by Ada Harper
His mouth fell to the offered skin. He whispered words, Imperial gibberish, foreign and fond and fevered, into her throat. She really would need to learn the language. He bit behind her ear as their hips met with a hard snap. She felt full, so full, yet hungry and urging, that tight, desperate climb of heat again. More.
Galen growled against her skin and found a steady pace that sparked airy sounds out of her with each thrust. Olivia pressed her face to his hair, and the next time he canted his hips, pleasure surged out of her with a scream.
He felt so all-encompassing, chasing pleasure. He stroked thrice more and tensed. The sound he made between clenched teeth was like nothing she’d thought Galen could make: fierce and primal and utterly hers.
Hands smoothed over her skin and Galen rested his cheek against hers with heavy, thick movements. He huffed and pressed soothing kisses to her neck again, soft and lazy now as the heat simmered where they were still connected.
* * *
“You’re impossible,” Olivia mumbled sleepily against his chest later. He’d spent time fussing over her afterward, and seemed to enjoy cleaning her up, drawing a warm cloth over her tender skin. He’d poured her a glass of water, pulled cool sheets over her flushed skin before making that pointless by returning to bed and wrapping his furnace-like body around her and sinking her into a warm, satiated sleep.
Now it was approaching dawn. She’d have to get back to Yoshi soon before he sent Maris wielding tranquilizers after her. But that was soon; now was simply filled up with the contented thrum between warm skin and quiet lips. Moments like this when their bond felt like a physical thing, warm and all encompassing. Moving between their lungs like night air.
“Impossible,” she said again.
“I am entirely possible.” Galen’s eyes were closed. A hand drifted lazy patterns through her hair. “Give me two minutes to recover and I can prove the possibilities again if you like.”
Olivia was not against such a proposition, but she huffed into his sleep-warmed skin. “No, I mean—at Meteore. It was brilliant, ballsy, not that I’m complaining. You shielded me. But I still can’t understand how you figured out what the skipbit was before Bowen reached you. How you knew the blast wouldn’t hit you.”
The hand in her hair slowed. Olivia lifted her head and met gentle dark eyes and a suspicious color to his cheeks. She studied his face before jolting up with both her hands braced on his chest. “You didn’t know?” Galen’s smile did nothing to quell the horror. “You didn’t know. You had no idea what that thing was. If you didn’t know the blast would miss you, why in blue hell would you throw yourself...?”
“I knew that you needed me. What else mattered?” Galen’s palm came to rest at the hollow of her hip, solid and sure, an anchor and promise. “That’s all I’ve ever needed to know.”
Chapter Thirty-One
There would be a ceremony to mark the end of the threat. A time for awards and remembrance and, knowing the senate, a quiet tallying of scores.
“Of course there’s a ceremony,” Olivia muttered when he broached the subject in the gray hours of the morning. “Imperials would celebrate a particularly good shit for an excuse to drink.”
Members of the military who’d acquitted themselves in service to the crown would be recognized with meaningless medals and titles—Galen was already steeling himself for interminable hand-shaking—but Olivia was neither military or even citizenry. Not yet.
“The empress will grant you a boon,” Galen said carefully. “You should think on what you want to ask.”
“What, like a medal?”
“If you wanted. You’d be within your rights to ask anything, really. A title, a pardon, a decree...” Galen trailed off, feeling his way around the uncertainty that really had no logic to it when she was settled in his arms like this. “You could send force against the Syndicate. Make it into a place safe for you.”
Olivia stilled, considering it with an unfurrowed brow. “I wanted to go back once, but now... And things are public now. The new Prime Minister considering reforms.”
“They could be your reforms.” She needed to know all her choices, the power at her disposal. The power she’d earned, and in Galen’s eyes, always had.
Olivia tilted her head, picking apart his careful expression. “No. They can’t,” she said, as if he hadn’t just offered her a country. A smile broke out on her lips, the new one, still fragile in its form, and gods, Galen chased it. “That’d just make me a new version of the same old shit. Change is coming, but I’m not... I’m not cut out for that.” She paused. “Though I’m not really the patient type either.”
“You most certainly are not.” Galen took a moment to enjoy the flush that laced her cheeks. “You have an idea.”
Olivia nodded, already half lost in thought. “I do, but... I’m going to need help.”
* * *
Ameranthe’s aetheric tower was the highest point in the capital. The city spread out like a clover patch of copper roofs and bright windows before him, mirroring the clear sky above. The day had moved in a blur once they’d left his rooms, and the next couple days had been a flurry of activity and securing help for Olivia’s plans. Now sun flirted with the horizon between the towers, just a few minutes away from setting. It painted everything in a gold crust.
The capital was too busy to ever be silent, but the fading glow made the silence of the heights feel sweet and thick as honey. Standing on the top of Ameranthe’s walls, buffeted by the warm breeze that occasionally swept over the side and tugged at his aetheric cloak, Galen felt suspended between two worlds.
The quiet broke when he heard Lyre’s voice, carried on the wind. “Hurry up, kitten. Even our teenage recruits haul more ass than you.”
There was a curse, then the pebbly impact sound of feet scrambling against stone outcropping. “I will literally murder and toss you off this bloody damn wall, Liar. I swear to gods.”
“Have to climb faster for that,” Lyre sing-songed. She was still smirking when she pulled herself onto the roof. She gave Galen a wink before craning over the edge again. “C’mon, Syndicate. You wanted to train with my scouts, you should at least manage a short aetheric climb.”
“It’s fifteen stories tall! This is bullshit. You made this gear for falls, not climbs.”
“Any damn fool can fall down, as you’ve so well proven.” Lyre clicked her tongue. A dusty hand slapped against the cornice, but Lyre mercilessly held out a stopping hand when Galen moved to help. “But a real Imperial scout knows how to fall up.”
“Fucking Imperials.” A string of curses drove Olivia up over the edge. She collapsed on the stones face-first to catch her breath. It gave Galen a moment to admire the delightful insanity of her hair, askew from its braid and sweat-soaked. It gave a sheen of red sunlight to her exposed skin, and when she finally rolled onto her back her face was flushed and coiled up with new curses for Lyre. She caught sight of Galen and gave him an upside-down blink.
“Speaking of fucking Imperials...” Lyre hummed. She shook out her arms, fluttering her aethercloak again as she nodded to Galen. “The pain in the ass is all yours. You owe me one.”
“Thank you,” Galen said, but Lyre was already over the ledge, breaking her descent by rebounding off footholds, down the sheer wall the way she’d came. He turned back to find Olivia still sprawled on the roof. She rubbed the sweat off her face and watched him with a curious tilt of her head. Galen felt the first lick of nerves again. He’d orchestrated this, planned it with more care than he’d put into some military engagements, but now he felt irrational uncertainty of how to start.
“Help me up.” Olivia rescued him, shooting her hand up into the air and allowing him to lift her up and set her easily on her feet. “What is this?” He saw her gaze sweep over him and snag on the clothes he wore under the aethercloak. She took in his formal dress and a tiny divot of thought appea
red between her brows, and Galen had the irresistible urge to kiss it away.
It was a thought he could indulge now, so he did. He pressed his lips to her forehead, tasting the salty sweat and smoothing down her hair. He breathed her in. When he pulled back, a tentative half smile sat on her face. That, also, was tender and new. “If you wanted to do that, you could have just met me in your rooms.”
Her voice was low, teasing in a way that made Galen’s gut heat up. But he wouldn’t get distracted. He smoothed a thumb across her cheek before nodding to the capital side of the wall. “I would like that. But nowhere in the estate has a view like this.”
The sun embraced the horizon just as Olivia turned, and Galen marveled at the way her lips parted in surprise. She was awash in the sunset, face copper and hair gold, and a swell of wonder made his heart clench.
“I have wanted to show you this since that night in the Syn,” Galen said softly, before he lost the nerve. Truthfully, it’d been a lot sooner. “Soon as the sun sets, you’ll have stars.”
Olivia had closed her eyes, soaking up the last warmth of the day. She gave him a bemused kind of smile over her shoulder. “You bring me the nicest things. Mind, I’m not sure anything is worth fifteen stories of staring at Lyre’s ass but this...this is amazing. Thank you.”
Galen took a breath, feeling a ridiculous shiver of nerves in his gut. He’d led soldiers, hunted wraicath, it was ridiculous that the simple act of reaching into his pocket could be terrifying. His fingers clasped cool metal and he must have made a small worried sound without realizing it. Olivia turned and—well, he had wanted to get her attention.
“I did have one more thing. It’s not the sun or stars, but...” Galen’s courage failed him as Olivia’s gaze fell on the house torque in his hands. She turned away from the view and stepped closer to study it. It was of slightly finer make than the thick torque on his neck. It had the same de Corvus style, a seam of gold pressed between two bands of silver, but each torque was individual. The one in his hands had a gold line that wasn’t quite straight. It etched up and down with small spikes and flat plains.
Olivia was staring. Galen felt the first uncertain tip of worry. “It’s skylines,” he explained quietly. “Ameranthe and Chrysanthine’s here.” He pointed to a familiar wave of gold with a crest in the center for the estate. “And here, the Syndicate capital.” His finger slid to a sharper, spikier series of tower-like jitters on the opposite side. That had been more controversial, when he’d brought satellite images to the artisans. But he’d been thinking about the design for a long time now and wouldn’t settle for less.
No doubt gossip had already started, but it was worth it to see the surprise in Olivia’s eyes. She reached out a tentative hand, fingertips sliding hesitantly on the metal without taking it. Her index finger fluttered along the silver and stopped at the soft roll of gold skyline at the center of the band, where it would slide smooth and warm against the nape of her neck. “And what’s that one?”
“The Caeweld,” Galen said softly. Her eyes darted up, wide and soft with surprise. Galen’s throat tightened with fondness and he swallowed. “Where everything meets.”
Olivia’s breath caught. She still wasn’t saying anything. Olivia was many things, but she was never speechless. Galen gathered up his equal parts thrill and terror and pressed forward. “Liv. You’re my horizon, you’re everything I need. I would never ask to cage you or limit your horizons. But if you’d keep coming back to me, if you’d wear my torque and call my house home, I swear... I would spend every day of the rest of my life being worthy of it.”
Olivia’s lips parted on an airy sound that Galen couldn’t quite interpret. He hoped it was good. A tremor traveled through her hand. Olivia’s fingers curled and she lifted the torque with care. She ran her thumb over the metal thoughtfully, following the gold skyline. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip before she looked up at him. “I thought...we’d already settled this.”
It took Galen a moment to follow that train of thought, then his tension broke with a chuckle. “We’ve had memorable, amazing sex, Liv. Something I’d like to repeat as soon as I can get you out of those clothes and as frequently as possible, frankly. But if you think that alone is ever enough for me, when it comes to you, then I’ve failed in expressing my intentions up to now.” He paused, reaching out to close his hand over hers. The torque was already warmed from her hands. “I love you. I wanted you to have skylines because I’m not asking you to choose. Whatever you set your sights on, Liv, just...let it be with me.”
An unsteady sound came out of Olivia that he hadn’t heard before. Olivia’s eyes were wet and bright in the fading light. She swallowed and clutched the torque to her chest. “You’re so...so...so much.”
Galen stepped forward. “That’s a yes?”
“Gods, Galen. That is a ye—” He swallowed her answer, ignoring the rustle of their cloaks as he clutched her to his chest and tasted her lips, her jaw, her hair. Olivia smothered a laugh and her hand traced his brow until he let her slide down. She was flushed, cheeks redder than the sun setting behind her as she stepped back. She caught and held his gaze as she brought the torque up to her neck and slipped it on. It brushed her collarbone like it’d always meant to be there. “You’re never getting this back now, you know.”
Galen was grinning. His cheeks hurt, his chest burned. “As long as I have the one who wears it.” He reached out again but Olivia hopped back a step, a definite mischief lighting up her eyes.
One hand toyed at the torque at her collar. “You can, long as you can keep up.”
Her voice was a delicious blend of rough emotion and purring challenge that went straight to Galen’s groin. Olivia took a step back. She was near the edge again and cast a calculating glance over her shoulder.
“Liv,” Galen reminded her, “you just finished cursing your way up.”
“Sure, but falling is easy,” Olivia said, her face softening for just a moment as she smiled, achingly soft at him. “You’re the one who gives me ideas about flying.”
This was off script. Galen had envisioned that if all went well they’d spend a quiet time watching the sun set before he took her to their bed. Olivia, as always, had a way of throwing all his plans out the window. He glanced toward the edge. It was fifteen-hundred feet of estate wall, with only delicate cornices and random spurs of decoration to slow a descent. No scout could manage it without extensive training. And telling Olivia that would be the opposite of a deterrent.
He stepped forward. “We’re not racing.”
“Of course not. I’ll win anyway,” she taunted, and the giddiness was so obvious in her voice, so newly happy it made Galen breathe a contented huff.
Olivia beamed, surging up on her tiptoes to kiss him again then dance away before he could close his arms on her. She was a silhouette in the red-soaked dusk, shadowed enough that Galen almost missed her expression as she stopped at the edge and looked at him. “You better catch me. You’re my mate, after all.”
She stepped back into the sunset. Galen could hear the sound of feet on stone as she paused at the first handhold, waiting for him despite all her taunting. She wasn’t going to disappear on him. And he wasn’t going to disappoint her, not ever again. He strode toward the horizon and dove after her.
* * *
“Kitten has balls, I’ll give her that much,” Lyre drawled as the rest of the council table drew quiet. The senate had finished hours of ceremony, bestowing honors and following protocols, before finally calling Olivia in front of them. “Tradition says we owe you a boon, not the right to rearrange our government.”
The council table was full, every adviser from the senate present for the larger ceremonies and festivities accompanying the empress’s victories. Galen, though her brother, had no seat at the table as military head. He sat in the front row of the gallery. The council was solely comprised of Sabine’s governmental cabinet, mo
stly genta men and women from the noble families of the senate. Olivia cut a small, simply dressed figure standing in front of the might of the Quillian Empire. And at its center sat Sabine, an empress with a new silver eye and victory clenched in her teeth.
“I’m not asking for anything so grand as that.” Olivia’s gaze didn’t waver from Sabine’s face. “Just better representation for some of your citizens. It’s a smart decision. Given how the separation of dispositions played in the recent conflict, don’t you think a gesture of equality and reform would be wise?”
“We are pleased to see you’ve been inspired to such newfound civic-mindedness,” Sabine said lightly. Political, was what she meant. The sharp slant of her good eye toward Galen said she knew exactly where those precise phrases had originated. “But even if I would like to see increased caricae representation on my council, even given current developments—” Sabine’s eyes fell on the delicate silver and gold torque at Olivia’s collar, an authentic if uneasy smile on her lips “—you would encounter difficulties representing—”
“Of course,” Olivia said quickly. She spared a nervous glance for Galen. They’d anticipated that objection. Even if she gained Imperial citizenship, even if she married into the royal family, really, she would always be a Syndicate foreigner to the staid noble families. The solution was sitting next to Galen in the gallery. “You’ll be better served by an experienced, noble-born caricae.” She inclined her head, a summons.
“Ah gods’ tits, here we go. Hold my cigar,” Maris muttered, pitched low enough for only Galen to hear as she stood.
It went quickly, and just to plan, as Galen had suspected it would. Maris had the status in Sabine’s court as a dowager countess, the support of the caricae residents, with the impeccable noble bloodlines to boot. The Duchess of Yannos lodged her skepticism, insinuating mealy-mouthed words about whether caricae biology allowed the discipline to participate in council (“especially that time of month,” and Maris had to silence Olivia with a firm pinch at her elbow), but in the end, Maris had her seat.