“I’ll talk to him.”
“You don’t sound thrilled.”
She shrugged. “Neither is Brennan.”
He hadn’t fought her on it—much—but she knew he preferred she didn’t see Jon.
Liam’s sky-blue eyes narrowed on her, and his lips twisted bitterly as he shook his head and glanced away, toward the ships on the Shining Sea. “One person always secretly wants something from the other,” he repeated lowly. “Or in this case, not so secretly.”
She jerked toward him, grasping the beam as she shifted. “It’s not like that.”
“This is how it starts, Rielle. First, it’ll be ‘don’t talk to that person’ or ‘don’t go there,’ and you’ll do it, because you don’t want to hurt him,” Liam said, narrowing his eyes at the sea. “And then it’ll be ‘change who you are,’ and it’ll be a knife in the gut, but you love him, so you’ll try. And then it’ll be ‘do whatever I want you to,’ because you’ve done it already, haven’t you, willingly stepped over that line, and what’s left of your will on the other side to cling to?”
No. This was—it was ridiculous. It wasn’t anything at all like what she and Brennan had. It was some skewed vision Liam had, like looking through sea glass, and he didn’t know the first thing about her and Brennan, or perhaps even love.
“That’s not… It’s not what our love is like,” she bit out to him.
“It has nothing to do with love,” he argued. “All of us are capable of feeling love. It’s the rest of what’s inside of us that’s the problem.”
Blowing out a breath, she shook her head and looked away. This was ridiculous.
“You’re scoffing, but you’ve already begun to give in.” He took another drink. “Some time on the Shining Sea, with no one to lord over you, just you, the wind, and the waves, would do you some good.”
“I haven’t given in,” she said to him.
“Then do what you want to do,” he replied. “Trust yourself, and that when it comes to doing the right thing for yourself, you don’t need to be told. You’ll always find the right answer in one place—inside.”
Chapter 37
In his robe, Brennan made his way down the longest stair in the mansion, deep into its heart, where the shrine of Nox awaited.
It had been years since he’d worshipped as he would tonight. When a man had everything he could ask for, the Great Wolf clearly favored him already. He always made his offerings, simple things like fruit and wine, as every Marcel did, but not the Blood Offering.
Tonight would be different.
He had Rielle, his health, luxury, and pleasure at his every whim. Yet last night, another man had taken something belonging to him. In the great hall, her eyes had burned, gleamed, so intense, so devoted. It was how he wanted her to look at him, to look when she thought of him. But it hadn’t been him she’d been thinking of.
Perhaps she didn’t realize it yet herself, but Great Wolf, he did, like fangs in flesh, like claw against bone, and the closer he wanted to hold her, the more control he’d try to exert, the more it would push her away.
When she’d wanted to go to see Jon about Samara, where she would see Jon, the words on his lips had been, I forbid it. But what had he done? Let her go.
She was no fearful hind; she had fangs of her own. And nothing was likelier to make her bare them as trying to restrain her. It would only push her away and into Jon’s arms.
Trust her. He had to trust her. That was the only way their marriage could work. She’d do as she pleased, he’d suffer in silence, and she’d stay loyal. Love him. Choose him. Wed him.
With Nox on his side, perhaps she’d even make him a father. When she finally set aside magic, when she finally gave their future a chance, she’d be happy. She would. He’d make sure of it, every day of their life together.
The circular stone chamber was already lit with torches, and a large bull grunted on the platform in the middle, magnificent with white lilies and gold adornment, held in place by chains and two stable hands.
He dismissed them with a wave, and ascended the stair winding the chamber to the platform of planks pierced with fine holes. Beneath it lay a massive circular phiale with Nox’s own wolfish image carved around its rim, His maw a hole in its center.
The bull stamped a hoof, bucked against the restraints. On the altar among the candles lay a ceremonial cloth and an al-dhammé, which he took in hand before grasping one of the bull’s horns.
The bull was strong, but he was stronger. He held the animal in place, and slit its throat.
Fresh blood flowed like wine, left the body in pours as it weakened and gave way.
As the bull collapsed, he cleansed the al-dhammé with the ceremonial cloth and set both back on the altar, inclining his head and whispering his respect to Nox. He descended the spiral stair, casting off his robe as he made his way into the trench beneath the phiale.
Arms spread, he knelt beneath Nox’s maw just as the blood poured through.
“O Nox, Great Wolf, Dark God, Unseen One, Life-Taker, Death-Eater, He-Who-Carries-Away-All, I humbly ask your favor. Make me a father.”
Wet warmth coated his head, his face, his neck, flowing down his skin utterly and completely, Nox’s holy blessing wrapping him entirely.
“O Nox, Great Wolf, Dark God, Unseen One, Life-Taker, Death-Eater, He-Who-Carries-Away-All, I humbly ask your favor. Make me a father.”
The metallic tang flooded his nostrils, and he breathed it in, welcomed it, Nox’s holy blessing entering him deeply.
“O Nox, Great Wolf, Dark God, Unseen One, Life-Taker, Death-Eater, He-Who-Carries-Away-All, I humbly ask your favor. Make me a father.”
The coppery taste seeped onto his tongue, and he savored it, accepted it, Nox’s holy blessing becoming part of him. One.
He remained kneeling on the stone, taking every last blessed drop for what felt like hours, repeating his prayer, even as he heard footsteps down the longest stair.
But all he smelled was blood.
It wasn’t Rielle. He’d sense her anywhere. He’d already broached the subject of conceiving an heir with her many times, and her mind hadn’t changed. Perhaps time, love, and divine favor would sway her when his words didn’t. One day, when they had a family, he wouldn’t be the only happy one—he would see her smile every day of her life.
“Considering how in love you two are, I never thought you’d need to pray for such a thing,” Mother said from behind him. Her voice was soft, careful, matched by her irregular heartbeat. Nervous.
He stood, wiping the blood from his eyes, and headed through the arched doorway to the ceremonial bath. Footsteps and a whisper of fine silk cloth—Mother picking up his robe—and she followed.
“She takes the preventive herbs,” he said, descending the shallow steps into the cool water. When he was waist deep, he submerged completely, scrubbing his hair and face before surfacing.
“Perhaps she wishes to wait until after you’re wed,” Mother said, folding to a kneel at the edge of the bath, tucking her skirts beneath her gracefully. Her face slack, she looked at the center of the bath with sadly serene eyes, like still waters on an autumn evening.
Through the water, he approached her, and covered her hand on the stone with his. “Mother, she lost a child recently. It’s been difficult for her, and I think she’s healing, but I… I don’t know what else to do. Perhaps Nox’s wisdom will enlighten me.”
Her mouth curved in a fragile smile. “I think her heart would swell to hear you say so.”
Would it?
No, he couldn’t bring it up with Rielle again. He wouldn’t. The more he’d push, the more she’d push back. It had to be patience.
A shadow crossed Mother’s face. “Do you… do you think she can carry a child to term? Is she well enough?”
His head jerked back, and he splashed his face with water. It hadn’t even occurred to him to wonder. Whether she could or couldn’t, he still wanted her for his wife, would still love her. If they co
uldn’t have children together, they’d worry about that later. “That doesn’t matter.”
Mother’s green gaze snapped to his. “My son, it matters a great deal. You must have an heir.”
“Mother—”
“No one would judge you for conceiving before the wedding, waiting until the first three months have—”
“No,” he bit out. “Didn’t you hear a word I said?”
She stood. “Yes, and you must hear the words I have to say. Tenderness matters. Love matters. But so do practical matters. You will be a husband, but you must be the scion of House Marcel first, husband second. In that order. Marriage to you comes with responsibilities. I sympathize with her, but she must meet those responsibilities, or she must find a husband who needs no heir.”
His face stung as if she’d slapped him. Was this advice, or did she plan to speak to Father? “And is this my mother speaking, or the duchess of Maerleth Tainn?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Your mother, for now.” She let his robe drop next to the bath and turned to leave. “If you do not heed me soon, it shall be the duchess.”
Chapter 38
Jon offered Olivia his arm as they walked the villa’s grounds. “You said you wanted to talk with me?”
She nodded, the rays of the high noon sun catching in her unbound red waves. “I know you’ve been wanting to, and after yesterday, I think it’s unavoidable. Don’t you?”
He’d been trying to get a moment alone with her for days, so they could discuss this change between them. After she’d declined a couple times, it had come as a surprise when she’d invited him.
After yesterday… The duel. He tilted his head. “I’ve… noticed a shift between us. Something different.”
A brief smile flashed across her face, but she didn’t let him go. “I’ve felt a… growing attraction,” she said.
His heart beat faster, but he fought to stay calm, replying only with a measured nod. “When two people spend time together in close quarters, that can happen.”
“Dancing, cramped in a ship’s cabin, sleeping in adjoining rooms?” she offered, with a lilting tone.
“It’s been the nature of things, especially since…” He rested a hand over his heart. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am, for your friendship, your care, your advice. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Olivia.”
She blinked a pleased acknowledgement, then fixed her gaze on the stables close by. “The more time we spend together, the more I enjoy your company,” she said softly, her cheeks reddening. “I know this is… an inconvenience, but…”
He shook his head. “It’s not. You’re a formidable woman, Olivia. Sharp, witty, intelligent… a force to be reckoned with.” He looked her up and down. “And beautiful.” He bowed his head, eyeing the grass before them as they came upon the stable. Even if his heart were perfect, it would still belong to someone else. “But I have nothing to offer you. I couldn’t give any woman forever, and I can’t promise it to you.”
She paused as a groom walked a stallion out of the stable into a paddock, her hold on his arm tightening, and urged him beneath the stable’s roof. When the groom was out of earshot, she gazed up at him. “I know you can't promise forever,” she said, “but how about right now?”
Searching his eyes, she pushed him inside, until his back met a wall, then rose up on her toes and kissed him.
Terra have mercy, he didn’t want to push her away and hurt her feelings, but he also didn’t want her to—
Her lips pressed to his, and she leaned into him, her body flush against his, as her hand slid from his chest to the nape of his neck. As her tongue met his, everything about this felt wrong, and he grasped her shoulders, held her away, her hands slipping back to his chest.
Her gaze locked with his in expressionless silence, and as the seconds went by to the soft nickers and whinnies of horses, the chance that he might lose her completely weighed heavier.
“The rest of your life may not be exactly how you imagined it, Jon, but it doesn’t have to be joyless or lonely, no matter what promises you may have made to yourself,” she said softly. “You have needs like any other person.”
“Need and love have become so entwined,” he whispered, “that I could never again separate the two. And I wouldn’t want to.” He’d have neither. He’d lived nearly his entire life that way and had found meaning in serving the greater good, in serving Terra, and so would he do now, and for the rest of his life.
She rested a palm over his heart, pressed firmly there, frowning at it before she met his eyes anew. “You told me once that you’d only ever love one woman.”
That hadn’t changed. And never would.
“I like to live in the moment,” she said, “but someday, I want someone to love me the way you love her.” Her tone had a fragile quality, a waver, but she smiled faintly at him. “Maybe that’s what draws me to you. What… drew me to you. A faraway look in your eyes, a treasured thought.”
A thought that lingered no matter how many battles he fought, no matter how much he worked, how much he trained. No matter how many lands and seas and people spanned between them. A thought that had claimed him once in a forest pool and would never abandon him.
“You’re my closest friend, Olivia, and I love you like family.” He took her hand, kissed it gently. “But friendship is all I have to give. May I have the honor?”
This time, her smile reached her eyes as she nodded. “Friends.”
As she bowed her head, he dipped down to meet her eyes, and she laughed.
“Are we… all right?” he asked, grinning.
“Yes,” she said, and he wrapped her in a hug. Her arms closed around him, too, and she rested her cheek against his chest. “Don’t worry,” she teased. “I know this is a friend hug.”
He laughed, and she joined him. “Where would I be without you, Olivia?”
“Standing here hugging yourself?” she offered, and only made him laugh more. She pulled away.
They’d accomplished so much together, saved lives and the kingdom many times over, and together, they’d only accomplish more. “Save my life, Olivia.”
She started, blinking up at him. “What?”
“We have a lot of work ahead of us, and I’ll do what needs to be done to keep our people safe, the only way I can,” he said, and folded his arms. “So save my life, Olivia. Let’s keep putting things right, for as long as we can.”
A wide smile slowly claimed her face. “From dragons, from enemies, and from even death itself.” She took his hand and pulled him out of the shade and into the sun’s light, footsteps crunching in the lush grass. “I will, Jon. I promise.”
She let him go and, with a few steps facing him, then turned and headed toward the villa, pausing only for Rielle, who stood unmoving.
The sound of silence stole the villa’s grounds, even the spring breeze that disturbed her coat as Rielle fixed her gaze on him.
Olivia, a dazzling vision of green in her flowing dress against the bright red of her unbound, wind-ruffled hair, rested a hand on her shoulder and smiled warmly. “We’re in a good place, Rielle. Don’t worry. I’m watching out for him.” She looked away and walked to the villa.
Still, Rielle stood there, frozen to the spot, a myriad verdant blades between them.
“Rielle,” he greeted softly, a ghost of a smile fading from his lips.
She shivered. Her breath bottled in her chest as he held her still with those Shining Sea eyes, looking at her, beyond her, into her, and he shouldn’t see any of those things inside.
On a sunlit Floreal afternoon, in the shade of a stable, two lovers had shared a tryst, had parted with a loving glance, and they’d done nothing wrong, nothing to make her chest tight or her hands tremble or the rest of her so tense she couldn’t move.
Divine, take it from me. Cut it out of me and take it.
He lowered his gaze, approached with crossed arms. Closed off. “What can I do for you?”
She clasped her tre
mbling hands behind her back. “Actually, I… I came to see Olivia, about the trials,” she said, finding her voice, but her nerves made even her throat tremble. It didn’t help that she’d just let Olivia walk by her. “And Samara. The guards said you were here.” When he glanced toward the villa, she took a deep breath. “Also, I… Everything happened so fast,” she said, taking a step, if only to prove to herself she could. “I didn’t get a chance to say thank you last night. I appreciate what you did.”
His eyes downcast, he headed toward the villa, giving her a wide berth, and paused just past her. “Don’t thank me, Rielle,” he said quietly. “Not for that. Not for doing what I should’ve done.” He nodded toward the villa. “I’ll walk with you.”
Her heart pounding, she turned and fell into step next to him. The villa was grand, larger than the Marcels’, a square of brick buildings framing a courtyard inside. It was really only a stone’s throw from the Marcels’ mansion, maybe a half-hour walk.
Jon escorted her, only the crisp sound of their footsteps breaking the silence.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked. “You gave me quite a scare when I wasn’t able to fully heal you.”
He glanced away, his long lashes hooding his gaze. “Olivia healed my injuries.” He cleared his throat. “And you, after the trial?”
“I’m fine,” she said, as they neared the herb garden. “Nothing I couldn’t heal. I’m more concerned about the second trial, and have about a hundred questions for Olivia.”
His mouth twitched as he dipped his chin. “I’m sure she has about two hundred answers for you.”
His words were pleasant, but his forbidding posture, his stiffness—something was bothering him.
He was angry with her. Had to be. About yesterday, about her intervention, between him and Farrad.
But he had to understand. If she could have dueled Farrad herself, she would have. If anyone should have claimed Farrad’s life, it should have been her. And it had been.
Was this just about honor? The dishonor of someone interfering in a duel between two parties—
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