Catching Pathways

by Danielle Berggren

  Yet little by little, his old adversaries entered the fold.

  His eyes moved over to Maeve. Her hair caught the firelight and soaked it in, so she glowed in the dim light. Was it a trick of the fire? Or was it something else?

  “You’re bloody insane,” Pike said, his voice a rough rasp. “No man can spend that much in a lifetime.”

  “Then you’re already a far cry above the man who stood in your position before. He spent more time whoring and drinking than he ever did in the training yard. I’d expect much more out of you if you’re going to be worth the coin.”

  “Aye,” Pike choked, pushing away his plate. “You’d get it.”

  Soon afterward, as the suns left their final streaks of paint on the horizon, Rodan cleared the table and banked the fire. Pike and Maeve spoke together off to the side, as had become their habit in the last few days. Rodan left them to it and entered the pavilion.

  He drew himself a hot bath and stripped down to nothing but his gloves, settling into the deep copper tub with a sigh. Even with a hardy Fae constitution, travel still took a lot out of him, especially with such little respite. He did not remember the last time he relaxed. As a ruler, he battled one crisis after another, and there were the long years of awaiting Sebastian’s play on the throne, and the decades of exile, and now this.

  I’ll get little rest at the end of this journey. If I win, there will be a great deal of damage to undo, and little time to waste in doing it. If I lose... well, I won’t have to worry about anything anymore.

  If the playing field remained fair, Rodan would be the victor against Sebastian. He possessed greater skill with a sword and remained difficult to kill, but Sebastian was a trickster. He would have something up his sleeve that would make the duel difficult for him. He would cheat, be cutthroat and ruthless, so long as it got him what he wanted.

  Rodan could respect that, to a degree. Not long ago, he thought along the same lines. Yet, now? Now, there was something else to strive for.

  Maeve.

  As the hot water seeped into his bones, Rodan wondered what he would do about the Nyx threat. He must regain power, to pull all the Realms together again as they once were, before he might tackle that problem. There must be more out there. The Realms may be crawling with the creatures by now, lurking in crevices and caves where no one ventured, stealing out to take children and babies in the night. How much would be chalked up to happenstance? A wild animal? How great would the Nyx numbers grow, through the years, before they became too much to stop?

  The thought became enough that cold infused his limbs, making them heavy.

  A rustling sounded from the front of the tent, and Maeve called out, “Rodan?”

  “I’m here,” he said, sitting up in the tub. “Do you need something, Maeve?”

  Footsteps, and he sensed her on the other side of the wooden partition that separated his bathing area from the rest of the space. “I was just—” She paused, and he closed his eyes. He pictured her, sucking in her bottom lip while she fiddled with her clothes and glanced away. She sighed. “I want to make sure you’re okay. You seem distracted.”

  He turned his head to the screen. “There are many things which occupy the mind of a king.”

  “You’re not a king yet,” she said, amusement in her voice. “You’re always saying that.” Another pause. “Rodan? If—when you win back the throne, what will you—I mean, what do you want to happen? With us?”

  He stood, letting the water sluice off him, and stepped from the copper tub. He grabbed the drying sheet hanging from a rack and wrapped it around his waist. His hair still dripped, but he did not care. If they were going to have this discussion, he’d be damned if they had it separated. He wanted to see her face.

  Maeve’s lips parted when she beheld him, her eyes flicking down to his bare chest and a flush rising to the surface of her cheeks. Rodan did not stop moving, coming to a stop only when he stood right in front of her. He reached out, linen gloves on, and grasped her by the back of the neck, gently pulling her forward and bending to capture her lips with his.

  She gasped into the kiss, and he used the motion to deepen it, sweeping his tongue down and tasting honeysuckle and peaches and the sweet white wine she drank at supper.

  Rodan had kissed before. Many times, over the long years. Nothing filled his head with the rush he experienced when he kissed Maeve. It set his entire body alight, like he might run out into the world and keep running until dawn kissed the sky. His heart soared, while at the same time he was held in place, tethered to her. The sensation of her, as her fingers slipped over his wet skin and her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, was indescribable.

  Closer. She always wanted him closer.

  They kissed until she broke away, gasping, her pulse jumping in the hollow of her throat and her liquid amber eyes dark with desire. “Rodan—”

  He was not done with her. Bending, he lifted her into his arms. She gave a small squeak as he did, her arms tightening around his neck.

  Rodan carried her to the bed, dimming the lanterns as he did so until they stood in shadows. He laid her down, following her, so he stretched out beside her, his arms about her waist and under her knees. Her shirt pulled down, exposing the soft curve of one of her breasts, and he kissed the skin above it, her heartbeat jumping beneath his lips.

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  He trailed kisses along her throat and beneath her jaw, nibbling on her ear and smiling as she squirmed and sighed beneath him. His hand rose to cup her bottom, and she threw one of her legs over his hip, pressing closer.

  Rodan brought his lips back to her, and their hands explored while their lips and tongues warred. He cupped her breasts and rolled, so he was on top of her, his hair a tangled mess of sodden strands which he flung to one side to stay out of their way. She laughed and pulled him back to her mouth, her smile wide as they kissed.

  He breathed her in. Committed this to memory. If the years were kind, he would experience this much and more with her as time went on. One day, if fate were not on his side, all he would have were these memories.

  The thought pulled him back from her, and he nuzzled his face into her hair, inhaling the scent of her mixed with the dust from the road and sweet sweat. “Maeve,” he murmured. “Tell me what you want.”

  Her hands gripped his shoulders, and she moved in delicious ways beneath him. “I want you.”

  Rodan shook his head, still pressed into the cloud of her hair. “I mean when this is over. When I have won back my throne. What do you want?” He lifted his head up so he caught her eye, and knew his own must be shifting and changing by now. “Tell me.”

  Maeve’s eyes danced as she searched his face, a slight frown curving down her lips. “Why? What do you want?”

  He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, “I have made my intentions clear, I believe. Not just all those years ago, but now. Yet I hear nothing from you. You do not say if you wish to go back to your world, or if you might stay in mine.”

  She pushed at his chest and he rolled off her. She followed, so she sat astride him, her hands on his chest as she looked down, a serious set to her face. “I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to place myself somewhere I’m unwanted.”

  He gripped her wrists. “You’re wanted.”

  Her eyes shone, glimmering with unshed tears. “I don’t know if I believe that,” she whispered.

  His chest ached. Something pressed down on him. He remembered Pike’s words when they had their discussion about Maeve. So, do you love her? His fingers convulsed around her wrists, and he let them go, rising up on his elbows, so they were mere inches apart.

  Rodan studied her face, saw the diamond glisten of tears at the corners of her eyes. His heart thundered in his chest, and the emotion hit him like a boulder crashing down from some great height. Of course. It was so simple.

  He opened his mouth, closed it, and spoke through the tightness in his throat. “I love you,” he sa
id, the words a rasp on the wind. “I love you,” he said again, the words coming out clearer. “Maeve, I have never wished to bond with another before. I have never offered the queenship before. It has only been you. It has always been you.”

  Her fingers dug into his chest, and she stared at him unblinking. She shook herself, and two tears fell in graceful tracks down either cheek. “You do?” she whispered.

  Rodan nodded. “I do. I have never said those words to another, Maeve. Not in two thousand years.”

  She licked her lips, still staring. “I ca—I can’t say it back, Rodan. I don’t know how. I care about you. Deeply.”

  “I know,” he murmured and reached out a hand, pulling her down on top of him. He nuzzled her neck, laying a gentle kiss along the pulse points there. “You ask what I want. I want this. This closeness.” He swallowed hard. “I want to bond with you. I want to share a lifetime with you—however long that ends up being. If our time is short, I would have you. I would have it all, for I would keep nothing from you.”

  She shook her head but said nothing.

  “I know you don’t want us to,” he said, “but I need you to understand what I want, since you asked.” His arms wrapped around her, and he ran his hands up and down her back, the motion soothing. “I want this. I want to see you before the end of every day. I want to touch you, hold you. You deserve every happiness, Maeve. I want to give it to you. I want to enjoy it with you. I want to see your face light up in joy, and I want to be there if it crumbles into sorrow, so I can kiss away your tears.”

  She trembled in his arms, her hands convulsing on his shoulders.

  “I love you,” he said again. He did not seem capable of stopping, now that he started. “And I do not need it from you. I’ll admit to my own selfishness. What matters is I love you. Love you as I have loved no other, can love no other. I will love you enough for the both of us.”

  She lifted herself off him enough to look into his eyes, her face stained with tears. She offered him a small smile. “We can’t bond,” she murmured. “I can’t have you do that. If I were to die—I don’t want you to follow me.”

  I would follow you anywhere.

  He said nothing.

  “But everything else? Everything else is up for grabs.” She leaned down and kissed him, the trembling in her body echoed in her lips. The kiss sweet, soft, and gentle. He leaned into it, took what she gave him. Not a promise. Not words of love in return. No. He felt her give herself. A tendril of her trust.

  They kissed until she lagged, her body growing heavy. He rolled them to their sides, and she sighed as she tucked her back against his chest, her head resting against his outstretched arm. He pulled her close with his other arm and rested his chin against the crown of her head.

  Never had he known such peace. Lying there, warm and sated, as natural as breathing. Gone was his adversary. In her place, a woman he would treasure for the rest of time, if time were allowed.

  Please, all the gods, let it be allowed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Maeve

  VISANTIUM ROSE OUT OF THE SANDS like a clump of cave crystals jutting straight upward into the sky. The suns’ reflection off the glass nearly blinded Maeve, even from a distance. She shaded her eyes and squinted. Hazy lines of heat disturbed the scene, preventing her from seeing any movement within the city.

  She spurred Leona on, grateful once again that Rodan transmuted all they needed. Without that gift, they would need to lug packs of water to make it this far across the vast desert. Leona remained well watered, and though she breathed heavy under the beating suns, she wasn’t in any danger of dehydration.

  He created different clothes for Maeve, so she dressed herself in garments suited for the unrelenting heat of Rizor and Tegal. Loose, billowing fabric covered her from neck to ankle, the sweat gathering on her skin evaporating within to help cool her even in the middle of the day. She wore a wide-rimmed sun hat to keep her face in shadows. Still, the sun darkened her already tanned skin.

  Rodan rode ahead, Ender carving the path through the hard-packed sands that Leona followed. Pike and his horse, River, took up the rear. They fell into this pattern some days past and followed it each day since.

  They had been traveling more than a week when the tips of the spires of Visantium appeared to them, and it took another day before they reached the gates. Each day was like an endless trudging in the vast parched landscape. When they bedded down for the night, Maeve practiced her swordcraft with Pike and Rodan. Then, unless exhaustion took her, there remained all the pleasures to be found in Rodan’s bed.

  Her flashbacks to The Lady of Light grew few and far between, now. When they hit, Rodan became gentle. Understanding. Compassionate.

  But more frequently, the two of them synced up, and those nights became heady things. Never had she experienced so much all at once. No other lover came close to his skills or his attentions. Sometimes he made her shiver with a mere glance, or the gentle touch of one gloved finger. Gloves of the finest linen, soft like silk where they brushed her.

  They did not consummate their relationship. Not yet. Maeve burned for it, but every time they might cross the line, Rodan pulled back.

  Maeve wanted to get him alone in a real room in a real bed, where walls muffled the sounds, and they would not need to worry about Pike being so close by. For all that her friend suspected what happened between the two of them, she didn’t want to rub it in his face. It felt—wrong.

  Her relationship with Pike shifted. He took to her like an old professor, advising and guiding. Where once they joked and jostled as equals, now there stood extra years and much hardship between them. Maeve wanted to climb that wall and understand him better, but Pike held back. She understood the desire to do so and gave him his space.

  Now, reaching the gates, Maeve wondered what they might encounter in the city. The last time she came to this Realm, she and Sebastian avoided Visantium. Garrisoned with the royal army, the city stood ready for them to come by. It was always been intensely loyal to the crown. Instead, she, Sebastian, and the others worked in some villages and farming communities near the river, helping fight off an infestation of sand worms. The people crowned them, going against the wishes of the rulers of the Realm.

  The sand worms, rare this time around, they sometimes glimpsed cresting on a distant dune. The worms were not aggressive, typically, unless they were breeding. That time, long ago, they had been, and dozens of them tilled up crops and destroyed wells. She and Sebastian spent as much time repairing infrastructure as they did hunting down and eliminating the creatures. The real threat had been the dragon riders, an elite force of the royal guard who had been sent to survey the area and capture their group.

  They didn’t ride actual dragons. It was an honorary title gifted to some of the most skilled horsemen and trackers the imperial guard produced—and most of those hailed from Visantium to begin with. Maeve had been forced to brew a range of disguise potions to throw off their pursuers.

  As they grew closer, Maeve closed ranks with Rodan, and Pike came up from behind so the three of them rode side by side. Visantium, ringed on all sides by a high wall of stones topped with spikes, possessed a single entrance guarded well by soldiers in rounded, brilliantly polished helmets.

  “We’ll ask to see the sultan,” Rodan said as they neared the perimeter. “He should know me. His family and I have been friends and allies for many years.”

  “How many years are we talking, here?” Pike asked.

  “Enough that I have seen more than twenty generations of the Basu family grow, produce children, and die. Bairam was a young man newlywed when last we met. He must have a large family by now.” Rodan sounded wistful at that last, and it pricked Maeve’s ears.

  Does Rodan want a family?

  The thought, which used to chill her when she slept with other lovers, instead made her stomach flutter with nerves.

  Rodan reined up as they approached the sentries. “Hail and well met,” he cal
led. “We are travelers seeking—”

  “You are King Rodan,” the nearest guard interrupted. “And his companions, Maeve Almeida and Pike Stoneman. You are expected.”

  “Are we?” Rodan asked.

  The man nodded and motioned toward the opened gate with his spear. “We have an escort for you. You will go straight to the palace.”

  Leona danced to the side, closer to Rodan and Ender. “Is this okay?” Maeve asked.

  Rodan gave a short nod and spurred his horse forward.

  Flanked by two guards on either side who jogged to keep up with their horses, unease stole over her. The guards held spears pointed skyward. Each of those spear blades was as long as Maeve’s forearm, and they swayed right at eye level with her, flashing in the light of the twin suns.

  She tore her gaze away from them and stared out at the street scene instead. The grand avenue, more than forty feet side to side, contained a bustling market. Stalls set up along either side of the road, with merchants hawking their wares. Dates, pistachios, dried meats, lentils, bird eggs, breads, and honey were all on offer alongside bolts of silk and linen, copper cookware, jewelry, and wooden carvings.

  Some stalls cooked sweet meats, toasted nuts and seared bread, heady with spices she had no name for. Voices were raised as people haggled with one another and jostled for position next to the popular vendors. Few people noticed their passing.

  As they rode, the road widened, and the central spire that made up the bulk of the palace rose before them. Everywhere in Visantium shone glass. Glass shaded by striped and geometric-patterned awnings, or by tall date palms, but glass shimmering and reflecting light until the city shined gold and silver. The spire at the center of the palace twisted like molten metal until it disappeared into a high point topped with beaten gold. Atop the points of each glass tower waved the banner of Visantium, the sigil a blazing red phoenix against a yellow background.

  Before the palace rose another wall of stone, worn smooth by clever hands so no footholds existed for thieves to climb over. Here, more guards stood, one every few feet not unlike the royal guard outside of Buckingham Palace back in her world. They stared straight ahead as her company approached, only the two before the gate moving aside, so they passed under the carved stone archway.