Her tears finally won out, spilling down her cheeks. Jace pulled her close and wrapped his arms tightly around her as she curled against his chest. He struggled for a way to comfort her that would be truthful and more than simply telling her everything would be all right. Would it be? It was difficult to see in these circumstances.
“I don’t want to go,” Kyrin’s voice muffled against his shirt. “Whatever happens, I just want to stay here with you.”
Jace pried her away just enough to look down into her face. “We need you to go to King Orlan and warn him. And I need to know you’re safe. If you were here, I’d worry sick over you, but as long as I know you’re safe, I can focus on what needs to be done. So please, whatever you do, stay safe, all right?”
Her breath trembled in and out, and she nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “All right.”
Jace wiped the tear tracks from her face, careful of the cut along her jaw. That was when reality seized him as well. In all likelihood, these would be their final moments together. The loss of a future they could share sucked the breath out of his lungs, and each heavy, sluggish beat of his heart shot a stab of pain through him. He slipped his arm around her and drew her close again. Bending his head, he kissed her longer and deeper than he had in the past, drinking in everything about her. When he broke the kiss, he pressed his forehead against hers, never wanting to be parted from her. He spoke, though his words came rough through his clogged throat.
“I love you more than anyone else in this world. Bringing you into my life is the greatest thing Elôm has done for me aside from saving me. And despite my fears, it’s been my dream for a long time to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Kyrin choked on a quiet sob. “Me too. I love you so much.”
Jace looked her in the eyes. “I will not give up on that dream. Yes, this situation looks bad. Yes, we are outnumbered, and by all accounts, have no chance at surviving. But Daican’s men, no matter how many there are or how strong they are, do not have the power to kill us unless Elôm grants it. He is in control of who lives and who dies in the next few days. None of us are going anywhere unless it’s His will. I won’t lose hope that He brought us together for more than saying goodbye now.”
Kyrin reached up to wipe her face. “I won’t either.”
“Take this to Lord Vallan so he knows the situation.”
Leetra accepted Daican’s letter from Darq and tucked it safely inside her vest as the captain continued.
“As soon as you’ve spoken with him, find Glynn and Novan. They’ll know who will fight regardless of Daican’s offer and will help you gather a force together.”
It ate at her to leave this fight, but she understood how dire it was for her to get reinforcements. “I’ll bring them back here as fast as I can.”
Darq nodded and then turned away as Talas approached. He had a smile on his face.
“Don’t let any of those clan leaders get in your way.”
Leetra scoffed. “Not a chance.”
“If only they had half of your fighting spirit.” A moment of silence stretched between them before he spoke again. “So listen, if this all ends horribly . . .” at first he tried to sound unconcerned, but his voice lowered, “will you just let my family know how much I love them?”
Leetra had forced herself not to dwell on the outcome of the battle—to focus solely on her mission and what needed to be done—but hearing her cousin speak such words made it all too real.
“Of course.” She winced at how thick her voice was. If she lost control of her emotions now, how much more painful would it be later when there would be true reason for sorrow? She wrestled the feelings back into their cage, but the sight of moisture in Talas’s eyes almost destroyed her resolve.
“Well, this has been one crazy adventure for the two of us,” he said. “Never would have expected it when we signed on to try to find Josan and the Scrolls, huh?”
“Nope. And there will be plenty more craziness for us to come, I’m sure.” She refused to let this be goodbye. She just wouldn’t.
Talas’s smile resurfaced. “I’m sure.” He cast a glance at the others before facing her again. His expression grew more serious. “I think you should talk to Timothy before you go.”
Leetra frowned, and her heart gave an uncomfortable and irregular beat. “Why? I really shouldn’t take the time.”
But Talas’s face had grown too solemn to ignore, and his voice echoed grimly. “Because this might be your only chance.”
Leetra shook her head stubbornly, but he didn’t give up.
“At least let him say what he has to say. You should give him that.”
Every muscle in Leetra’s body tensed up. She did not want to do this right now, and her sense of self-preservation screamed to flee, but . . . what if this was the only chance? Did she care enough not to rob him of that?
Talas turned away but paused to look back. “Maybe it’s too late, but I really think the two of you . . .” He left that hanging there and smiled.
Before she could retaliate, Talas joined the others, and when Timothy turned to look at her, her heart beat like a celebration hand drum, only without the excitement. Her panic escalated when he walked toward her, but with a jolt of defiance, she stiffened her spine. She was a fighter—she would let him say his piece, but she would not change her mind.
However, it was not as easy as that when they came face to face.
“I’d like to talk before you leave,” he said. “Would you mind?”
Leetra nodded stiffly. She followed him just around the corner of the porch where they could talk privately. Crossing her arms tightly across her chest, she avoided his eyes. If there was one thing she’d learned, Timothy had a way of looking at her that melted the frozen pieces she kept on ice.
“All right. What did you want to say?”
He waited until she looked at him. “We haven’t talked about the night we danced. If we don’t do it now, we may never.”
“What about it?” Leetra grimaced at her own harshness, but if she let her walls down now, it would rip her heart to shreds. The aggravating thing was scarred enough already.
Yet, despite her caustic tone, he was sweet and kind.
“It showed me something I suspected but was never completely sure of . . . I think you care for me, but you fight it.”
Leetra tilted her chin defiantly. “Of course, I care. You’re an important member of our group.”
He shook his head. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
She looked away, refusing to acknowledge any other meaning.
“See, you’re fighting it right now.”
Her gaze snapped back to him, to those eyes looking at her so gently. But there was more. He couldn’t hide a trace of disappointment, and she nearly screamed when her eyes started to sting. No, she would not do this. She would not let herself feel. Feeling hurt. Feeling led to loss. To betrayal . . .
“I’ve been down this road once before, and we both know how that turned out,” she said bitterly.
“Lee,” he spoke her nickname tenderly.
No one but Talas and her family ever used it, but it was the tenderness in his voice that undid her. All at once, her walls crumbled around her, leaving her already bruised heart completely exposed. Timothy’s face blurred as her tears welled, but his voice came to her softly. “Do you really believe I would ever betray you?”
He stepped closer, taking her arms in his hands. She flinched, but he didn’t pull away. The warmth of them seeped through her thin sleeves and spread all the way to her fingertips. Before she could stop it, her mind drifted back to the night in Stonehelm when he’d touched her hand and how her heart had reacted in a way it never had with Falcor, even when he’d kissed her. She clenched her fists, willing the tears not to fall, waiting until she could trust her voice, but even then it came out broken and thick. “No, you would never betray anyone.”
Voice still tender, he said, “Then what is it? Why do you fight me?�
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She blinked his face into focus, found him earnestly searching her eyes, and the raw wound that had festered and never fully healed in almost two years finally burst to the surface in a choked cry.
“How could you ever want me? I’m a stupid, foolish girl. I let Falcor into my heart. I should’ve been the first one to see through his lies, yet I was the most blind of everyone. I looked right past his flaws and any signals that things were not right, and people died.” A sob tore at her throat as she remembered what she had been like then. “Josan died because I was too blinded and prideful to see that my betrothed was a traitor.”
The seconds after her outburst were unbearable as she waited for him to finally understand he should hate her for not suspecting the man who had taken his uncle’s life. He had every right to. Still, if he did, it would strike the deepest wound to her heart of all.
But his eyes did not grow hard—they softened, filling with compassion. He shook his head. “Leetra, you’re not the only one he fooled. What about Darq and Talas and Glynn? Do you think they would have allowed him on such a critical mission had they any sense he would betray us? Falcor is the guilty one. Regardless of how you feel about me, you can’t let him rob you of future happiness. You would only be punishing yourself for no reason. Elôm doesn’t want that for you. I don’t want that for you.”
Like the ointment she always carried with her, his words seeped into her wounded heart, painful at first, but healing. The tears she’d held back for so long trickled down her face one after the other. At first, it stung her pride, but she couldn’t stop even when she tried, and the effort left her trembling.
With a quiet murmur, he drew her against him and soothed her back. Her first instinct was to stiffen, but the strong shelter of his arms cocooned her and calmed the trembling. She sagged in surrender, her hands caught between them, curling in his shirt. After a long moment, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. To her temple. To the crest of her cheek, which was wet with her tears.
He reached up with one hand to thumb them away, his eyes running over her face as he spoke words she would never forget.
“I don’t know how much of this you will want to accept, but I have to say it now while I still have the chance. In the last two years . . . I have come to love you. I hope, if Elôm allows me the time, you will let me prove it to you. But I also love you enough to let you go, if that’s what you want. I just don’t want you to keep on living as if, by punishing yourself, you’ll somehow make up for Falcor’s betrayal.”
Still held by him, Leetra stood speechless in the wake of his quiet declaration. He loved her. Falcor had never spoken such words. She’d always accepted they were simply understood, but she’d been wrong. This man was one she could trust, and when he took his arm from her back and stepped away, the loss and longing surprised her.
“You need to go now,” he said, as reality settled in all its painful truth. “Elôm willing, we will talk about this again.”
She nodded feeling bereft of her usual fearlessness. If only he would just hold her again. She swiped her hands across her cheeks and drew a resolute breath, her crete strength flowing back. They had a mission to accomplish, a duty toward those they loved. She had to go. And he had to stay. There was no way around it.
Still, she couldn’t leave him wondering. If she never saw him again, she wanted him to know. With a step, she flung her arm around his neck and hugged him desperately. His arms pulled her tight, and she whispered against his neck. “You don’t need to prove anything to me.”
And then she spun around, hurrying toward her dragon.
Daniel awoke with a nauseating ache in his gut. He squinted toward the slightly parted drapes and groaned at the morning light. His father’s birthday had dawned. And it just happened to be sunny too. He pressed his fingers against his eyes and then let his hand flop back down on the bed. He could happily sleep the morning away. A couple of years ago, he would have. But then, a couple of years ago, he wasn’t trying to appease his father. Still, what he would have to face this morning soured his stomach to the point of truly feeling ill. He doubted that excuse would work though. Even if he went so far as to refuse to attend the grand opening of the Draicon Arena and the first day of celebratory games, he had a hunch his father would have him forcefully escorted. If only it were pouring rain. That would cut the games short.
“Elôm, give me strength. And a downpour.”
The door in the sitting room opened, and he raised his head as his manservant, Walter, walked in. Thin as a twig, he looked like he hadn’t eaten a full meal in his life. Despite this and his wrinkled features, he stood stiff and proper.
“Your outfit for today, my lord.” He lifted the hanger of perfectly pressed black and gold attire.
Daniel eyed the clothing but resisted a scowl. After all, it wasn’t Walter’s fault he was in a bad mood. “Thank you. Just hang them up.”
The man dipped his pointed chin and hung them neatly from a hook on the inside of the wardrobe door, meticulously smoothing out any wrinkles. He then turned to Daniel. “Is there anything else you require, my lord?”
Daniel shook his head. “No, I’ve got it from here.”
“Very well, my lord.” Walter started for the door but paused. “I was instructed to remind you that breakfast will be served in half an hour.”
“I remember.”
Walter cast him a look as though he wasn’t so sure. Not that Daniel could blame him after years of disobedience and rebelliousness.
“I will be down on time.”
With another quick nod, Walter left the room. Daniel sighed and threw back his covers. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he prayed for a few minutes. Today would require patience and fortitude he wasn’t sure he possessed in adequate supply. And, as he had innumerable times in the last weeks, he prayed for an opening of his father’s eyes and heart. Though his father always cut him short the moment he spoke of anything even hinting of his faith, Daniel prayed that perhaps, one day, his father might finally listen.
Determined to make good on his promise to both his mother and Walter, to attend breakfast on time, Daniel pushed up from the bed and walked over to the washstand to scrub his face. He then turned to the wardrobe for his outfit. Now alone, he did scowl. The heavy gold-embroidered brocade doublet would be insanely uncomfortable in the summer heat, especially with its high collar. He glanced longingly at his usual linen shirts and leather jerkins but resigned himself to the fact that today would be full of discomfort—from his attire to his father’s company to the games. Come tomorrow, he’d distance himself from it as much as he could.
He tugged on the pants and shirt and then the boots Walter had polished to a high shine last night. Reluctantly, he slipped on the doublet and worked the gold buckles before stepping in front of the mirror to inspect his appearance. He straightened his collar and smoothed his hair. Time to face the day.
He walked out of his bedroom and through the sitting room to his door. When he opened it and stepped out, he found two guards stationed in the hall—just like every morning. His father apparently didn’t believe the gate behind the temple had been his only means of escape.
Ignoring them, he hurried downstairs and strode toward the dining room. He arrived just ahead of his parents. When they walked in, his mother smiled, clearly pleased by his punctuality.
“Daniel,” she said happily.
“Good morning, Mother.” He offered a smile in return, though it died when his focus shifted. “Father.” He nodded in acknowledgement but couldn’t bring himself to wish his father a happy birthday. That would require a far closer relationship than they shared currently.
Davira arrived a moment later. She shot Daniel a poisonous glare before her expression changed entirely upon facing their father. A bright smile lit her face.
“Happy birthday, Father.” She gave him a tight embrace and kissed him on the cheek.
He responded with a smile of his own and used the nickname he’d had for her sinc
e she was a baby. “Thank you, Virie.”
Something pinched in Daniel’s chest. It wasn’t as if he didn’t desire a close relationship with his father—a close father and son bond. They could have done so much good together if only they were united to help people. As much as his father valued power, Arcacia would be much stronger if they would build their people up instead of destroying many of them. Daniel had no doubt of that.
They took their seats at the table, and the servants served some of his father’s favorite breakfast foods—poached quail eggs, cinnamon glazed ham, and apple tarts. Daniel took a couple of bites of the rich feast, but his stomach didn’t accept it well. He’d rather eat a bland piece of toast this morning. Silently, he stared at his plate as his father and sister talked animatedly about the day’s “festivities.” He wanted to ask Davira how death could possibly be festive, but she had a disturbingly warped view of things, and he held his tongue.
Halfway through the meal, his mother spoke.
“Come, Daniel, have some more of your breakfast. You haven’t eaten enough lately.”
He looked up, careful not to sound too accusing and rile his father. “I’m sorry, Mother, but considering what I’ll have to watch today, I’m afraid I can’t stomach it right now.” And being a prisoner in one’s own home didn’t exactly boost a man’s appetite.
Her lips thinned, but she said nothing more.
Davira, however, sneered at him. “Weakling.”
Daniel fought to check his temper. “I don’t see how valuing life is weak.”
“You’re valuing the lives of traitors,” she hissed. “But, of course, you are one and should be in the arena with them.”
“Davira,” their mother said firmly. “We will not have such arguments today.” She turned her attention back to Daniel and changed the subject. “Will you join us in the coach on the way to the arena, or would you prefer to ride?”
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