Burn Bright

by Bec McMaster

  And the sacred duty I'd accepted when I'd drank from the Well of Tears.

  "The woods are my home now," I said, glancing up from beneath my lashes. Some part of me might have dreamed of a different outcome, one where I rode away from Densby with a handsome prince, and the taciturn wolvren at his side. One where I might have made a life for myself at his side.

  "And I'm needed at court."

  The distance seemed vast between us, despite the inches between our bodies.

  "What are you going to tell the prince?" My back hit the wall of the stable, as he took that final step toward me. This man could ruin me.

  "Neva." Casimir's hand reached out, his thumb stroking lightly over my mouth. "What can I tell him? Nothing. Any explanation would see your heart cut from your chest if we weren't careful. Evaron wouldn't speak a word of it—not by choice. But there are ways to make a man reveal what he knows, and I'd prefer to keep this between the two of us. Just in case."

  That same heart was thundering inside me. "You're not going to tell him? Evaron will be punished for the failure."

  The words were a whisper on my lips.

  And Evaron was his only friend.

  "We'll figure something out."

  "What is Evaron going to do?"

  "I don't know yet," he admitted. "The common people love him, and there are several lords at court who seem wary of Rygil. Not everyone believes in the Way of the Light, but their power base is large enough to make things difficult for him—and Rygil is ambitious."

  "It all depends on the king then, and whether he disinherits Evaron."

  "If he does, then I'll have to stay at the prince's side," Cas murmured, his hand covering my cheek, and his thumb rasping gently down to my mouth. "The line of succession will be insecure enough with him still alive, if the king banishes him from court. I don't think Rygil would take steps to remove the problem, but there are those close enough to Rygil who might seek to remove any obstacles. Neva—"

  "His life is in danger."

  And yours.

  But I didn't say it.

  He was leaving. This was goodbye. His touch shivered through me, and I didn't dare let him speak, for I knew he felt the same way.

  I didn't say, "Will I ever see you again?"

  And I didn't say, "Stay, please."

  We both had our causes, and neither was any less important than the other. The prince had to discover how to keep his throne.

  But if this was goodbye, then I didn't want it to pass us by unremarked either.

  "I will miss you." Sliding my hands up his chest, I saw the heat flare in his eyes, just before I kissed him.

  The kiss gave him the permission he needed. Cas pushed me against the wall, and crushed his mouth against mine. My response was just as frantic. Leather creaked as my hands found the hard carapace of his hunting leathers, exploring the expanse of his chest. Cas's sheer size overwhelmed me, and I realized how particular and careful he was—and always had been. He was heat and solid muscle. Pure strength.

  I was alone, and then I found you. I poured myself into the kiss, trying to tell him what words could not, my tongue darting against his.

  Hard calluses stirred against my shirt, as if he did not quite dare touch me. Grabbing his wrists, I dragged his palms flat against my body, feeling them mold to my hips. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. My nails skated up his forearms, digging into the flex of his biceps, mouth opening on a gasp. In another world, maybe, we could have been together.

  It was as if my hunger transferred itself to him. Hands slid up my sides, learning the curve of my waist. Soft and gentle at first, the pressure slowly increasing, until one warm palm settled in the small of my back. Every inch of hard muscle was pressed against me.

  Heat swarmed through my veins, as if Casimir's kiss stoked the flames of the firebird within me. His hand paused, thumbs brushing lightly against the undersides of my breasts, and then he drew back, both of us inhaling sharply. He hovered there, turning his face into the hollow of my throat, as if to catch his breath.

  And perhaps his equilibrium.

  Another second, and we both might have been lost.

  Thick lashes shielded his eyes as he pushed away from me. Our eyes met, his filled with regret. All of the emotion slid off his face as he locked himself down. The smooth planes of his cheeks were granite once more. My hand fell from his chest, my fingers curling sharply into my palms, as my throat constricted.

  I'd never wanted to beg a man to stay the way I did now.

  Yet those cursed words wouldn't pass my tightly constricted lips.

  "Goodbye, Neva."

  And then he gathered the reins of his horse, and led the gelding from the stable, and suddenly I was cold again, one hand pressed gently to my stinging lips and the other still clenched in a tight fist.

  The last time I saw him, the dawn’s soft light obliterated the shadows from his shoulders and dark cloak and then… then he was simply gone

  All that was left for me now was Gravenwold.

  Epilogue

  Four months later…

  Bells tolled, ringing through the city of Caskill.

  "The king is dead! Long live the king!"

  All across the city, the red and gold standard of Cymberlon fluttered in the air as the people turned out to mourn their king—or most likely, to be seen mourning a king they were secretly glad to see dead. Casimir leaned on the battlements, sucking in a sharp breath of air. The past few months had been lived on a knife's edge as he and Prince Evaron tried to outmaneuver the games at court.

  Along the return journey from Gravenwold, Evaron had become a different person, as if having Hussar attack him at the king's orders had finally torn the last vestiges of childhood from his eyes. They'd taken their time, visiting the northern lords on their way as Evaron tested allegiances. Caskill might be under the firm sway of the Way of the Light, and hence Prince Rygil, but the country barons eyed the Fire Priests with distrust.

  By the time they'd finally arrived in Caskill, Evaron held the pledge of fealty of over twenty barons, and even the Duke of Marietta. When he'd knelt at his father's bedside and admitted his failure, the king had sworn to see him struck from the line of inheritance, only to have his son stand firm.

  If King Euric tried to disinherit him, then Evaron would take to the field with the men of the north—and most likely a good deal of the west, as well.

  Cas would never forget the look on the king's face.

  "I can't believe this day has come. My father’s finally been interred in the catacombs," Evaron said, and it felt as though he were testing the words to see if he could comprehend the truth behind them.

  "And you're king now." Cas rested both palms flat on the battlements, and bowed his head. "Rygil actually bent the knee to you in the throne room. I thought he was going to revolt at the last moment."

  "I doubt he's entirely done yet. He wants the Duchy of Veron, but that's a dangerous position to give him. The south of Cymberlon is flush full of Fire Priests, so they're already in his pockets. He can't have the east as well."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Give him Lucevyr." Evaron grinned sharply. "Right between two of my most powerful vassals. If he makes a move, he'll have Marmont and DeLucy at his back."

  Cas looked at his friend. "You're playing a smart game."

  "I had to grow up sometime." Evaron stared coolly over the city. "As a certain somebody reminded me, I don't have the luxury of letting others make the moves anymore."

  "I didn't say that."

  "The gist of it was the same."

  Cas scrubbed at his mouth. He didn't look north, though it called to him still. Some part of him had never left Gravenwold behind.

  "And what of you?" Evaron asked softly. "What future do you see in mind?"

  A shrug. Dreams were for those who had the chance to grab them by the throat. His collar chafed. "Point me where you need me."

  "You're useless at court."

&n
bsp; "Thanks," he growled. "As if I need the reminder."

  "And you upset my barons—"

  "Not on purpose," he exclaimed. "I can't help my eyes."

  "It's not the eyes that are the problem," Evaron replied dryly. "You have the ear of a king now. We're no longer princeling and Hound. You're the second most powerful man in Cymberlon, and everybody knows it."

  Cas stared stiffly at nothing. Games were for courtiers. Not him. It was the sort of thing that would see him dead. He had not the patience for it.

  "I thought you might be of a mind to rendezvous with a certain firebird...."

  "She died."

  "And then another was reborn."

  Cas stopped breathing. "You knew?"

  The prince—no, the king now—stared out over the city. "My memories began to return on the ride out of Gravenwold, and… I began to question them. I saw the flames within Neva's eyes, and the way the fire stirred to her will when she defeated Hussar. The Old Ways were right. When a firebird dies, another is reborn."

  A chill ran down his spine. "You never said a word."

  "Neither did you."

  Evaron's cool gaze met his, and Cas looked away. He'd never lied to this man. Nor had he kept secrets before. "I couldn't say—"

  "I understand."

  "No, but—"

  "I understand." A hand came to rest on his shoulder. "I am a little miffed you thought you couldn't trust me with her life." King Evaron sounded like the old Evaron now. "I would never see a young woman's heart cut from her chest. Never. But perhaps... perhaps I was not worthy of your trust either."

  "You earned my trust years ago," he protested.

  Evaron toyed with the king’s ring, no longer playing the grieving young prince. He’d been doing that ever since they put it on his finger that morning. "I could never trust my half-brother. I knew that the day he was born and his mother smiled at me, as if to say, ‘Watch your back.’ I wish it could have been different, but you were always more my brother than Rygil ever was."

  "And you mine," he replied, not understanding where this train of thought was leading.

  "She had the right of it, you know?"

  "Who?"

  "Neva."

  The word went through him like a knife. Casimir looked away, taking in the expanse of the city, trying to put himself back together before his friend saw it. "In what way?"

  He could feel his king’s eyes upon him.

  "What sort of man does nothing about his brother’s collar? How can I look at you and know you’re not here by choice, and ignore that fact?"

  The words took the wind out him. "No. No, I don’t blame you for that. She didn’t know what your father was like. You had as much choice as I did. You—"

  "Did nothing," Evaron told him, and for the first time the new king couldn’t look him in the eye. "There were ways I could have played it. I might have risked it. My father was cruel, but his punishments only extended as far as the next transgressor to catch his eye. I should have risked it."

  "He sent you to those woods to die," Casimir growled, wishing the bastard had died years earlier. "You heard Hussar. Perhaps you might have risked it—and perhaps you would only have given the king the reason he needed to destroy you and hand his throne to Rygil."

  "Irregardless, I am king now and a part of me will never forgive myself for not doing this sooner." His hands lifted to the collar around Casimir’s throat, and his voice rose. "I, Evaron, first of my name, grant you your freedom. For now and forever, and let no man dare take what was given to you from my hand."

  The collar came free, the heavy weight lifting from Cas's throat. It had been a part of him for so long he touched the skin there, feeling its loss as both a gift… and a strange curse.

  For this meant goodbye.

  Again.

  "I would name you duke and grant you the lands my father took from your people, but I know the court is not where your heart lies," Evaron said, smiling a little sadly. "You saved my life time and time again. You protected me from my brother and my father’s machinations, and now it is time to reward you for your loyalty. I name you Friend of the King, and I grant you the newly established Earldom of Gravenwold. Your lands abound the forest’s boundaries, and you may do with them what you wish. My one demand is that you attend court once a year, at least, so we can see each other again."

  "What are you doing?" Cas growled, emotion choking him.

  "What does it look like?" The corners of Evaron's eyes crinkled. "You're a free man. Free to make your own choices. Free to ride north if you wish it...."

  "But what about you?" He shook his head. "The court is dangerous. Any knife in any shadow might end your life before you have a chance to even see it coming. Any sip from any cup might steal your breath away from you before you even taste the poison. You need me. You need me to be your eyes and ears and nose."

  "Once, it might have," Evaron whispered, "but I have the feeling I'm not as vulnerable to poison or knives as I once was."

  The Well of Tears.

  Evaron shot him a sharp look. "I'm not the same prince that rode north. In more ways than one." He pressed his hand to his chest. "I feel it every day, and it scares me, for there is enough of my father in me to make me wonder if an immortal king should sit on a throne."

  "You're not your father."

  "Not yet."

  "And if you even think to resemble him, I would take you to task about it." Cas rested a light hand on Evaron's shoulder. "You have my word."

  Evaron smiled. "That's almost a relief."

  Their gazes met as Evaron clapped Cas's left shoulder, leaving them locked together for a moment.

  "I'll miss you," he told his king. But eagerness whispered through him. A dream he'd not dared dream before.

  Freedom.

  Choice.

  The whisper of wild places in his blood, the lure of the forest and strange woods, and the light, fragrant scent that belonged to Neva alone. He could almost feel the silk of her skin beneath his fingers, and for the first time, he let himself look to the north.

  "Go," the king said, giving him a shove. "Go and find her. Go and find your huntress, Cas, and give her my regards."

  It took him three days of hunting through Gravenwold to find her.

  Neva's scent had changed, no longer that of sweat and leather, and the musk of a young woman's body. She smelled like pure wildness now, and heat and flame, and burned spices.

  And of course, she was near the bloody waterfall that had almost been their undoing.

  Cas shoved free of the forest's brambles, and brushed the sweat from his brow as he saw her standing at the top of the waterfall, scowling down at him along the edge of an arrow.

  "I was expecting a somewhat warmer welcome," he called.

  Her scowl died, and the arrow jerked up as she released the tension on the bow, her mouth dropping open. "Cas?"

  "No." He cast aside his pack, and scrambled up the jumble of rocks that lined the falls, before leaping up, and catching hold of a small ledge. Muscles bunching, he hauled himself up, until he finally gained the top. "Apparently I'm the Earl of Gravenwold now."

  Neva's face lit from within, her golden-brown skin radiant. "Am I supposed to bow?"

  "You could kiss my boots," he teased, remembering what she and her sister had been saying the night they first met. "Unless you'd rather roll in Tolbert's pigsty?"

  "I'm not kissing your boots."

  "No?" The rough edge of his voice was a challenge. "How about my lips?"

  The spring breeze swirled her periwinkle skirts around her ankles, and whispered through the sun-bleached ends of her dark curls.

  Then she was in his arms, and Cas spun her around, feeling the crush of her skirts between them. A heart skipped against his chest, and the heat of her skin seemed to hint at the furnace of magic within her. He wanted to crush his face to her abdomen and simply breathe in the scent of her.

  Home. He was home.

  "What's this?" he asked, t
ugging at the blue fabric. "Don't tell me you're actually wearing a dress."

  Her feet were bare too, and grass-strained. Neva shrugged, and his grip on her relaxed, until she slowly slid down in his arms, her breasts crushed to his chest. "It's spring. I was hot. And I do own dresses."

  "It just feels strange. I've never seen you... like this."

  "You came back." Her clever fingers pried his shirt open, and her lashes fluttered up swiftly as she saw his bare throat.

  "The king granted me my freedom."

  "King Euric?"

  "Haven't you heard? King Evaron," he emphasized. "First of his name."

  Neva's breath left her in a rush. "No, I hadn't heard. I haven't left the forest since Springtide." She rolled her eyes. "Strangely enough, we don't get much of the news here."

  He kissed her then, unable to contain himself any longer. Neva's breath left her mouth in a shocked gasp, and then her fists curled in his hair, and she crushed her mouth to his.

  It was a long time before he had the strength of will to draw back.

  "What does this mean?" she whispered.

  "I'm free. And I thought you might like some help in guarding these woods from the Darkness."

  "For how long?"

  His heart nestled in his throat. "Forever, if you'd have me."

  Neva's expression softened, but then her lips pressed together firmly, as if she didn't dare believe him. "What about Evaron?"

  Cas set her down, cupping her face in both hands. "Apparently he's now immune to poison—and sharp knives. And he seems to think I'm cramping his style at court. Or making his dukes wary."

  "He wouldn't send you away."

  "No." The thought had plagued him the entire ride. This choice shut one door in his life and opened another. "But he knew... he knew my heart lay elsewhere. And he said someone once took him to task over allowing me to wear that collar. He knew it wasn't right."

  "Someone wise by the sound of it."

  "Maybe." His smile softened, and his head bowed again, his lips brushing hers, lightly. Teasingly. "You didn't answer my question."