a very expensive bottle of vintage I had borrowed from Caelan's study that afternoon. Without his knowledge and that I wouldn’t be returning, obviously.
Maerith took a sip and hummed. “I've decided,” she said into the glass. “I am staying in Twilight permanently for the wine alone.”
Brie giggled. “The only reason that makes sense.”
“And the men.” Maerith’s lips pulled into an endearing grin. “Considerably more skilled. Far better to look at.”
I choked on my wine.
She peered past my shoulder. “Where's the prince, by the way?”
Brie asked about the shop. Whether Maerith planned to open again.
She lounged back, one boot propped on the bench.
“Your brother won't let me leave the estate until Sera is healed. Then he won’t let me leave until the bond is broken in case anyone might want to kill me in order to stop it.” She groaned dramatically.
“The citizens of Twilight will have to wait for their fortunes and mistakes to be magically cleaned up.”
“So are you a witch?” I asked. “Or a sorceress?”
She pressed a hand to her chest and gasped. “How dare you confuse a witch with a sorceress?”
My mouth hung open. The distinction meant nothing to me. I knew that sorcery was common in Aurelion. Witches were less so. Those who claimed to be witches were mostly frauds who would sell you crystals and call it salvation.
“What can you do?” Brie leaned in, eyes bright with curiosity that came before bad decisions. “See the future. Break bonds. Can you curse someone?” She tapped her chin. “Love spell, perhaps.”
We both looked at her.
Brie reared back. “Just curious. Not asking for one.”
“I can do a love spell.” Maerith wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Brie leaned in again, and despite myself, I did too.
“They are tricky,” Maerith said, voice secretive. “Like all spells, there's a cost. Love is expensive. Right next to healing and resurrection.”
Brie's eyebrow went up. “Resurrection.”
Maerith lifted her chin, proud. “A life for a life. Perfect balance.”
I angled my glass at her. “You never told me what saving me cost.”
A slow pull at the corner of her mouth. “That is not mine to tell, love.”
My stomach twisted at the words. Not mine. Which meant someone else had paid the price. I needed to know. I needed to find a way to reverse it or offer something else in its place.
“Was it Caelan?” I blurted.
Brie lowered her glass.
Maerith shook her head. “Your prince didn’t pay the price. You can stop thinking of ways to pay for him.”
Relief hit hard enough that I felt it in my hands. But someone had paid, and I wondered how I was deemed worthy of it.
Brie exhaled sharply and finished her glass in one swallow.
Maerith stared up at the sky with quiet focus.
“We can break the bond tomorrow,” she said finally.
The words hit my chest like a closed fist.
Brie reached out and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “You know you can stay.” Her green eyes were completely sincere as she held my gaze.
“I know,” I said. “But the court would never allow it.”
Maerith made a sound of disapproval. “Who cares what the court thinks?”
I considered the petitions brought up in court that Caelan still hadn’t given me the details of.
“Royals do,” I said to them both. “Good rulers do.”
That was the thing about royals. Power came with rules. Marriage was alliances. Affection was strategy. Desire was an inconvenience. The people had choices. Royals had chains disguised as a crown.
“And one day,” I said, my fingers twisting in my skirt, “he’s going to take a wife.”
Maerith clutched her throat and gagged dramatically.
Brie frowned and brushed her thumb against my hand but didn’t say anything. Which said everything.
“I say he would make you his wife,” Maerith said, with baseless confidence.
“That’s not—There’s more than that.” I took my hand from Brie and picked up my glass. One bottle of wine was optimistic. I should have stolen two.
They looked at me expectantly.
I waved at myself. “Human.” I waved toward the estate. “Fae.”
As much as I avoided thinking about it, Caelan and I were temporary. I had known that from the start. Had never meant for it to be anything else. It was never supposed to mean more than what it was.
It did anyway.
Brie's expression landed somewhere between sadness and understanding.
Maerith watched us quietly, her amber eyes giving nothing away.
I took a breath and lifted my wine. “To crowns,” I said with a forced smile. “And everything they cost.”
“To the stubborn.” Brie raised her glass and her chin. “May they never learn to stop fighting.”
Maerith refilled her glass to the brim and lifted it.
“To denial,” she grinned. “It's doing fantastic work in this courtyard.”
We drank and then kept drinking until the vintage was gone and my worries had blurred at the edges.
I touched a finger to the pendant at my collar. The cool stone was smooth and grounding.
Tonight, I didn't think about it.
Tomorrow, the bond would be broken.
I was pleasantly numb by the time I returned to my room.
Sufficient effort was put into trying to sleep. It was a fight that I did not win, so I found myself grabbing the bottle of wine that Brie had left in my room.
There were three stages of drinking. The first, where you could stop whenever you wanted. The second, where you should stop but didn’t want to. The third, where you were so drunk that the decision was made for you.
I was firmly in the second.
It made me nostalgic. Back in Blackwater Cape, Xander and I had a drinking spot on the roof. Some habits followed you no matter the realm.
I ended up on the tiles above my balcony, one foot sliding on tile that was considerably smoother than anything in Blackwater Cape.
A hand caught my elbow before the rest of me followed.
I spun, hair catching in my mouth, eyes watering from the wind.
Riven was looking at me. Jaw tight, something in his eyes I hadn't seen before. Anger or concern. It was hard to tell with him.
“Hello, Captain Blackryn.” I smiled.
He did not.
I would have slipped again when he let go if I hadn't dropped onto the tiles first. I settled back on my elbows, crossed my ankles, and looked out at the city.
The city stretched out below the cliff house in layers of light and shadow. Lanterns dotted the streets, the glow softened by the false moon that hung over it all. The silver and blue light caught on the roofs and the canals in the distance. It was breathtaking.
I inhaled the scent of wet earth, pines, and chimney smoke. A feeling of warmth enveloped me, and it wasn’t from the wine.
Wine.
I painfully realized that I had not brought it with me.
But the view from up here was worth the near-death experience.
I remembered Riven was there—somewhere—and patted the tiles beside me.
He stood for a moment like sitting down was a significant decision. Eventually, he sat. Legs opened, arms resting loosely on his bent knees.
I turned to look at him.
The moonlight deepened the shadows just right, revealing the dimples he seemed determined not to use.
“Why are you above my room?” I asked.
He glanced at me. “I was already on the roof when I heard you.”
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“It's sixth bell.”
“Maelor said you sleep early.”
He tilted his head. “I don't sleep early.”
I looked at his hand and realized he was holding a precious thing. I gasped and reached out excitedly.
His lip twitched as he handed the bottle over.
It was whiskey. I took a greedy drink anyway and choked toward the end of it. My lungs verbalized their complaints as I coughed.
Riven stared at me, hand lifting just an inch before dropping again. He looked away for the sake of my dignity.
“So this whole time,” I rasped. “when everyone thinks you're sleeping, you're up here.” I gestured at the roof and cleared my throat. “Drinking alone.”
He took the bottle back and said nothing.
I had learned over time that silence from Riven meant yes. Or it meant he found you irritating and speaking would just encourage you.
But mostly, it meant yes.
We sat there and watched the city lights go out one at a time.
Just two people passing a bottle on top of a roof.
It reminded me of Xander. Except where Xander spoke too much, Riven provided the quiet that allowed me to think.
A good thing for any other night, but tonight, I didn’t want to think. The thoughts didn't wait to be invited.
“Were the petitions about me?” I asked quietly, even though I already knew.
I didn't look at him. But I caught, from the corner of my eye, the way his grip tightened on the bottle.
Silence. That meant yes.
“Do they want me gone?” I turned and looked at him, needing to see it.
He turned, and when his eyes found mine, a quiet sadness touched them before it was gone as quickly as it came.
“Caelan won't let that happen,” he said, a muscle in his jaw tensing once.
I had known about the petitions for days. Had kept it theoretical. Now it wasn't anymore.
The lump in my throat came without warning as heat climbed my face. My nails bit into my palm, and I looked at the mountains, at anything but Riven.
A laugh came out of me. Brief and sharp.
The mountains and trees blurred until I couldn’t see them anymore.
I did not cry.
The last time I had cried was when I had gone against a grown man at fourteen years old. My first kill, and he had nearly escaped. My bleeding forearm was pressed against his chest and my blade was in his throat, and I begged the gods not to take my soul.
Crying was a weakness.
A dangerous one for someone in my profession. It meant the inside was starting to show on the outside for everyone to see. And the most dangerous part wasn’t the tears. It was the fact that something had gotten close enough to matter. That you had let it matter.
I was crying on a roof over a prince I had thought would be mine, next to a captain who had the decency to say nothing about it.
I pulled my knees against my chest and pressed my chin into my arms and let it happen.
When it was over, the bottle was empty and most of the city was dark.
Everything went numb. My fingers, my face, my mind. My heart was pounding loud enough that the ambient sound of the city was drowned out.
I pushed myself up. The roof tilted sharply.
Hands gripped my elbow, hard. Riven stared down at me, and he looked concerned, which made things that much worse.
He helped me back down onto the balcony without comment. I only almost died twice during the descent.
“Thank you,” I said when we were safely off the roof.
For the flowers on my table. For the hearth you kept burning. For the silence.
He held my gaze for a moment before nodding once.
Riven had always been a man with few words. I wondered which ones he chose to say and which ones he kept buried. I found myself wishing that one day, he’d let me hear the rest.
I turned and pushed through the balcony door.
When I glanced back, he was already gone.