by Lindsey Byrd
They parted, breathing hard and ragged, brows resting against each other. Kera’s hair hung down around them, curtaining them in. Hiding them from view. Aurora looked up at her, not letting her go. Strong, capable arms managed her weight with expert talent. Kera half wondered if she’d done this before.
“Don’t stop,” Kera whispered. Aurora adjusted her grip and walked her back to the beach. They stumbled as she needed to let Kera down, but only for a moment. Then, she guided her to the sand. Kera’s back pressed against it. Her hair splayed about her head. Water lapped at their legs, but Aurora was at her side. One arm braced her shoulders, and Aurora’s other hand was dedicated to stroking Kera’s skin. A leg draped over Kera’s body, and none of that seemed as important as the kiss Aurora gave her.
She kissed Kera again. Gently this time. Very gently. They traced their lips together and breathed the same air as one. Their noses bumped, but it was nice. It was sweet. Kera didn’t know what to do with her hands. She didn’t know where to put them.
She cupped one around the back of Aurora’s neck, and the other . . . the other clung to Aurora’s wrist. Traveled with it as her hand stroked along the sides of Kera’s body. Feeling as it dipped back into the water to wash the wet sand off her fingers.
Aurora’s lips slid from hers. She kissed Kera’s cheeks, her lashes, her brow. Her lips mouthed at Kera’s throat, and descended lower and lower. Over her breasts and to her nipples, sucking on the one closest to her. Kera’s head tilted back. A noise pressed out of her mouth as she gasped on the air. Every part of her was alive in a way she couldn’t bear to describe.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, her skin tingled with anticipation as Aurora’s fingers traveled downward. They stroked across her inner thigh, moving back up in a curving arc. The tips of her fingers were soft and gentle along her skin.
The wind blew the water up toward them, coating their legs. Aurora kissed her and never seemed to stop: each touch far more sensuous than the last. Her fingertips nestled between Kera’s legs, and Kera gasped. Her vision went white and she squeezed Aurora’s wrist, desperate for more contact.
Aurora responded immediately. She surged forward and her fingers slid inside. Perfect and wonderful. Their lips met again. It was fast and it was rough, and Kera couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this way about anything. “I found you,” Aurora whispered into her ear. Kera’s eyes opened wide. She stared up at the sun. Life, death, and the time between the two. She held on to Aurora as tight as she could.
“I am found.”
She felt like she was flying.
They did wash eventually.
When their bodies stopped singing. When their skin was flushed with the fever pitch they had fallen into. When their lips continued tingling, but their hands were loath to leave each other’s hold. When Kera looked at Aurora and knew—she never wanted this to end. When the realization that for so long Kera had felt lost, but here with Aurora: she’d been found.
They washed each other. Aurora was careful with Kera’s back, as if the scars John had healed still brought Kera pain. But she kissed them too. She kissed them to make them better, and Kera sighed into the touch. She smiled at the feeling. It was good, so good. Latent tension that Kera barely realized she even had fell from her shoulders, replaced by a soothing relaxation she’d long since missed. When it was Aurora’s turn, Kera took her time. She kissed her beautiful dark skin and sighed into the curves of Aurora’s body. She nosed at parts that were warm and interesting to touch, things she longed to have more time to explore. She looked forward to when they would have that time, when she could lay Aurora down on her bed at the Ivory Gate. There, she could return every favor Aurora gave her, and smile as Aurora lay boneless beneath her.
She wanted Aurora’s happiness. She wanted her bliss and her contentment. She settled for washing her and rubbing a loose cloth along Aurora’s limbs to help her dry. She settled for helping Aurora re-dress, and checking on her blisters that had long since become calluses. And in the end, she settled for one last perfect kiss before they returned to Raslidor and their children.
They walked back together, hand in hand. Faith was kneeling at Raslidor’s side, stroking feathery fur and braiding daisies around the fluffy tail in an endless loop. Aiden was presenting a similar flower crown to Raslidor, who inspected it with the utmost care. Their beak pressed against it, and there must have been excess pollen on the crown, for Raslidor sneezed impressively, wind blowing Aiden’s curls away from his face. He stared at Raslidor like they were the most magnificent thing he had ever seen, and he giggled bright and vibrant.
He turned when he heard them approach. And Kera’s heart swelled as her son pushed himself to his feet and ran to her arms. “Mama!” he called before jumping up to be held. She caught him, hoisting him in the air and holding him to her heart. She breathed him in. He was healthy and safe and well.
Faith stood with far more care, but she was eager as she approached. Aurora wrapped her arms around her daughter and shared a look with Kera. Their families were safe. For now. But, their trials were not yet over.
She and Aurora had already spoken about what came next, and while Aurora wasn’t happy with it, she couldn’t deny the logic. “Aiden, honey, you’re going to stay here with Aurora for a little while, okay?” Kera asked her son. Aiden looked up at her, nose scrunched a little as his lips twisted in a frown. Not quite a tantrum. Not yet. “I’ve got to take care of something, but Aurora’s going to stay with you and you can play with her and Faith as much as you want.”
“You’ll be back soon?” Aiden asked.
“Yes, I’ll be back soon.” She kissed his nose and settled him on the ground.
“Our kin will stay with you in the wood,” Raslidor told Aurora. “We’ll tell them to come. You have nothing to fear during your stay at the Long Lakes.”
“Thank you,” Aurora said.
Kera adjusted her clothes and met Aurora’s eyes. “How do I look?” She was not in a proper dress, nor was she even fully dried. But she didn’t have anything except the trousers in the first place, and her hair would dry during the journey. The overseer would have to manage.
“Unstoppable,” Aurora told her. “Be safe . . .”
Kera nodded. She longed to give Aurora another kiss, even leaned forward to do so, but she hesitated at the last minute and kissed the corner of Aurora’s mouth instead, ever cognizant that their children were standing just there. She’d never made a habit of being intimate in front of her children. Her mother would never have allowed such behavior. But Aurora caught her by the hip and returned the kiss properly, and Faith didn’t so much as blink. Aiden had already returned to playing with the flowers. Neither cared. “You ladies and your strange thoughts.” Aurora kissed her brow, letting her lips linger. “Breathe,” she whispered against Kera’s skin. “And be safe.”
Kera nodded again, mumbling a careful farewell, and then mounted Raslidor. She settled above the wings, just like she had been instructed earlier, and with a few galloping strides, the griffon kicked up off the ground and burst into the sky.
Raslidor’s voice echoed between her ears. They would be at Hame Argyll in a matter of hours.
When Kera was fifteen years old, her father attended a ball at the Sarren estate. He had gone for a political excursion, and needed to discuss business with the man. John had already been studying in Trent by that point, and so Kera had never met him. The ball itself hadn’t even been an important affair. Not in the grand scheme of life. But her father had wanted to show off his children, and she hadn’t been given a choice in attending. Her brothers had disappeared within minutes of the ball starting, leaving Ciara, Gale, and her to their own devices. Those devices namely including Kera listening to Ciara’s endless deluge of information regarding potential marital prospects, and Kera keeping an eye on Gale to ensure she wasn’t going to set anything on fire.
Their mother had dressed them each in fine Trent-woven clothes. Kera’s hair had been
braided in tight rows. Her nails had been scrubbed clean. Her face had been caked with clay to hide the blemishes all teenage girls had. Her mother’d lent her a shimmering necklace and slid earrings into her ears, adding a bracelet for effect. She’d been handed a fan and told to behave, and then was dragged in front of the most powerful man in the colonies.
Curtis Sarren had more wealth than Kera ever dared to dream of. He sat in a place of political superiority, and he peered down his nose at Kera. She curtsied low and polite. She held her tongue and kept her face pleasant and cordial. She didn’t tell him that the serving staff seemed miserable, or that they seemed flighty and uncertain, as if he struck them or kept them unlawfully indentured. That would have been rude.
The ball itself was quite dull. There were few children her age, and the boys that did attend seemed far more interested in chasing her skirt than engaging in conversation. Ciara decided they were all ninnies, and she took Kera by the arm. They walked the grounds for some time, lamenting how boring it all was.
Around that time, they found Gale chatting with one of the boys. He tried to get handsy with her, and she responded by punching him clear in the nose. Blood splattered everywhere and he recoiled badly enough that he didn’t know what to do. Ciara and Kera bracketed their younger sister and snapped at him to leave now. He did so, but not before drawing attention to himself from a neighboring group of partygoers. They all spotted the blood, and for a moment their drama was the focus of the party.
Their father stood on one side of them, while Sarren stood on the other, and they demanded to know what occurred. The boy attempted to say that he’d made a mistake, had fallen and had made a fool of himself, but Gale wouldn’t be cowed. “I punched that skirt lifter in the nose because he was a scoundrel who tried to touch me after I said no!”
The boy demanded that she cease announcing the troubling rumor, but Ciara and Kera had stood at their sister’s side. They’d seen it, and insisted that she’d spoken the truth. They repeated Gale’s declarations. He was a scoundrel and Gale deserved recompense. When their father had stood beside them and asked Sarren what kind of hooligans he’d let into his house, Sarren wrought justice upon the boy.
The fight and argument were swept to the side, and the party continued as if it had never been interrupted. The boy’s parents dragged him from the venue, and Kera’s father told them it was best if they went on up to bed. They didn’t offer much protest, and they looped their arms together and waltzed from the room. Once they had been cosseted away, Gale showed them the desserts she’d pilfered into her shawl before they left. She spread out her haul, and they feasted on crumb cake while the adults continued to prance about downstairs.
In the morning, the boy’s parents offered their father a formal apology, and it was agreed that the boy’s reputation would not be harmed by the event. A lie was made up, he had hurt himself defending a woman’s honor, not attempting to take it by force himself. Their father had told them the boy had learned a valuable lesson and he was unlikely to repeat his antics again. And they watched as the boy was congratulated for his bravery. Even their brothers had gone along with the ruse, urging Gale to use more restraint in the future.
Kera’s first step into public life had been marred by three simple truths that carried her through all her remaining years in polite society. One: politicians enjoyed flaunting their wealth, but they never knew what to do with it once they had it. Two: there were rules in public life that must be followed at all times, and if someone broke out of that mold—it startled others into either complacency or violence. Three: To survive in politics, one must know how to lie and do it better than anyone else in the world. More than that, they needed to be able to get away with it, no matter how many bribes they needed to offer in order to make it stick.
Brennan Wild was a master at all three. Hame Argyll sat as a pinnacle of his brilliance. His intensive studies in architecture had provided him a crisply designed compound. A great wall surrounded the grounds and there were no shortage of servants tending the property within. All of them looked up as Raslidor flew over, shouting in terror and running for cover.
Kera actually felt bad about frightening them.
She did not feel bad about frightening Wild himself. The pompous and pious Overseer of Absalon had been sprawled out on a chaise in his garden, a fine drink in hand, book on his lap, and meal placed on a low table by his seat. He was dressed in expensive clothes that Kera knew for a fact he would never wear in public as they detracted from his façade of gentleman farmer.
He sat up when they landed, one foot sliding off each side of the chaise. His mouth was open and his eyes were saucer wide. He looked like he couldn’t quite fathom what he was seeing, and Kera took the opportunity to unseat herself from Raslidor’s back and steady her legs on the ground. The Overseer of Absalon took his time noticing she was there.
She couldn’t even blame him.
Raslidor was gorgeous.
“Sir,” she greeted firmly, forcing Wild’s eyes to drop to her face. It took him a moment, a long moment, to show some kind of recognition. When he did, he scrambled to his feet and strode to meet her halfway. He loitered before her, hands in the air. He didn’t seem to know how to greet her. That was good too. She wanted him unsettled. “Honored Overseer, sir, I’d like to speak with you about a matter of grave importance.”
“K— L— Widow Montgomery, what is—” The man stopped, shook his head, and then straightened his spine. “Can I offer you something to drink?” he asked, turning on his heel and returned to his chaise. He fetched his bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. She waited as he drank it all in one swallow and then returned to staring at her like he was still trying to convince himself this was all real.
Mori used to complain about the intensity of his smile, muttering on and on about how it was sharklike and awful. Wild was a man both graceful and domineering; one who was comfortable in his skin and knew what that confidence could do to someone. He played the perfect host at all times, and despite his hatred of Mori, he’d always invited him to parties. It would have been inappropriate not to. They both were too well-known and well-situated in the Overwatch for Wild to avoid it, and he always had enjoyed baiting Mori by the invitation.
Kera had no intentions of taking the bait for anything. She had no intentions of letting Wild get under her skin. She’d rehearsed what she wanted to say for the entire flight, and discussed her battle plans and tactics with Raslidor until she was certain she knew how to answer each one of Wild’s protests or admonishments. She was not a child seeking a parent’s approval. She was not a wife begging leniency for her husband.
She was here to make a request of the most powerful man in the country, and she intended to succeed in her quest. Wild had what she needed—legal authority to act. And more than that . . . he had what she needed to save her family from ever struggling with this again. Despite the deep unwavering hatred for this man and all he stood for, she needed him. But that did not mean she would bend for him.
“I do not want a drink,” Kera said. “I wish to speak to the overseer of this nation, and I expect him to attend to me as is befitting a man of his station.” Wild’s eyes narrowed at her sharp words.
“I had not been aware you requested an audience,” he demurred, but this was a dance she knew well. One that she had trained for all her life. She might have spent most of her time as the follower rather than the leader, but she knew how to switch her role. She knew how to move forward instead of backward, knew how to walk the room and do so with her head high. Unlike Mori, she did not falter in her steps.
“You would not have been made aware,” she told him. “It’s all been very recent.”
Brennan Wild smoothed a hand over his purple coat. He straightened his shirt and nodded. Soldiers appeared at long last, brandishing their weapons as though they intended to fight them off. Raslidor’s wings spread wide, and they screeched, stopping the soldiers where they stood, freezing them in open terror.
/>
“Stand down,” Wild snapped at his men. “You are not necessary.”
Raslidor’s wings folded back behind their back, and Wild forced an awkward smile.
Kera hoped that his day continued to be filled with more annoyances. She had no intentions of making this easy for him. “What is it that you wish to speak to me about?” Wild asked once his men no longer seemed ready to open fire.
“The plague.”
Wild’s posture shifted. His mouth twisted. “I understand that you may be concerned about the—”
“It’s not a plague.”
The man sighed and ran a hand over his thick hair. He stepped toward her, expressing the perfect placidity of a politician at work. She was uninterested in his lies and excuses, in whatever he thought he could conjure up to make her believe him. He tried to speak, but she cut him off. She didn’t want to hear him. “The plague is a wraith call.”
At long last, Wild seemed ready to listen. The smile slipped off once more. He examined Kera from head to toe, taking in her poor attire and lack of deference, before returning his gaze to Raslidor. He waved his hand vaguely in her direction and entreated her, “Tell me what you know.”
She did.
Kera told him everything. She reminded him about Travers and his death in prison. She told him about their suspicions of just what Travers had become after death, and the evidence that they’d accumulated. She brought up her husband’s “assassination” attempt, and gave him Raslidor’s testimony as to what truly happened that day, and she relished when he flinched just a little at her words. She explained the notes in Mori’s book, and the shroud that tried to cover his pages. She listed all the houses that were targeted, and the link to the Travers family’s banking connections and the speculations.
She told him everything that had happened on their journey, leaving out only her intimate moments with John Sarren, Rachel the laundress, and Aurora Lawrence. There was no reason to tell him about them, and so her story remained on point, with no scandalous details or fascinating moments he could examine once their business was concluded.