He busied himself with breaking the branches into forearm-length pieces and piling them into the fire pit at the center of the site. When it was arranged to his liking, he held out his hand and concentrated. An instant later, a swirl of smoke rose out of the pile. Within moments, the entire bunch flickered with red-orange flame.
Arianne felt a sharp pang of jealousy. She had once been able to wield such powers. All of her people could. And perhaps, if the confrontation with her sister went according to plan, they soon would be able to again.
Rather than dwell on her jealousy, Arianne fell back on the teasing attitude that had become her way of dealing with the all-too-serious warrior.
“Any humans within five miles will be able to smell the campfire.”
He shrugged and held his hands closer to the heat.
Since he did not seem inclined to leave his handiwork, Arianne grabbed a pair of hand pies and joined him next to the fire. The warmth of the flame washed over her face and it took all her self-control not to dive into it. She handed him a pie and then settled onto the ground as close to the heat as she could stand.
She took a bite of her pie—a delicious mixture of carrots, onions, and purple potatoes—and could not hold back the groan of pleasure. Food in her stomach. Heat from the fire. Perhaps she truly was the spoiled weakling so many assumed her to be. One day of hard walking and cold weather and she was ready to curl up into a little ball.
Tearloch rose and moved away, but she couldn’t bear to turn away from the fire long enough to see what he was doing. He returned shortly, the blanket containing the rest of their dinner cradled in his arms.
He set the bundle down next to her and held up the empty sweet-meade bottle from their lunch. “I’ll get water.”
As she hungrily devoured both her pie and the one he had left behind, she watched him walk to the lake’s edge and bend down to fill the bottle with icy mountain water.
“It’s amazing,” she said as he returned to her side, “how much better a bit of warmth and food makes everything seem.”
Just then, a bold breeze blew across the lake, whistling around their campfire and racing down her spine. Tearloch carefully moved the food to the ground and then held out the blanket in which it had been bundled.
“Wrap this around your shoulders,” he said. “It will ward off the chill from behind.”
Arianne accepted the blanket and braced herself for the seemingly inevitable. Why can’t you warm yourself? What’s wrong with your powers? What’s wrong with you?
Tearloch sat next to her, nothing more than a thin linen shirt separating him from the elements, without so much as a shiver. But to her surprise, he did not ask the questions.
The Moraine might have been a gray clan, sworn, like the Deachair, not to harm humans for magical gain, but they still had access to their full powers. They could still feed their magic with negative human emotion. Pain. Sadness. Grief. They could capitalize on the natural pain of mortal life.
The Deachair could not.
It had been so long since she could freely use her powers, Arianne had stopped even trying. What used to be habit now seemed a trick of memory.
As she wrapped the blanket around herself, she felt out of place next to the fae warrior. She felt… weak. That was not a feeling she enjoyed.
She reached instinctively for the fox pendant that hung from the chain around her neck. It had long ago become a kind of talisman, a touchstone that she could hold and feel when the world became too much. That reminded her that there was good in the world, and that if she only had patience and persistence, things would work out.
Some days it was hard to maintain her optimism.
“What is that?”
His question tore her out of memory.
“Oh, this?” She glanced down at it, as if having to reassure herself of what she held. “A lucky charm of sorts.”
She held it out to the end of the chain for him to see. But he only seemed to be looking at her.
He said simply, “The fox is the sign of the Moraine.”
There was something in the way he said it, like it was an accusation, that had her stuffing it back beneath her shirt.
“I know.”
“Then why do you wear it?”
She shrugged again. “Once I was lost,” she said. “It was a gift from the boy who found me.”
He stared at her for what felt like an eternity. She expected him to say… something. Do something. Demand she remove the symbol of his clan, demand she throw it in the lake, something.
He pushed to his feet.
“Do not sleep too close to the fire,” he said. “Though the warmth is tempting, it is also dangerous.”
And with that he took his blanket to the opposite side of the clearing. Arianne watched through the flames as he unrolled the blanket, spread it on the ground, and then settled down on top of it. Body straight, eyes closed. He was asleep. Or at least pretending to be.
Arianne was not certain what just happened. Had she offended him? Upset him?
She couldn’t tell. Nor should she care. The morning would come sooner than she liked. And with it came problems far bigger than the differences between the Moraine and the Deachair.
Tomorrow, she would face her sister. For the first time since the curse. For the first time since Callistra fled their home, taking with her their father’s sanity and their clan’s safety.
Tomorrow, Arianne would try to make it all right.
Tomorrow, she would need to be stronger than ever.
Which meant that tonight she needed to sleep.
Packing the remains of the dinner away, she made her own bed in the way Tearloch had. Rolling onto her side to face the fire, she pulled the extra blanket over her. As she drifted off to sleep, she swore she saw Tearloch facing her through the flames. Facing her, and watching her.
Chapter 10
Tearloch was already awake when the first rays of dawn crested in the valley. In truth, he had not slept much at all in the night.
She still had the fox. Kept it and wore it.
He had been shocked beyond belief to see the small silver charm clutched between her fingers. The shiny silver fox he had impulsively given her all those years ago.
The moment the young princess walked through the palace doors, swept into the entry hall with all the brightness and energy of the sun, Tearloch had not been able to take his eyes off her. She was still a child—two or three years younger than he at least—but something within her called to him. As if the light in her pulled at the dark in him.
He wanted to smile, to grin like the silly boy he had never been. But his father stood beside him, the Captain of the Royal Guard, rigidly on duty to protect the royal family. Even on a night of pure celebration.
Tearloch was prepared to stand there, to maintain his own rigid posture as a future member of the guard. As the future captain. He had been groomed for the role since birth, and its obligations came easily through habit.
But then his mother swept into the hall, a lady in waiting to the queen who wore pretty frocks and flowers in her hair. All it took was a warm smile, and the captain bent to her every will.
“Go,” she said, leaning down to Tearloch as she untied the sash that declared him a guardsman-in-training. “Have fun this night.”
He flicked a glance at his father, who—after but a moment’s hesitation—nodded.
Tearloch had not waited for further response. He dashed into the ballroom, not to find his friends, not to find the resident prince, but to find the visiting princess. He kept his distance, pretending to be interested in sugary-sour lemon water and tiny cakes, to be enjoying the music and watching others dance. But all the while he watched her.
When he saw her sneak out the french doors that led to the patio and the gardens beyond, he couldn’t help but follow.
He watched her enter the hedge maze, knew that the twists and turns within were difficult enough to manage during full daylight, let alone in the dark of
night. He waited until she was in long enough that he knew she had to be lost, and then he found her.
As he guided her out, felt the trusting pressure of her hand on his arm, he finally knew the true reward of duty, the true meaning of becoming a protector. It was in that moment that he truly embraced the purpose of his future.
And why it could never include her.
For she was a high princess, a royal fae destined to lead and to rule and to wed another of equal birth. He was a born warrior, bred and trained to protect his kin and kingdom. It was his honor to do so, even if that duty came at a price.
He allowed himself one moment of weakness. Gave her the Moraine talisman from around his neck, pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. And vowed to never think of her again.
He had thought of her for countless nights since. Seeing that silver fox had brought all of those memories. He had felt the overwhelming urge to reach out to her, to take her hand in his and tell her that, once again, he would see them through this maze and they would come out together at the other end. A silly, childish fantasy.
Princess Arianne, however, had no such fantasies. Clearly she did not recognize him as the boy who found her in the hedge maze.
It was better that way. Easier.
He moved around the camp, gathering their supplies as quietly as possibly. The princess had not had his same trouble sleeping. She lay facing the fire, her cheeks flush from the heat. Dark lashes swept low.
The fire had held through the night because he fed more branches into the flames each time they threatened to go out. He did not want to risk it dying, risk seeing her very nearly blue with cold as she had been on the trail.
Why could she not heat the air around her? All fae had at least some level of control over the elements around them. An ability to manipulate them to varying extents. Even at their weakest, the ability to maintain temperature was one of the most basic fae powers.
He knew the Deachair suffered from weakened powers, much like the Moraine. But to not even possess so basic an ability? Had her entire clan fallen so far, or was it only the princess’s powers that were so weak?
It was not his place to wonder. And if the quelling look she had cut him when she confessed the fact was any indication, she did not welcome his intrusion.
Which was just as well. He had no business worrying about another clan’s princess. As captain of the royal guard had no business worrying about a princess at all.
Her arms reached out from under her blanket and she stretched them over her head.
She groaned. “How is it morning already? I feel like I haven’t slept at all.”
“The sun waits for no fae.”
She jerked upright, as if she’d forgotten she was not alone. Her dark chocolate gaze swept around the campsite before landing on him.
“Sorry,” she said. “I guess I just…”
“Forgot where you were?” he finished.
She smiled sheepishly. “Apparently.”
He stuffed his blanket into his pack and then held his hand out for hers. “No point in delaying. If we hurry, perhaps we can be back here before sunset.”
She pushed stiffly to her feet. “Oh joy.”
She handed him her blankets, and in return he gave her a breakfast bun from the provisions. It was the palace cook’s specialty. The size of a man’s fist, filled with ground raisins and dates, and painted on top with sugary icing.
She held the prize to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Mmmmmm.”
He wanted to groan at the look of pure pleasure on her face.
Instead, he barked, “Let’s move. You can eat while you walk.”
He couldn’t be certain, but as he turned away he thought he saw her stick out her tongue. He bit back a smile and threw his pack over his shoulders.
She did the same, carefully protecting the breakfast bun in the process.
Tearloch took the lead, no longer worried that she might run off at the first opportunity. There was nowhere for her to go.
Besides, he had a feeling that she wanted to see her sister for more reasons than just her bargain with the Moraine. She would see this journey through.
He walked in silence. At first because she was busy eating, and then… well, he wasn’t certain why. It just seemed easier to focus on the path ahead than to try to control his thoughts and his words with her.
Halfway through the morning, they reached a wider stretch of the path. The princess took the opportunity to move up next to him.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.
He kept his gaze straight ahead. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I have been nothing but nice to you,” she said, and he could feel her eyes studying him, “and now you’re acting like a jerk.”
“Nothing but nice?” he echoed with a snort.
She huffed out a breath. “You know I was only teasing,” she insisted. “You didn’t take any of it personally.”
He scowled. She was right, of course she was.
But he couldn’t admit as much without also having to admit what caused his change of attitude.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar,” she said. “Last night, by the fire…” She ran her hands nervously over the straps of her pack. “I thought we were… I don’t know, getting along.”
He snorted at the thought. He’d been doing more than getting along. He’d been ready to knock down all of his walls.
“And then, poof, you shut down.” Her hands fisted around the straps until her knuckles turned white.
They took several steps in tense silence and he thought—hoped—she would let the subject lie.
She did not.
“Is this about the fox?” she asked.
“What?” he blurted, looking at her with what he was certain was a horrified expression. Horrified that she came so close to the truth.
She released one strap and pulled the fox out from under her coat. “You reacted strangely when you saw this.” She looked down at it, her smile sad. “Do you want me to take it off?”
He didn’t reply. Couldn’t.
Then she started to lift the chain over her head. He reached out to stop her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist and guiding her hand back down.
“No,” he said quietly. “Don’t.”
“Don’t?” she echoed, her gaze glued to the spot where his skin touched hers.
He released his grip.
“You don’t have to.” He forced an uninterested shrug. “I don’t care if you wear the sign of my clan.”
He felt her glare, felt her eyes bore into his temple as he determinedly avoided her gaze.
Apparently fed up, she huffed out a frustrated sigh and then picked up her pace. He let her go. He knew he was being confusing and frustrating, but he also knew he couldn’t be any other way.
From the moment he had first seen young Princess Arianne of the Deachair, she a mere seven years old and he a bold boy of ten, she had held a small corner of his heart. A corner that could never be unlocked. A soldier did not dream of the princess. Especially not a princess who had very nearly wed his best friend.
He closed his eyes for a few steps. Shook his head as he walked, hoping to rattle some sense into his mind. Surely he could act like a normal fae without opening his entire heart to her.
He opened his eyes, ready to apologize. Only she wasn’t there.
“Princess?” he called out as he picked up his pace. “Arianne?”
His heart had only just started to race when she reappeared around the corner ahead of him. “Yes?”
Struggling to get his fear under control, he said, “Don’t get so far ahead. Stay in my line of sight.”
She frowned at him. “Then try to keep up.” She turned and kept walking, calling back over her shoulder, “The sooner we get this done the better.”
Tearloch winced at her tone. He deserved that. With any luck, he could go the rest of the journey without doing anything more he would need
to apologize for when it was over.
As he hurried to catch up with Arianne, he had a feeling that was going to be next to impossible.
Chapter 11
The absolute quiet was her first clue. Since their… whatever it was, she and Tearloch hadn’t spoken a word. But as Arianne led the way up the path, she suddenly realized that more than her companion had fallen quiet. Nature was silent around her. Not a bird sang, not an insect chirped, not a tree rustled. Even the wind had fallen. The entire natural world was still.
It was unnatural.
The realization so stunned her that she stopped dead in her tracks.
Tearloch did not stop so quickly, crashing into her from behind.
“What the—“
She whirled around and slapped a hand over his mouth before he violated the silence further. His silver eyes burned, a clear indication of exactly what he thought of her forcibly quieting him.
Slowly, his fingers wrapped around her wrist and he tugged her hand away. But he did not speak. Instead, he lifted his brows in question.
Arianne raised up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “The silence. Do you hear it?”
He nodded.
“We are near,” she finished.
But she did not immediately lower back to her heels. Without conscious thought, in an effort to keep her whisper as quiet as possible, to get her mouth as close to his ear as possible, her entire body had pressed close to his. Beneath her palms, his shoulders were strong and firm. His chest rose and fell with steady breath—far steadier than her own. And the heat from his body… it filled her with a greater warmth than she could ever remember feeling.
She had not been this close to any other in years. None in the palace would dare to presume such intimacy. Her mother had been gone so long she could barely remember her touch, and even before her father disappeared the madness had stolen his affections from her.
She felt, at once, the simultaneous urge to pull Tearloch even closer and to shove him as far away as possible.
She did neither.
“You need to wait here,” she told him. When he opened his mouth to argue, she added, “I must approach first. It will be safer.”
When Magic Dares Page 5