“Hello, urchin. Have you been inventing?” he asked with a frown. He shouldn’t have left. She hadn’t been caring for herself again.
She shook her head and returned to picking at her food.
Rhone dragged his eyes over the table.
“Where did you go?” the Ire woman asked, throwing down her knife.
He blinked at her. Something had happened; he just didn’t know what. “Sector Two and back.”
Those at the table didn’t bother pretending they weren’t listening. Sanjay was grinning widely, and Rhone clenched his jaw.
His eyes flicked back to Monikah and then down to her plate. “You know, you’re meant to eat food, not pull it into one hundred pieces.”
She put a tiny portion of bread in her mouth.
“You know, Rhone,” Sanjay said, gulping back some brew. “I’ve been thinking that you chatter a bit much for my liking nowadays.”
“Am I still racing with you?” Monikah interrupted the man.
What?
Fiona and Jacky leaned forward to hear his answer. Rhone withheld an annoyed groan. Fiona wore a small frown as she peered at him, like he was the one in the wrong. But what the hell had he done?
“Yes,” he said. “Of course.” Why would she think he’d changed his mind? Spending a night in a tent with her was all he’d thought about on the way back to the castle.
Her green eyes flashed. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure.”
He suspected asking why wouldn’t lead anywhere good. Rhone stood, ignoring Sanjay and Ronan’s unsubtle sniggers. “We will need to do a couple more mid-length runs. Are you free this week?” They really did need to practice together, he told himself, though he’d never practiced with Gyn at all.
Monikah rolled her eyes, snapping. “I’ll have to check.”
Damn, he’d definitely upset her somehow. “So . . . what have you been doing in the last three days?”
Monikah stood, blinking furiously.
Were those tears? Rhone studied her face, alarm rising sharply within him. Why was she crying?
“Waiting for you to come back, and wondering why you didn’t take me, and why you left the morning after kissing me!” she shouted.
Monikah whirled and stormed out of the food hall, the shocked stares of the assembly trailing after her, the king and queen included.
When she’d disappeared from sight, everyone turned to him, waiting.
He stared back at them, in shock himself.
Sanjay stood and put the table between them as a buffer before saying, “Rhone, my friend, there are two types of screwing: one that the woman enjoys, and one that they don’t. Guess which one you just did?”
Chapter Nineteen
“Feed them extra tonight,” Rhone reminded Gyn on the way out of the kennel.
Gyn muttered back, “I weren’t born yesterday, laddie. I’ll give them first-class care; don’t you worry about that none. And I’ll sleep in here to make sure none of the competitors tamper with them. Over my dead body will they hurt these dogs,” the kennel master said hotly.
Rhone made no reply, stepping into the frigid air of the courtyard. He hadn’t seen Monikah in four days. She’d avoided him the first three days, eating somewhere else and ignoring his thrice-daily visits to knock on her chamber door. What was he supposed to do? Charge down the entrance and fling her over his shoulder?
Delivering messages around the First and Second sectors for King Jovan sent Rhone away from the castle the fourth day. After their argument, Rhone dreaded the race tomorrow—that she might not show up to race with him.
With some time to reflect on his actions, Rhone was inclined to think Sanjay might be right about screwing this situation the bad way.
He ignored the boots at the top of the stairs, until the person spoke.
“Hey,” Adnan said.
“Hey,” Rhone muttered.
“Fiona and Jacky sent me to talk to you,” the inventor said, then burped.
Rhone halted on the top step and studied Roscoe’s son. “Are you drunk?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I thought it best.”
Rhone grabbed the inventor’s arm and directed the swaying man inside. “What is it then? I’m not sure you have much longer.”
Adnan screwed up his face. “Now, what was it. . . .”
“Fiona and Jacky,” he prompted.
“Fiona and Jacky! Yes. They sent me to tell you I’m not after Monikah and you . . . you. .. .” Adnan trailed off. “Oh! And that Monikah only has eyes for you. That they assed her.”
“Asked her?”
“Assed her, yes, that’s what I said. And she said you didn’t like her, and. . . .”
Rhone sighed heavily, and stopped Adnan at the base of the stone stairs.
“And! Uhm. That you screwed up by having a jealous tantrum, but Monikah was still totally down.” Adnan giggled and breathed in Rhone’s face.
They thought he’d left in a jealous tantrum? Rhone snorted. “Is that it?” Rhone knew he was getting a condensed version of the real conversation, and he winced thinking of what else may have been discussed, if Adnan had managed to remember ‘jealous tantrum.’ Maybe Rhone was fleetingly jealous of the inventors getting on so well, but that wasn’t why he’d left after the kiss at all.
“That’s all, Rhoney baloney.”
Rhone had considered seeing the inventor safely up the stairs. Not after that. “Don’t fall down the stairs on your way to bed.”
“Way to bed?” Adnan spluttered. “I’m just getting tarted.”
“Started?”
Adnan staggered forward and back. “That’s what I said.”
“Yep, sure,” Rhone said. “Go to bed, Adnan. You might just make it if you leave now.” He strode away, but bypassed the food hall. His head was too full for that place. He needed to talk to Monikah, and tell her where he’d been and why, but he didn’t want to mess things up. If she returned to the Ire after the race thinking he didn’t care, Rhone would never forgive himself.
He had one chance to get this right.
Rhone strode down the long passage joining the baths and the castle. Jovan had ordered these built to mimic the underground springs on the fire world. Rhone had soaked in the underground springs during the peace delegation, and these baths didn’t shine a light in comparison, but hot water at the end of a cold day was hot water at the end of a cold day.
Only a few people bobbed in the baths when he walked through the door. Rhone stripped off his heavy garments, and then the tunic and trousers underneath. Naked, he walked to the edge and waded in, sighing as warmth invaded his cold and aching muscles.
He retreated into the far corner of the square building and placed his arms over the raised stone border of the bath, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Monikah.
Adnan’s garbled and drunk attempt at a speech hadn’t been completely without benefit. The urchin had told Fiona and Jacky that she had feelings for Rhone. He grinned, a warm lightness spreading through his chest.
“Rhone,” a melodious voice called.
He cracked open an eyelid and saw the king’s right-hand man floating toward him, butt naked. “Roscoe,” he replied.
“I haven’t had a chance to speak to you since you arrived back. How was your trip?” The older man settled against the wall beside him.
Rhone pushed at the water, which answered him by simply flooding back. “Good, I think.”
“You seem happier,” the advisor said, leaning his head back against the stone border.
Rhone shrugged, searching for the right words. “I guess I am. I . . . met someone.” His cheeks burned at the confession. He wasn’t used to opening up to people. In hindsight, he saw that a lot of the assembly’s standoffishness had been his fault. If they’d kept their distance, it was because he’d assumed they’d want to, and then did nothing to lessen the divide.
“I’ve seen her,” the advisor said, opening his eyes. “She possesses a unique mind.”
A uni
que mind? That was the tip of the iceberg. She was also selfless, and sweet, and empathetic, and the most beautiful woman Rhone had ever seen.
“She sees secrets,” Rhone said, then smiled at the man’s baffled stare, saying, “. . . She might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Roscoe’s lips curved up into a wide smile. “I am glad. You will both do well here.”
Chapter Twenty
Rhone held a rucksack and crammed in enough food for him and Monikah to last a few days.
“Is there anything in particular I need to bring?”
He sighed with relief at the sound of Monikah’s voice, even though it dripped with ice. She hadn’t responded to his knocking half an hour before. Rhone turned and scanned her, swallowing back nervousness at the blank look on her face.
“No, your clothing looks warm enough, and I have blankets, a tent, and enough food.” He’d double-checked the cargo bed of his sled before coming to the food hall. They had everything they’d need.
She grabbed a hunk of bread, avoiding his gaze. “One tent?”
Warmth stirred inside him. “One tent,” he said in a low voice, stepping closer.
Monikah darted a look at him, and he opened his mouth, summoning up the speech he’d prepared.
Someone clapped him on the back. “Good luck, Rhone. Do us proud.”
Rhone sighed under his breath.
“Break a leg.” Another person hit his back.
Rhone shook his head and tied the bag firmly shut. This wasn’t the right moment for their chat. “Come on. Let’s head to the sled.”
Monikah chewed on her bread, walking out of the food hall beside him. “Do these people usually speak to you this much?”
“No,” he answered. “Only during the race.” He represented the king in the races. The other contenders consisted of couriers working for businesses, and those who transported goods between sectors. A couple were amateur sledders.
“Is that why you race?”
He shook his head. “I race because I enjoy the rush and the challenge.”
Someone shook his hand. Monikah’s eyes tracked the person walking off afterward. “I can understand why you like your friends,” she said. “I guess the others aren’t bad, but why do you stay if you don’t like the rest of the assembly?”
Rhone turned to look at her munching on the bread. He repeated what he’d recently figured out. “For a long time, the castle only meant a comfortable bed and a regular meal to me. You were right when you said I’d stopped seeing kindness because I didn’t expect it. I didn’t exactly encourage friendships from the people here. I’m partly to blame.”
She glared at him. “Just partly?”
Why did he get the feeling she was talking about something else now?
Rhone pushed the heavy doors open and a wave of sound blasted in. Monikah gripped his forearm, her cool façade falling.
“What’s that?” she blurted.
He peered across the courtyard. Through the lowered gate, he could see the edges of the packed crowd. “The people gather to see the start of the race,” he said.
Monikah’s color paled. “You didn’t say people would watch,” she hissed.
“It’s a race. What did you think would happen?”
Rhone resumed walking, and Monikah edged forward in his shadow. “This is the biggest crowd,” he said. “People come here to watch from the Second and Third because they don’t get to see the rest of the race. But the crowds we encounter during the race will be smaller.” Until the end.
The watchmen raised the portcullis and the crowd parted to let him through, their roar swelling.
“That’s a lot of people,” Monikah said, clutching his arm tighter.
Rhone pulled her arm through his. “You’re okay, urchin. You just need to hang on to the sled and leave everything to me. Soon we’ll be out of sight.”
“What if I fall off?” she whispered, then added, “That’s the first time you’ve called me urchin in four days.”
Was it? “Well, you’ve been avoiding me.”
She turned a frown on him. “Of course I did. I’m upset.”
“I came to your door three times each day.”
“Not the fourth day.”
“I was out delivering messages for the king,” he said.
She tilted her chin, green eyes blazing. “And was that where you disappeared to after our kiss, Rhone?”
“Rhone.” One of the other sledders greeted him, intruding on the tense moment. “Good luck.”
He couldn’t remember the man’s name for the life of him, but recalled the balding man was one of the better sledders, and played fair, too. The same couldn’t be said for most of the sledders—that they played fair, that is. Rhone didn’t begrudge them, however. If he was stupid enough to let his guard down for them to sabotage his race, then that was his fault. As long as they didn’t attempt to hurt his dogs, Rhone would take anything else on the chin. The prize was one thousand goldies, and that would set up most of these people for life. Rhone would never deliberately lose a competition, but he did feel bad for taking the winnings from someone else when he had a mounting pile of gold in the king’s treasury.
“Good luck,” Rhone said back, with a dip of his head, feeling Monikah’s eyes boring into his face. He turned back to her. “Look, I—”
He spotted Olina and Jovan striding towards him. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. Was five uninterrupted minutes too much to ask for? He slowly straightened, wiping his hands on his trousers.
Monikah stared past him and her green gaze darkened.
“If you lose, don’t come back,” Jovan said, shaking his hand.
Olina laughed, assuming her husband was joking—which Rhone highly doubted.
“Good luck, Rhone,” she said, stepping up to hug him. “And to you, Monikah,” the queen said.
“Thanks,” Monikah said shortly.
Rhone glanced at her. The crowd was getting to her more than he’d thought. He gave a slight bow to the royal couple and noticed the king was struggling not to laugh. Rhone thought back over the last few moments, wondering what Jovan’s source of amusement was.
“Thank you, King Jovan. Thank you, Queen Lina,” Rhone said formally.
“I’m going to wave the flags around for you guys to start,” the queen informed them, raising on tiptoe a few times. She dragged Jovan to the front of the sleds where a large rock protruded.
“I need to check the dogs,” Rhone turned to say, but Monikah was already hopping onto the sled. Shit, he was officially screwing this the bad way again. This wasn’t how their talk was meant to go.
Forcing that aside for the moment, Rhone assessed his team, checking their harnesses and connection to the line, and ensuring none of the dogs were injured or sickly. He ran his eyes and hands over every inch of the sled as the king began speaking and the crowd hushed.
He joined Monikah on the sled, and frowned at the heavy hang of her head. “You’ll feel better once we get into the trees and away from the crowd.”
“Doubt it,” she muttered.
“Today we hold the 165th annual dog sled race,” Jovan said, his cold voice carrying.
The crowd roared and clapped their hands. Monikah was holding her breath. Rhone wrapped an arm around her waist, something he’d longed to do for days. “Shh, Monikah. It’s okay.”
She nodded, and Rhone gave her a squeeze before letting go.
The dogs jumped forwards, reacting to the tension in the air and Rhone called out, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Leo.” Despite his consoling words to Monikah, a lot of sledders tended to screw up near the beginning, allowing their lines to grow slack, or to tangle with another sled. Excited dogs were harder to control, and this moment always separated those who had complete control over their dogs from those who mostly had control.
“Oh,” Monikah said. “I nearly forgot. I made you these.” She drew out two pairs of goggles and passed a set to him.
Rhone took them with
no small amount of dread. The unrestrained laughter of the crowd as Monikah put hers on changed his mind. Fuck it. Rhone pulled the goggles over his head. He didn’t look at the crowd, not needing to confirm many of them would be rolling on the snow-covered ground at the sight, including his friends.
Jovan was running through the sledders’ names, reading off a piece of parchment.
“Whoa, Leo. Whoa,” Rhone said. “We’ll be launching fast to get in front of the others, Monikah. Hold on tight, but keep your body relaxed. There will be a lot of noise when the queen waves the flag, but ignore everything but me and the dogs.”
“Okay.” Her voice was muffled from behind the hood. Either that or she was about to faint.
The king gestured to his queen and the fevered pitch of the crowd tripled for their favorite ruler, who many of them knew as Frost. Rhone tunneled his focus down the line, holding on to the side of the sled with one hand.
Olina brought the flag down and Rhone wrenched the snow anchor out of the ground, sprinting with the sled and the dogs, until he was able to leap on behind Monikah.
“Hike, hike, hike!” he shouted. “Hike, Leo. Go, go, go.”
Rhone leaned with Monikah to the right as Leo navigated the first bend, only a nose ahead of two other sleds on the wide plain. This was crunch time, getting ahead of the other sleds before the bottleneck into the bush. “Straight, Leo. Hike, hike!”
Rhone held on to the sled and kicked at the ground behind to help the dogs’ pace. Sweat poured down his neck and disappeared into the thick confines of his fur garments. He’d be freezing later when the sweat cooled.
He kept kicking as they slowly pulled ahead of the other sleds. Rhone drew himself up close behind Monikah. A glance at her told him she might have frozen to the sled.
He peered left and right. The closest sled belonged to the man who’d spoken earlier. Rhone didn’t mind going into a bottleneck beside him. He wouldn’t risk his dogs in a clash, but the thick-browed Bruma to his left, farther behind, wouldn’t hesitate.
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