She sniffed, wiping at the tears streaming down her face. “What about political alliances? A marriage is the quickest way to cement an alliance. A trump card sits in your back pocket. You said so yourself.”
“One I will never play.” His hand remained where it lay, impassive but calling to her, asking her to take it. “In all my years, I never came across someone I wanted as much as I want you. I will do what it takes, however long it takes, to prove that to you.”
She hesitated, reaching a hand out to his, but pulling back before their fingers touched. “I don’t know how,” she whispered.
“How to what?” he asked, his green eye beginning to swirl with a brilliant array of colors.
“How to trust you,” she admitted, staring back at him. “How to trust anyone.”
He gave her a little half smile. “Small steps, Maeve. Trust is not something earned overnight, but I will earn yours. Again, however long it takes. I will show you can trust me.”
Her hand slipped into his, and he squeezed it. She drew in a shaking breath. “Will you hold me until I fall asleep? Just hold me.”
He nodded, and as soon as she lay down, he stretched out beside her. She grasped his hand and brought it around her waist, pressing her back into him. His breath tickled her ear, and she closed her eyes, relishing the sandalwood and smoke scent of him. A small part of her sensed his presence and wanted to scream, to kick him and get as far away from him as possible. The rest of her relaxed at his nearness, the tightness in her muscles unwinding as his breath synced up with hers.
She did not remain conscious of how long they lay there, not speaking, until she fell asleep. When she woke, he sat back at his bed, reading a book. She stared at him, sure he was aware of her even though he did not look up from turning the pages. The book, one from her world—Astrophysics for People in a Hurry—looked incongruous against the curved belly of the ship and the loose renaissance-style clothes.
She studied him as he read. One of his legs folded in front of him and one propped up on the rail so his knee provided the rest for the book. Both hands encased in leather gloves, and she supposed long years of practice made it easier for him to manipulate the world with them on. His shirt cut low enough to expose a deep V down his chest and almost to his navel. The edge of his scar shone in the morning light. She soaked in the sight, up to his face, where his black and green eyes flicked up to meet hers, his thin lips curling upward in a smile.
“You’re staring,” he said.
She turned away and sat up, letting her covers puddle in her lap. The ship was almost perfectly still, and out of the window land grew closer. “We’re here.”
He shut his book. “I thought we might be. I kept hearing gulls. How did you sleep?”
Better than in two weeks, she thought. “Fine. What do you think we’ll find here? More monsters? Another famine?”
“Karst has always been a self-sufficient city,” he mused. “The dragon was an anomaly.” She glanced over, and he slid off the bed, standing and stretching, his hands grazing the ceiling. “How did you kill the beast, last time?”
“I made a dream walking potion and held it until Sebastian and the others got to it while it slept.”
He stilled, hands still touching the ceiling, blinking down at her. “You remained in the dream when it died?”
She nodded.
He frowned, hands dropping to his sides. “That’s almost impossible. You would have felt what it felt, and dragons are notoriously challenging to subdue, even in dreams.”
She smiled, remembering. “We played chess.” A pain lanced through her chest at the thought. The dragon had been intelligent. Cunning. Not cruel. Not like she painted it in the books. It had been too late to wake and tell the others, though, before the glorious creature died. They might have brokered a peace treaty with her. Instead, her bones now lay deep in the earth.
“Chess,” he echoed, his tone flat. “Perhaps we should play a game, soon.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “It’s been a while. I have the feeling you’ll put me through my paces.”
He smiled at her, and his clothing shifted to his usual leather vest, poet shirt, breeches, and tall boots, all in the black and gold colors of his house. “We should get ready to go.”
She nodded and slid out of bed, going to the washroom and locking the door behind her. She sighed and performed her ablutions, dressing from the selection of clothes Rodan left for her. This time she chose colors which echoed his, her bodice black with golden stitching, including embroidered yellow roses. She studied her reflection in the polished mirror bolted to the wall, noting her skin shone a great deal paler than last she checked, with dark circles under her eyes. It wasn’t so surprising. Until last night, she barely slept.
She returned to the cabin where Rodan greeted her with a mug of steaming black tea. “To fortify you,” he said, passing it over to her. He made no comment over her clothing selection, though his gaze flicked over her from head to toe. He noticed, alright.
She cradled the mug to her chest, inhaling the vapors and closing her eyes in pleasure. “Thank you.”
They broke their fast together, Rodan summoning fruits and bread as he often did for morning meals. She pushed the cherries toward him, and he pushed the peaches toward her.
Maeve was struck by how familiar this had become, being with him, and her lips curled up at the thought. This sharing of meals, of talking over anything that ran through her mind at any time, was a foreign concept. Even with her friends before, there had been long silence. Secrets. With Rodan, she was sharing everything, piece by piece.
Even her friends back in her world she kept at a bit of a distance. Her time in the foster system, and losing her friends from the Five Realms when she was eighteen all taught her nothing was permanent. When everything fell apart with time, what point was there of trying to keep it together?
When they finished their breakfast, they went above deck, Maeve blinking in the harsh sunlight. She braided her hair to protect against the sea air, but strands still escaped to whip about her face. The deck, a bustle of activity as men prepared to disembark, was cramped, especially as Maeve tried to stay out of the way. The ship, anchored in the shallow bay, lowered long boats into the water, ready to row to the mainland.
Captain Price spotted them and made his way over. “You can both be on the next boat out,” he said. “I’ll accompany you myself.”
Rodan nodded, and they waited at the railing, looking out over the land spreading before them like a different kind of sea. “What about our horses?” Maeve asked him.
“The sailors possess much more experience bringing horses to land from a ship,” he said. “They’ll follow us soon.”
Maeve, happy to leave the ship behind, did not look back as they rowed to shore. On the beach that led up to the tall grass—taller than she was—she wandered the length, pulling off her boots, so she stepped in the wet sand where the water gently lapped.
The suns beat down hard here and sweat gathered at her neck and trickled down her spine. Rodan kept pace with her at enough of a distance she had her privacy, but close enough he might help if anything went wrong.
He’d been good about that, since Conroy.
She stopped and stared back at the ship, watching the men bring the horses to the deck. Even from a distance, Maeve saw that Ender remained passive. She glanced behind her, to where Rodan stood some twenty feet away, and wondered if he had imparted some instruction upon the spirited stallion. She turned to him, walking along the fine sand that sank between her toes.
She slowed her pace when she stood within a few feet of him, and when she halted, she dug her heels into the sun-warmed sand and squinted up at him. “I need something from you.”
His black hair almost floated off his shoulders in the stiff breeze. He nodded, his mismatched eyes glimmering in the sunlight. “Anything.”
Maeve took another step toward him. “Don’t treat me like I’m made of glass anymore, okay?
” When he frowned at her she continued, “While we remained on board the ship, it was alright. I couldn’t go up on deck without thinking about what happened. We’re moving on now. I have moved on from worse. I want to do it again.”
“Maeve, I don’t think that is the best—”
“I know what’s best for me, alright? When you treat me like I’m fragile, it just reminds me even more of what ha—what almost happened. It’s already hard enough. Don’t make it worse.”
He stared at her a moment before he gave a brief nod. “Alright. I’ll do as you ask.”
She offered him a slight smile. “Thank you.” She moved forward again, this time reaching out to steady herself against his chest. “I missed this.”
Rodan hesitated. She saw it in the tightness around his eyes and the way his hand rose, fell, and rose again to cup her elbow. “I don’t want to push you,” he murmured, his words difficult to understand over the crashing of the waves. “I want you to want this, fully. Not because you think I need it.”
“You’re not worried I’m impure, are you?” she asked, curling her fingers into his shirt. “That doesn’t bother you, does it?”
He gave a quick shake of the head. “It never has. You’re here, with me. That is what matters.”
Maeve rose up on tiptoes, brushing her lips along the edge of his jaw. Not for the first time in the last two weeks, she was glad Rodan did not grow a beard. His skin, smooth and soft beneath her, warm and smelling strongly of sandalwood with a hint of wood smoke, made her toes coil.
Arms encircled her, pulling her close, and she melted against him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. She was not sure if she believed him when he said he would not marry another for political advantage. What he said to her might only be to comfort her as she struggled with what happened. Yet she held onto those worlds.
You are everything.
Voices from her past dismissed those words, told her she was being ridiculous to even consider believing them, but she couldn’t help it. He sounded so sincere.
However long it takes, I’ll prove you can trust me.
Her heart unfolded, tentative and trembling, yet willing to put out a tendril of hope. She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of his skin, and leaned into him. He had stood by her these last two weeks. Longer, too. He did not try to shunt her aside or step into the limelight like Sebastian. He wanted her with him, out in front.
Maybe, this time, she thought, I’ll be lucky.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Maeve
THEY RODE WELL INTO THE NIGHT, resting after the suns rose and began to bake the plains with their twin heat. The grass turned shades of yellow and brown, and whispered against their legs as they rode. More than ever, Maeve thanked the gods Rodan possessed the ability to conjure up whatever supplies he needed. The plains, starved for fresh water, kicked up dust as they moved over the sunbaked soil.
Even at night, sweat trickled down her spine and pooled between her breasts. Leona stopped more often to be watered and panted in the heat of the night air.
They had little strategy to their travels. Karst was a moving city. It would be where it needed to be. Probably near the river. They followed its twisting, winding trail.
As they traveled, they came across the farms that occasionally broke the landscape from the endless sea of grass. They skirted around most of them, but at a few families leaned out of their doorways or ran toward them, waving handkerchiefs and asking for news. They stayed and spoke a little of Ishtem and Nucifera, heard news of Fernvale and Visantium in return, but the farmers always clammed up when they asked after Karst—where it was and if they noticed it recently. One farmer in particular narrowed his eyes at them, spat on the ground, and stomped back to his house with nary a backward glance.
Maeve, a little more wary of strangers now, asked they make camp away from the farms. More danger lay outside of the little settlements of cattle and wheat, yet she slept better. Massive plains cats and herds of wildebeest did not scare her. People did.
When they stopped to rest, they shared a bed. Maeve realized it was easier to fall asleep with Rodan stretched out next to her. He never touched her unless she touched him first, a fact for which she was grateful. She would almost always start out in his arms, her arm and leg thrown over his lean body and her head resting in the crook of his arm, but as she slept, she would move away until she woke at the edge of the bed.
On the fourth day of traveling, Maeve spotted a glow of orange light on the horizon. “Rodan,” she called out, twisting in her saddle to where he wandered off to her left. “Look.”
He turned his head to the light and a smile brighter than the twin suns broke upon his face. “You found it.”
They traveled toward the light, which grew larger and more intense the closer they moved toward it. Dawn split the sky, and dew gathered on the grass as tents and pavilions finally made themselves known, pennants flying and standards snapping in the light wind. Even from this distance, they were not the crowned golden rose of the imperial crest. If Maeve were to guess, the rearing white stallion on a brown field would greet them.
Maeve pressed Leona to move faster as the city spread out like a great carpet on the horizon, peppering the landscape with figures moving in and out of the tents like ants in a colony, flanked on one side by the dark ribbon of the river. Ender came to her side, Rodan in a relaxed riding pose with his hands just touching the reins.
As they neared the city, a hail called out to them. Though the city did not possess walls or gates, sentries were posted every twenty feet or so along the perimeter, torches lit and crossbows at the ready presented a living wall of sorts.
They were centaurs. All of them.
It had been years since Maeve had last laid eyes on one. As tall as she was atop Leona, clad in leather studded with copper and silver, they cut an imposing figure. Maeve and Rodan slowed as they neared Karst, and Rodan raised his hand in greeting, calling out, “Hail! We are travelers seeking rest in your city.”
The sentry nearest them started forward, and they met between the grassland and the city perimeter. The centaur, a palomino, the blotchy pattern of his hide echoed in his skin, held his crossbow halfway raised, saying nothing as they all came to a stop, facing each other.
“Hi,” Maeve said, smiling. “It’s good to see another face. I’m Maeve.”
The centaur looked at her, a bored expression etched into his features, but he did a double take. “Maeve?”
She tilted her head. “Yes?”
“The Maeve? Maeve Almeida? Who accompanied King Sebastian here when the dragon flew overhead?”
“Yup,” Maeve agreed, glancing at Rodan. “That’s the one. That’s me.”
“Thank the gods you’re here,” he said, dancing in place, his hooves trampling the grass into the dusty ground. “Please, come with me.”
Maeve gave Rodan another long glance. He shrugged, and when the sentry turned, they followed him, urging their horses on. Leona acted as though she did not understand what a centaur was. She snorted and flicked her ears back, her eyes rolling. Maeve leaned down and stroked her neck, shushing the poor creature.
They moved into the line of tents and pavilions. Lanterns hung outside tent flaps and on poles strategically placed every fifteen feet or so to provide the best illumination. Maeve frowned at that. Last time she was here, Karst had been lit at night, but not so brightly.
As the centaur sentry moved through the paths laid out between the tents, they saw humans, goblins, and centaurs moving behind the illuminated canvas. A small child shrieked and was hushed. Soft voices flitted through the gaps in the fabric and tickled at her ears. A mist hugged the ground, swirling as they stepped through it, and dew shone like glittering diamonds on grass so well trampled it made a sort of road for them to walk on.
Their guide led them to the center of the city, where the pavilions grew large enough to accommodate great gatherings of people. He stopped before one of them, an enormous black structure w
hose entrance spanned broad enough and tall enough to let several centaurs cross through walking abreast.
“Wait here, please,” the sentry said, slinging his crossbow on its strap so it lay on his back. Maeve and Rodan did as they were asked, stopping the horses and waiting as their guide disappeared into the shadowed depths.
Maeve touched Rodan’s hand. “I don’t think he recognized you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so, either.” He smiled at her, his thin lips quirking up at the corners. “We may find that a more common occurrence as we move on. You did make something of a splash in the later years, when it became apparent I had a real threat to my throne.”
Maeve remembered. It seemed each city had a more and more difficult quest to accomplish before Sebastian would be crowned. As she grew older, she took a firmer hand in its completion.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the return of the sentry. He gave them a little bow from the waist, his front feet crossing as he leaned toward them. “Lady Maeve, our elders wish to speak with you and your companion.”
Rodan dismounted, holding a hand out for Maeve to help her do the same. She took it, and slid from Leona, standing close to him. She leaned into his warmth, brushing the line of her body against his.
Rodan looked down at her, his expression plain but his eyes sparking with knowledge.
“I’ll take your horses. We have a stable down that way,” the sentry said as he pointed to their left. “Our stable hand will bed them down.”
“Thank you,” Rodan said. Maeve grasped his hand, and he wove his fingers through hers, giving her a slight squeeze.
They entered the tent which, unseen from the outside, burned with bright light. Maeve blinked and took in the space. More than enough for fifty or more people to lounge comfortably.
“Maeve,” a voice called out, and she swung her head around to find the source. Her stomach leaped and her heart pitter-pattered against her chest.
“Pike?”
The man making his way toward her, his motions as smooth and as silent as a feather on the wind, was older than she remembered. Still bald, white overtook his eyebrows so only a few strands of brown remained. A scruff of a beard, also white, covered a face that was overrun with scars. His mouth, which had been cut at one point and never healed right, revealed a bottom lip split in two. And his eye, was—was it missing?
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