I looked back at my mother. This was another reason she hadn’t nurtured my gift. Truth had sharp edges that could gut us whole.
The footsteps paused at the gallery. I was tucked in the shadow of the pillars but Rafe had spotted me anyway. He walked over, his stride slow, tired, and he stopped at my side, looking down into the hall below us. “What’s wrong?”
I looked at him uncertainly, not sure what he meant.
“I haven’t seen you idle since we got here,” he explained. His voice held a weariness I had never heard.
I didn’t want to explain my fears about my brothers. Not now, when Sven barely clung to life. The physician hadn’t given much hope for his recovery. Whatever last words Rafe had whispered to Sven, he had to trust Gwyneth’s claim that Sven had heard them.
“Just taking a moment,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.
He nodded, then updated me on troops, weapons, wagons, all the things I had already checked on, but this was the language between us now. We had changed. The world was beating us down into something we had never been before, molding us day by day into two people who had no room for each other.
I watched him, the smoothness of his brow, the stubble of his cheek, watched his lips moving, and I pretended he wasn’t talking about supplies. He was talking about Terravin. He was laughing about melons and promising to grow one for me. He was licking his thumb and smudging the dirt on my chin. He was telling me that some things last, the things that matter. And when he said we’ll find a way, he wasn’t talking about battles, he was talking about us.
He finished with his updates and rubbed his eyes, and we were back to our world as it really was. I saw the numbing grief that gripped him and felt the hollowness it left behind. Regroup. Move forward. And we did, because there was nothing else to do. He said he was going to bed. “You should do the same.”
I nodded, and we walked down the hall to our rooms, the walls of the citadelle closing in, my chest squeezing with the pluck of the zitaraes and what I knew tomorrow could bring.
We reached my door, and the emptiness twisted tighter. I wanted only to bury my face in my bed and block the world out. I turned to him to say good night, but instead my eyes became locked on his and words I hadn’t even allowed myself to think were suddenly there, despairing and raw.
“So much has been stolen. Have you ever wished we could steal some of it back? Just one night? Just for a few hours?”
He looked at me, a crease deepening between his brows.
“I know you don’t plan to marry,” I blurted out. “Tavish told me.” My eyes stung. It was too late to hold the rest back. “I don’t want to be alone tonight Rafe.”
His lips parted, his eyes glassy. A storm raged behind them.
I knew I had made a terrible mistake. “I shouldn’t have—”
He stepped closer, his hands slamming against the door behind me, caging me between his arms; his face, his lips inches from mine, and all I could see, all I could feel, was Rafe, his eyes broken, glistening, and the strain behind them.
He leaned closer, his breaths labored and hot against my cheek. “There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t wish I could steal back a few hours,” he whispered. “When I don’t wish I could steal back the taste of your mouth on mine, the feel of your hair twisted between my fingers, the feel of your body pressed to mine. When I don’t wish I could see you laughing and smiling like when we were back in Terravin.”
His hand slid behind me and pulled my hips to his, his voice husky, his lips brushing my earlobe. “A day never passes when I don’t wish I could steal back an hour in the watchtower again, when I was kissing you and holding you and”—his breath shuddered against my ear—“and I was wishing tomorrow would never come. When I still believed that kingdoms couldn’t come between us.” He swallowed. “When I wished you had never heard of Venda.”
He leaned back, the misery in his eyes cutting through me. “But they’re only wishes Lia, because you’ve made promises and so have I. Tomorrow will come, and tomorrow will matter, to your kingdom and to mine. So please, don’t ask me again if I wish for something, because I don’t want to be reminded that every day I wish for something I cannot have.”
We stared at each other.
The air prickled hot between us.
I didn’t breathe.
He didn’t move.
We made promises to each other too, I wanted to say, but instead I only whispered, “I’m sorry, Rafe. We should say good night and forget—”
And then his lips were on mine, his mouth hungry, my back pressed to the door, his hand reaching behind me to open it, and we stumbled back into the room, the world disappearing behind us. He lifted me up in his arms, his gaze filling every empty space inside me, and then I slid through his hands, my mouth meeting his again. Our kisses were desperate, consuming, all that mattered and all there was.
My feet touched the ground, and then so did our belts, weapons, and vests falling in a trail across the floor. We stopped, faced each other, fear beating between us, fear that none of this was real, that even these precious few hours would be ripped away. The world flickered, pulling us into protective darkness, and I was in his arms again, our palms damp, searching, no lies, no kingdoms, nothing between us but our skin, his voice warm, fluid, like a golden sun unfolding every tight thing within me, I love you, I will love you forever, no matter what happens. Rafe needing me as much as I needed him, his lips silky, sliding down my neck, my chest, my skin shivering and burning at once. There were no questions, no pauses, no room left for anything more to be stolen. There was only us, and everything we had ever been to each other, the days and weeks when only we mattered, our fingers lacing together, holding, fierce, his gaze penetrating mine, and then fear and desperation faded, our movement slowed, and we memorized, lingered, touched, swallowing tears that still swelled in us, the reality setting in—we had only a few hours. He hovered over me, the flame of the fire lighting his eyes, the world stretching thin, disappearing, his tongue sweet and slow and gentle on mine, and then more urgent, pressing, hungry, the moment becoming the promise of a lifetime, a feverish need and rhythm pulsing between us, our skin moist and searing, and then the shudder of his breath in my ear, and finally, my name on his lips. Lia.
* * *
We lay in the darkness, my cheek on his chest. I felt his heartbeat, his breaths, his worries, his warmth. His fingers absently grazed lines down my arm. We talked like we used to, not about lists and supplies but what weighed on our hearts. He told me about the betrothal and why he couldn’t go through with it. It wasn’t just that he didn’t love her. He already knew what I had been through. He promised himself he wouldn’t do that to someone again. He remembered what I had said about choice, and he knew she deserved that too.
“Maybe she wants to marry you?”
“She’s only fourteen and doesn’t even know me,” he said. “I saw her trembling and afraid, but I was desperate to get here to you so I signed the papers.”
“Sven said breaking the betrothal could cost you your throne.”
“It’s a risk I’ll have to take.”
“But if you explain the circumstances, what the general did—”
“I’m not a child, Lia. I knew what I was signing. People sign contracts every day to get what they want. I got what I wanted. If I don’t fulfill my end, I’ll look like a liar to a kingdom that’s already deeply troubled.”
He was facing an impossible choice. If he did marry her, he could ruin the future of a girl who deserved one. If he didn’t, he could lose the confidence of a kingdom he loved and push it into further turmoil.
I asked him about Dalbreck and what it had been like there when he returned. He told me about his father’s funeral, the obstacles and problems, and I heard the concern in his tone, but as he described it, I also heard his strength, his deep love for his kingdom, his yearning to return. Leading is in his blood. It made the risks he had taken for me and Morrighan all the greater. The
ache in my heart surged. A farmer, a prince, a king. I loved him. I loved all that he ever was, and all that he would be—even if it was to be without me.
I rolled over, hovering over him this time, and I lowered my lips to his.
* * *
We slept and woke throughout the night, another kiss, another whisper, but finally dawn and the world crept back in. Raspberry light glowed around the drapes signaling that our lifetime was up. I lay curled in the crook of his arms and his fingers strummed my back, lightly touching my kavah. Our kavah, I wanted to say, but I knew the last thing he wanted was to be drawn into Venda’s prophecy, though it was already too late for that.
We dressed without speaking.
We were leaders of kingdoms again, the sound of boots and buckles and duty hanging in the air around us. Our few hours were gone, and there were no more to spare. He would begin his day by checking on Sven, and I would leave to inform the Timekeeper of my duties so he could find me as the need arose, because I’d forbidden him to follow on my heels.
When my last lace was tied, I broke our silence. “There’s something I still have to tell you, Rafe, something I’ve already told my father. When we get to the valley and meet the Komizar’s army, I’m going to offer a peace settlement.”
His nostrils flared, and his jaw turned rigid. He bent to pick up his baldrick from the floor as if he didn’t hear me. He slipped it over his head, adjusting the buckle, his movement punctuated with anger.
“I plan to offer the Vendans the right to settle in the Cam Lanteux, a chance for a better—”
He slammed his sword into his scabbard. “We are not going to offer the Komizar anything!” he lashed out. “Do you hear me, Lia? If he were on fire, I wouldn’t so much as piss on him to douse the flames! He gets nothing!”
I reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away. I knew he was still reeling from the loss of Captain Azia and his men. “Not an offer to the Komizar,” I said. “I know he’ll settle for nothing less than our slaughter. The offer is to the Vendan people, Rafe. Remember, they are not the Komizar.”
His chest heaved. “Lia, you’re fighting an army, the Council, the thousands who are behind him and want the same things he does. They’re not going to listen to any peace settlement from you.”
I thought about those who supported the Komizar. The chievdars. The governors who drooled over bounty and wanted far more. The quarterlords, who breathed power like it was air. The soldiers who massacred my brother and his company, then sneered at me as I buried them, and the hundreds more like them, those who reveled in destruction. Rafe was right. Like the Komizar, they would not listen.
But I had to believe there were others who would—the clans pressed into service, and others who cowered and followed the Komizar because they had no other options. The thousands who were desperate for any kind of hope. They were the ones I had to take a chance on.
“Before the battle begins, I am going to make the offer, Rafe.”
“Did your father agree to this?”
“It doesn’t matter. I am regent.”
“The Lesser Kingdoms will never agree to it.”
“They will if Dalbreck leads the way. If we lose, it’s going to happen anyway. And if we win—it still has to happen. It’s the only way for us to move forward. Everyone needs hope, Rafe. I have to give it to them. It’s the right thing to do.”
He argued that there was no time to offer a settlement and the battlefield was not a place to negotiate one. There were tens of thousands in an army that would stretch for miles—I couldn’t speak to them all, and the Komizar wouldn’t listen. The moments before battle were charged with uncertainty.
“I know. But I’ll find a way. I’m just asking you to help me. Without Dalbeck in agreement, I will only be offering them false hope.”
He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if I can make that promise, Lia. You’re asking me to break a treaty that’s centuries old.” He stepped closer, his anger receding. He brushed a wisp of hair from my cheek. “I know what else you plan on doing. I’m asking you one last time. Don’t. Please. For your sake.”
“We’ve already discussed this, Rafe. It has to be someone.”
His eyes sparked again, resisting—it wasn’t what he wanted to hear—but then our attention was drawn to an urgent knock at the door.
It was Aunt Bernette, breathless and holding her side. “Dalbreck troops!” she gasped. “They’ve been spotted! An hour out of Civica.”
My heart caught in my throat. “And the squads?” I asked.
Her eyes glistened with worry. “We don’t know.”
* * *
Rafe, Tavish, and I, and a dozen soldiers rode out to where the troops were marching toward Civica. We saw a brigade of maybe five hundred. Not the six thousand Rafe had requested.
“The rest may be farther back,” Tavish commented. Rafe said nothing.
When they spotted us riding toward them, the caravan halted. Rafe hailed the colonel and asked where the rest of the troops were. The colonel explained that General Draeger had already recalled them to Dalbreck before the colonel got Rafe’s message. I saw the heat glowing in Rafe’s eyes, but he moved on to the subject that at the moment, was more pressing—the princes and their squads.
“They’re here, Your Majesty, riding in the middle,” he said, nodding over his shoulder. “I’m afraid there were losses. We didn’t—”
My heels dug in, and my horse and I flew toward the middle of the caravan. When the Dalbretch blue gave way to Morrighese red, I jumped from my horse, looking for Bryn and Regan and calling their names.
I spotted five horses with large bundles tied up in blankets draped over their saddles. Bodies. My throat closed.
A hand touched my shoulder.
I whirled and faced a man I didn’t recognize, but who seemed to know me. “They’re alive, Your Highness. This way.”
He walked me back in the caravan. He identified himself as a surgeon and then described my brothers’ injuries. The brunt of the attack had been directed at them. “Their men fought valiantly, but as you can see, some lost their lives.”
“The attackers?”
“Dead, but it would have been the other way around for the whole Morrighese squad if the king hadn’t sent a message.”
We reached the wagon, and the surgeon hung back, letting me meet with my brothers alone. My temples pounded. They both lay on bedrolls, their ashen pallor lit with a greasy sheen, but when Regan saw me, his eyes brightened.
“Sister,” he said, and tried to sit up, then grimaced and fell back. I crawled up into the wagon beside them and held their hands to my cheeks. My tears ran through their fingers. They’re alive. Bryn, Regan. I whispered their names aloud as if to convince myself they were really here. Regan’s eyes were wet with tears too, but Bryn’s remained closed, a sleeping elixir keeping him in a dream world.
“We knew it was a lie,” Regan said. “We just didn’t know how deep it ran.”
“None of us did,” I said.
“Before we left, Father whispered to me, find her. He wanted you back too. Is he still alive?”
“Yes,” I answered. I’d already told them about the Viceregent in the message I sent, but now I told him what had transpired these past weeks, and our plan to meet the Komizar in Sentinel Valley. And then, though it hurt to relive it, I told him the truth of Walther’s death.
“Did he suffer?” he asked, his eyes sunken and expression grim.
I wasn’t sure how to answer him and the memory of Walther raging forward into battle surfaced again. “He was mad with grief, Regan. He suffered from the moment Greta died in his arms. But on the field he died quickly—he was a warrior prince, brave and strong, but greatly outnumbered.”
“As we are now.”
“Yes,” I admitted, “as we are now.” I couldn’t sugarcoat the truth for him, even with his weakened state.
“Hold off a few days before you leave,” he said. “And then I
can ride with you.”
I heard the hunger in his voice, his desire to avenge his brothers and ride at his sister’s side. It burned in him. I understood his need, but I sighed. “You have a gash in your side, Regan, that required twenty-seven stitches to close. If it were the other way around, would you take me along?”
His head rolled back. He knew he wouldn’t be able to ride in a few days or even a few weeks. “Damn surgeons. They love to count.”
“You need to stay here. Bryn will need you when he wakes.”
I looked at Bryn, peaceful in his drugged dream world. My sweet young brother looked more like an angel than a soldier. “Does he know what happened?” I asked.
Regan shook his head. “I don’t think so. He was screaming and delirious. He hasn’t woken since.”
I looked down at Bryn’s leg, half of it gone.
“If I’m not here when he wakes, tell him I will make sure they pay. For every life and pound of flesh they have taken. They will pay twofold.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Tavish, Jeb, and Orrin were directing troops to their places in the caravan. We were leaving in three waves. Gwyneth, Pauline, and Berdi walked with lists, checking supply wagons, making sure they were evenly dispersed among the contingents.
I was about to go speak with another regiment that had arrived the night before when Pauline called me over, ostensibly to check on a wagon. I knew something else was on her mind.
“The jacket you ordered is ready,” she said. “I put it in your room.” She kept her voice low, glancing over her shoulder. I had asked her to be discreet. “The dressmaker was not happy. She didn’t understand why you wanted scraps when she had perfectly good fabric available.”
“But she did as I asked?”
Pauline nodded. “Yes, and she incorporated the sewn red scraps you gave me.”
“And the shoulder?”
“That too.” Her expression turned worried. “But you know what everyone else will think.”