by Amber Argyle
Saw who? Larkin couldn’t ask. This moment belonged between Denan and his friend.
Tam sat up and dragged his hands down the sallow skin of his face. He huffed, “Why couldn’t I dream about Alorica?” He trailed into muttering.
Denan murmured something in return. Urgent piper music worked through the forest, calling soldiers to arms, calling for the Alamant to defend her people.
“That would be for the archers,” Tam said, his fingers twitching toward his bow.
Talox groaned and sat up. He took one look at Tam and frowned. Denan and Talox exchanged a weighted glance, and then both men moved.
Larkin’s magic ached to respond to the call to arms. She flared her sigils, the familiar buzz vibrating just short of painful. She embraced the pain. It made her feel alive, ready.
“Larkin?” Denan strapped his ax and shield to his back.
“Take me with you.”
He followed her gaze to the front line. “We’ve talked about this. You haven’t the training.” And she was too important to risk.
She ground her teeth. “Is this what it means to love you? Long nights of not knowing if you are alive or dead?”
He tugged her forward and kissed her forehead. “What do I always tell you?” he murmured against her skin.
She sighed. “That you’ll always come for me.”
“You two are disgusting,” Tam grumbled.
Larkin pressed her hands to her hot cheeks.
“As if you and Alorica are any better,” Talox said. “I’ve seen you take food from her mouth.”
“Now there’s a woman,” Tam said. “Do you think she’s pregnant yet? I’ve always wanted to be a father.” No sign of the tears he’d shed or the nightmare that must still linger.
Talox rolled his eyes.
“Your turn to stay with the women, Tam.” Denan’s gaze shifted to her. “That is, if Larkin can spare Talox to guard me.”
Tam frowned. “But I want to kill mulgars.”
Denan’s gaze was worried for his friend. “I suppose I’ll manage with just Talox.”
“I’m fine,” Tam insisted.
Denan stepped closer. “Get some sleep tonight—real sleep—and I’ll let you kill mulgars tomorrow.”
Tam wouldn’t meet his gaze. “It’s not that easy.”
Denan rested a hand on his shoulder. “Try.”
Reluctantly, Tam nodded.
“Come on, Denan,” Talox said. “We need to go.”
Denan squeezed Larkin’s fingers. “Get up to safety.” His gaze sought Tam. “Guard them.”
Tam saluted. “An arrow to the face of every mulgar or wraith who dares look her way.”
All too soon, Larkin’s arms were achingly empty. She stared after Denan until the ruins and forest obscured him. All around came the sound of the pipers calling their men to arms.
“Come on. We need to get up.” Tam started climbing. He took up a position with his back to the trunk, his bow beside him.
Larkin sat in her pod across from Mama, who watched her over the edge of her pod. “You really love him.”
“Yes,” Larkin whispered.
“Are you still a maiden?”
Mortified, Larkin buried her face in her hands.
Mama sat up and shifted so her legs dangled over the side of the pod. “We have to talk about this.”
“No, we don’t.”
“I was the village midwife for twenty years. So yes, we do.”
The tips of Tam’s ears turned red. He cleared his throat and stuttered, “I’m just … Better shot. Up.” He pointed as if that made his jumbled words any clearer and started climbing.
“Do you want to make love to Denan?” Mama asked.
Larkin’s cheeks flamed. “The forest take me.”
“So, yes,” Mama said. “Making love isn’t something you’re suddenly good at. It takes practice, selflessness, and a good idea of how your body works.”
From up in the tree, Tam peered down at them.
“Do you mind?” Larkin shot at him.
“Well, I’m just … ,” Tam began. “If you have any tips?”
Mama glanced up at him. “We can have this conversation too, if you like.”
He started back down.
“Later,” Mama said. “In private.”
He stiffened. “Right. Yes.” He climbed back up.
Mama shook her head in disbelief. “Are all pipers this … open?”
“They take classes on women from their mothers.”
Mama considered. “That’s a good idea.” She refocused on Larkin. “Now is not a good time to become pregnant—not until we’re all safe—but there are other things you can do. And it’s good practice.”
Larkin groaned and wished to disappear, but deep down, she was also grateful. As much as she wanted to touch and be touched by Denan, she’d never been further than kissing. And while she knew what came next—she’d grown up on a farm with a midwife mother after all—that didn’t make it less overwhelming.
Mama huffed. “You’re lucky you have me. My mother never spoke of such things.” She launched into a thorough description of how Larkin’s body worked. To Larkin’s surprise, the more Mama spoke, the less embarrassed Larkin became. She even asked a few questions.
“You can always ask more questions,” Mama said.
They faded to silence. The sounds of the battle—shouts and screams and clashing arms—filled up the spaces around them. Ancestors, just let Denan come back to me.
Once again, Larkin was helpless. Not for much longer, she promised herself as her sword filled out the hollow of her hand.
“What … What are they?” Mama pointed toward the battle. Larkin followed the gesture, her body stilling like a nestling at the slithering vibrations of a snake across a branch.
Just visible in the dying light, a wraith glided unnaturally behind the mulgars, which moved in complete sync with each other. It was driving them—driving them to their deaths.
A shiver broke out across Larkin. She fought it, but her instinct to hide from the wraiths was so strong that it didn’t matter that the wraith was so far away she wasn’t sure which one it was. It didn’t matter that she was safe.
“Wraiths,” Larkin whispered, relieved to be able to say the word to her mother. “Wielders of the dark magic.”
“The ones who drive the mulgars?”
Larkin was finally able to explain the curse and the reason why the pipers took girls. “For three centuries, they’ve been fighting, stealing girls in order to continue, but they’re losing. The White Tree is dying. When the White Tree is gone …”
“So is the Idelmarch.” Mama’s lips pursed in a tight line. “Ancestors save us.”
Larkin huffed. “It was our ancestors who got us into this mess.”
Mama nodded in agreement. “Queen Eiryss.”
Larkin gaped at her. “How do know the Curse Queen’s name?”
Mama shifted uncomfortably and looked to the west. “Tell me about this Alamant.”
Larkin watched her mother.
“We all have our secrets,” Mama said. “Tell me about the Alamant.”
Larkin sighed and decided to let it go. She thought of Denan’s home. Heart aching with longing, she described the turquoise lake, the kaleidoscope of lights dancing along the edges of the fish, the elegant hometrees with magical barriers instead of doors and walls, and finally, the White Tree, like sunlit-gilded opals.
“You miss it?” Mama asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Larkin admitted. It was more than just the beauty and the magic. Somehow, the Alamant had become her home.
Sela whimpered in her sleep. Larkin climbed into the pod with her little sister, who twisted around and laid her head on Larkin’s chest. The growing damp spot on Larkin’s tunic made it clear her sister was crying.
“What is it?” Larkin asked.
Sela didn’t answer. It was as if, by not speaking, her sister had absolute control over one thing, and that made her ab
le to bear all the things she couldn’t control.
Larkin hummed and stroked Sela’s hair.
The battle sounded like a distant thunderstorm punctuated with shrill notes. Larkin couldn’t distinguish mulgar from piper in the darkness, silhouetted as they were by distant firelight. Sela gradually fell back asleep. Judging by Mama’s even breathing, so had she.
Tam climbed back to his original branch. “You should get some sleep.” His gaze never left the distant battle.
“So should you,” she murmured.
“Arrows in the face, remember?”
“If the mulgars break through, wouldn’t you hear them coming?”
He wouldn’t meet her gaze. She suddenly realized. It wasn’t just mulgars Tam was meant to defend them from. It was also wraiths.
“They can form behind the lines,” she whispered so her mother wouldn’t hear.
Tam looked guilty. “We have wards, relics like the dampeners that we placed around the perimeter of camp.”
Something about the way he said it made her think the wards weren’t foolproof.
The tree was slick with rainwater, the sky heavy with clouds. Larkin had been plagued by nightmares of Bane’s coming death; even Tam’s magical songs hadn’t let Larkin truly rest. Judging by how often Brenna had fussed in the night, her mother had slept even less.
Larkin slipped out of the pod so as not to wake Sela. “How do we know the moment when the sun rises?” Larkin whispered to Tam.
“Listen,” Tam said.
She stilled. But all she could make out was the distant thunder of battle—piper notes, shouts, and the clash of shields and axes. She waited, nearly asking again when the sounds suddenly died away.
“Without the wraiths to drive them,” Tam said, “the mulgars are far more interested in self-preservation than victory.”
Larkin swung down from the tree. Her feet hit the ground running.
Tam hustled to tug on his boots. “You don’t even know where he is.”
She ignored him as she rushed through the ruins. Moans and screams assaulted her long before she reached the healers’ tent. From the opening, Larkin caught sight of women and boys hurrying among the injured, binding wounds and offering water. The healers moved slower, stitching and setting bones.
Already, a line of dead waited in a neat row. She scanned faces, dreading the fact that she might see Denan. A pair of pipers carried another toward the tent and called out for help. Magalia hustled outside. Blood smattered her dark skin. She wore a kerchief over her black curls. Her cinnamon eyes snagged on Larkin. “Larkin?”
Larkin froze. Magalia resented Denan—he’d been the one to put her husband down before he’d been turned into a mulgar—and she’d never approved of Larkin’s drive to escape the pipers.
“Did you save him? Your friend Bane?” Magalia asked as she motioned the men inside.
Surprised that the woman even deigned to speak with her, Larkin dug her fingernails into her palms and gave a sharp shake of her head. “Not yet.”
Magalia winced. “Sorry, I-I shouldn’t have. I—” She paused at the tent opening. “I’m glad you’re back.”
Larkin’s mouth fell open in surprise. She’d expected judgment and disdain from Magalia, not an apology. “Alorica?”
“Not trusted to leave the Alamant yet,” Magalia answered as she disappeared inside.
Too bad. Larkin would have liked to see her friend. “Have you seen Denan?” Larkin called, but Magalia didn’t answer, and Larkin couldn’t make herself go after her.
Tam jogged up behind Larkin. “Woman, when are you going to learn to listen?”
Worried about Denan and sick about Bane, she whirled on him. “Where is he?”
He took half a step back and swallowed. “Probably meeting with his captains. He’ll come to you when he can.”
“Take me there.”
Grumbling under his breath about women and glaring, Tam stepped around her and headed to an ancient pavilion set back from the line. Half a dozen men milled about in the dimness.
Halfway there, she caught sight of a man bent over a table. She recognized the breadth and set of his shoulders. His dark hair. “Denan!” He turned at her cry and braced himself as she ran up the steps and threw herself into his arms. “You’re all right.”
He squeezed her. “It’s nice to have a woman besides my mother worry about me.”
Men around them chuckled. She looked around for Talox and instead locked gazes with Denan’s uncle, Demry. The man frowned at her. Embarrassed, she pulled back and dropped her gaze to the floor.
Denan brushed at the blood that had smeared from his armor to her tunic. Mulgar blood, thick and black. “You’ll have to wash that.”
Wincing, she pulled her sticky tunic away from her skin. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was just so worried.”
“We’re nearly done anyway.” He linked hands with hers and turned back to his captains. “Send the engineers ahead—”
“Already done, my prince,” Demry said gruffly.
Denan nodded. “Very good. See the men fed and have an hour’s rest. Send word with any news of Gendrin. The rest I think you can manage.”
The captains grumbled their assent. Demry marched out without a backward glance.
Denan motioned to two of his pages, who hung back outside the pavilion. They trotted up. “Clear out uppermost spring for the women and see if Larkin’s family would like to bathe.”
The two boys took off in opposite directions.
Denan and Tam shared an entire conversation in a single glance. Tam nodded goodbye and left. The rest of Denan’s pages retreated as he took Larkin’s hand and led her into the pattering rain.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“We must have thinned the mulgars’ numbers the night before. They never came close to breaking our line. We only lost two men—one of whom tripped on the wall and fell.”
Two still seemed like too many.
She glanced back at the retreating men. “Where’s Talox?”
“Washing up and getting some sleep before we have to move out again.”
Her gaze flitted on Demry, and she looked away. “He hates me.”
Denan shot her a confused look.
“Your uncle Demry.”
Denan didn’t deny it. “He’s never been married or had children of his own, so he’s always doted on Wyn and me.”
“Wyn,” Larkin groaned. Larkin hadn’t considered Denan’s seven-year-old brother. The boy worshipped Denan. “He’s never going to forgive me either.”
Denan’s expression was troubled. “Rebuilding trust takes time.”
The way he said it made Larkin think he hadn’t completely forgiven her either. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. She’d only wanted to save Bane, but she’d failed spectacularly.
Denan headed north, which was the wrong direction from their pods.
“Our tree is back there,” Larkin said.
“We both need to clean up a bit first.”
Mist grew thick with the smell of minerals and the sounds of laughter. A cascade of four waterfalls tumbled down rocks coated with minerals so they looked like rising bread. Four separate pools shone in a vivid shade of mint.
Larkin scrambled up the hill, climbing over enormous, hot pipes that must have once pumped water to the entire city. At the top, the page from before was already there, shooing the men from the highest level to the lower ones.
Their grumbling instantly ceased when Larkin and Denan came into view. Larkin blushed as, bare backsides flashing, the last handful jumped off the waterfall. A beat later came an echoing splash and whoops. The page gathered the men’s dripping armor and clothes. He bowed as he trudged back the way he’d come.
Denan tugged at his own armor buckles. He eased into the water as if it were a touch too hot and pulled his tunic off, dunked his armor, and scrubbed it with a handful of sand before setting it in a neat pile.
As he worked, Larkin stared at the raise
d White Tree sigil taking up his entire chest—the sigil that named him the future king. On his back, a knotted, three-headed snake shifted under his coiling muscles. On the inside of his right forearm was a geometric flower with angular petals—the ahlea flower, sigil of women’s magic. The sigil that convinced him he would find the one to break the curse. Her.
He scrubbed his tunic, the muscles of his body like hard stones that slipped beneath his soft skin. “If you want me to wash yours, just toss them to me.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Any man that beautiful and willing to do her laundry …
“Go nearer the waterfall. I won’t be able to see you through the mist,” he said as he scrubbed.
She slipped into the almost-too-hot water, careful of the uneven footing, and made her way toward him. “What if I want you to see?”
He went very still. Something in her expression must have told him everything. “Larkin, just because we’re married and we love each other doesn’t mean you’re ready. I won’t push you.”
She took the soap from him and lathered her hands. She washed the blood from his cheeks, then his chest. Her palm slipped across the impossible smoothness of his skin, her fingers pale against his ruddiness. She scooped up a handful of water and rinsed the soap from him.
Her own tunic grew damp and soapy, sticking to her skin and riding up so a sliver of her belly showed. The tips of his fingers rested against her bared stomach. She gasped at the bolt of heat zinging through her. He froze, clearly unsure.
Slowly, she removed her tunic, her skin pebbling as the breeze danced across it. She held it out to him. “You said you would wash it.”
“Larkin?” he breathed, his gaze devouring her.
“Are you going back on your word?” She said it like a challenge.
He balled up both their tunics along with the soap and tossed them to shore. His heavy hands rested on her hips. “Never.”
The kiss trembled with promise—a promise that wrapped around them both. It solidified, growing heavy and ripe. She traced the irony of his body—all hard softness interrupted with knotted scars and raised sigils.