Grunting with effort, she pulled at the bar, trying to lift it, and it rose—
A little more, a little more—
Finally over the hooks, it crashed to the floor. She pushed at the solid stone before her while the ground bucked, and Noc leaned against it until it finally started to grind open.
They pushed through leafy overgrowth into a dark grove of tall turkey oaks, with the waxing moon casting its glow overhead. The rumbling echoed from the tunnel, no louder than before, as Noc led them to a grassy clearing.
Veron—would he be all right? Would Gavri, Zoran, Gabriella, and Riza? Everyone? Veron was still back in the palace, still in the city, where she couldn’t go.
She clutched at the satin over her chest, trying to catch her breath. The dark-elves had lived underground long before, and they had to have shelters of some kind.
“What was that?” she asked, and Noc rested his head against her.
An earthquake? Veron had said since there were no earthquakes, the earthmovers had gone. If there had been an earthquake just now, did that mean—?
“Holy Mother’s mercy,” she whispered, clutching Noc’s mane.
He squealed, an unsettled sound, and began to back up.
“We have to go back.” She headed for the doors again, and whatever it took, she would—
Dark figures waded in from among the trees. Three of them, in long coats, with swords at their hips and crossbows in their hands.
Her pulse quickening, she stepped back, pressed herself against Noc.
As the three walked into the clearing, beneath the moon’s light, they were men. Sileni men.
“Well, well. Look what our geomancer chased out.” A crooked grin from one of them, a man with a mass of black curls.
“Your Highness,” the second one mocked with an elaborate bow. “The general will be glad to see you unharmed.”
The general. Tarquin Belmonte.
They closed in as Noc kicked out with his hind legs.
Chapter 17
Veron caught Yelena’s kick and shoved her out of the ring when a great rumble trembled through the hall.
People leaped from the benches, and Yelena moved to his side.
“Earthmovers?” he asked, frowning as he tried to isolate the sound.
Yelena shook her head and looked toward Nendra. “Mati?” she called out.
“Witches,” Nendra answered, standing at the head of the table, her voice echoing. “Dun Mozg’s heart is arcanir. They will not get through to us.”
No magic could penetrate arcanir, so they would be safe here. He looked to the section where he and Aless had been sitting, but only Riza looked back at him, her face grim. Where Aless and Gavri had been, only two empty spaces remained.
While the floor shook, he ran toward Riza, and she strode to meet him.
He grabbed her armored shoulder. “Where’s Aless?”
“She went to take some air and took Gavri with her,” she replied, grasping his forearm.
Behind her, Gabriella caught up to them. “Your Highness, I think she might be at the stables.”
“The stables?” Why would she go there? But as he looked toward Nendra and her concubines, her consort was nowhere in sight. Zoran.
He marched up to Nendra and bowed his head. “Your Majesty, I must take my leave—”
“Find your wife, Veron.” With a raise of her hand, she dismissed him, and he raced across the grand hall with Riza and Gabriella, and all of his kuvari followed in his wake.
Outside the grand hall, dust misted from the ceiling, and everywhere people scrambled for purchase as tremors wove through the rock. Gavri and Zoran wouldn’t let anything happen to Aless. They’d keep her safe. No doubt everything was just fine.
Even knowing all this, he ran for the stables and didn’t stop until he dashed through the open doors. Horses squealed in their stalls, but Aless was nowhere in sight. Neither was Noc.
Some horses circled restlessly in the paddock, but—
“Your Highness,” Riza called.
He followed the sound of her voice to a pile of rubble at a tunnel opening, where Riza, Gavri, and Zoran pried debris off the pile frantically. Deep, Darkness, and Holy Ulsinael, if Aless was—if she was under the rubble—
His heart hammering in his chest, he was already running before he could think to. He tore chunks of rock away from the rubble, clawing through it wildly.
“Your Highness,” Gavri said shakily, “she left with Noc, only for a few minutes, and—”
He threw a slab of rubble aside. No words mattered right now. “Just find her,” he snapped, and they all dug through the debris.
Holy Ulsinael, keep her safe. Deep and Darkness, cloak her in your sanctuary.
His hands bled, but he didn’t care. Let them. Let them break, if it meant finding Aless safe, but there was nothing. Nothing.
Finally two of the kuvari cleared away a large piece of rubble. Behind it, two slabs formed a passage, and he darted into it.
“Brother!” Zoran called after him. “It’s too dangerous! They could collapse if that—”
Rubble crashed behind him and voices shouted, but he squeezed through and picked a path until finally a night breeze blew in.
A doorway. A Gate.
He ran for it, and through, where the undergrowth gave way to sparse forest in the dark.
A loud neigh—Noc—and a scream followed.
Aless.
His heart caught in his throat, he bolted toward the sound, cutting through the foliage. In the clearing ahead, two men dragged Aless, kicking and screaming, south. Noc clamped his teeth down on the lanky one’s shoulder, eliciting a cry.
Just ahead, a bearded man lay in the grass, groaning, with a crossbow nearby. Veron seized it as he passed—
Aless struck and kicked at Lanky, locked down by Noc.
“Just kill the horse!” Lanky shouted to a grim-faced third, who drew his sword.
Veron took aim with the crossbow and shot the bolt twenty yards directly into Grim’s chest, making him stagger backward.
“Veron!” Aless shouted, repeatedly hitting Lanky, who struck Noc on the nose and dragged her away.
He closed in, grabbed Lanky by the coat, and threw him backward. Aless tumbled to the ground as Grim ripped the bolt from his own chest and slashed at him with the sword.
Lanky shot up to his feet, and Veron pulled the man to himself, catching Grim’s sword with Lanky’s gut.
“Behind you!” Aless shouted, laboring to her feet.
He snap-kicked Lanky’s back, sending both him and Grim to the ground as footsteps crunched from behind.
A blade slashed across his arm before he could dodge as Beard pressed his advantage. A cut—he ducked—a lunge, and he evaded, caught Beard’s sword-arm, and yanked him forward before burying his claws in Beard’s neck.
Blood sprayed his face when Aless screamed, and a set of arms constricted his neck. He clawed at the gauntleted hands, grabbed for the man’s head—
A sharp cry, and blood gushed over the side of his face.
The arms released, and he leaped away, spinning to face the man.
A body thudded to the ground.
Aless stood over Grim with wide, bulging eyes, gulping in breaths. The crossbow bolt was buried in Grim’s temple, his face stained with blood, his eyes frozen in death.
“I… I—” she stammered.
She’d killed a man.
She’d killed a man to help him.
“Are you hurt?” He grasped her upper arms, but her haunted gaze remained fixed on the dead man. “Aless,” he said, giving her a little shake. “Please, are you hurt?”
With a shiver, she looked up at him, wide eyes shining, lips parted, and covered her mouth with a hand before exhaling a huge breath. She began to fall, but he caught her, held her tight, rocked her gently.
“They were going to take me away,” she blurted, her voice breaking. “Veron, I was so—I thought that—”
“I know,” he
whispered, stroking her back softly. This was where she belonged, safe in his arms. And never in his life, in centuries, in millennia, would he allow her to be taken. Ever. If she was in danger, he’d follow her to the end of the world, to the end of life itself. Because this was where he belonged, too. With her.
She’d looked so soft, so fragile, his human bride, but tonight she’d killed a man to save his life. The woman he’d married was tough—tougher than he’d ever imagined.
Her plan to leave him didn’t matter. The lie didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered but this, her, here. And she had to know how much he cared for her.
“Your Highness!” Riza bellowed from a distance, quieter voices and footsteps accompanying her.
Still holding Aless, he looked over his shoulder. Riza, Gavri, Zoran, and the rest of his kuvari paused in the clearing, splitting to check the perimeter.
“Dispose of these three,” he said to Riza.
She approached, glowering at the bodies. “Brotherhood?”
He nodded. “Scouts. They must be using a witch to try to force us out, then using scouts to pick over the area and find a way in.”
“When these don’t report in—” Riza began.
“Let’s make sure Nendra is prepared.”
Riza gestured to Danika and two other kuvari, who moved in on the bodies.
“Is Her Highness all right?” Gavri asked, taking a step forward with Zoran.
He glared at her.
“Veron,” Aless whispered, “it wasn’t her fault. I was just outside the stable and—”
“She should have been with you,” he shot back.
“But the collapse separated us. If not for Noc leading me outside, I’d be…” She lowered her gaze as Noc trotted up to them.
I’m never done thanking you, my friend.
Noc bobbed his head.
But now it fell to him to tell Nendra battle was at her doorstep, and Yelena’s harsh stance on the human and dark-elf alliance would only grow in popularity. “Come. Let’s help Queen Nendra prepare as much as we can. We’re together in this.”
He ushered Aless past Gavri and toward the tunnel while Zoran took Noc; he’d have to lead him by way of another entrance.
“Veron,” Aless whispered with a wince.
He slowed. “Are you all right? Are you hurt somewhere?” he asked, looking her over.
“It’s my...” She blushed.
He suppressed a grin. He’d seen Yelena throw her onto her bottom. “I know just the thing for that.”
A long soak in Dun Mozg’s hot springs would soothe that ache… although he wanted—really wanted—to see to that himself.
Low, deep Stone Singing came from the Gate, singers asking the stone to remain stable.
Two kuvari rushed ahead of them into the tunnel, then called the all-clear. He and Aless crept through, squeezing through the tightness, back into the heart of Dun Mozg. Nendra’s kuvari were already there, along with the Stone Singers, stavbali who built, and an inzenyra who designed.
“Veron,” Aless began again, “I think we should send a message to my father.”
He stopped, watching the rest of his kuvari exiting the tunnel.
“He won’t want to risk this peace, not after all it cost him publicly to achieve it. And if a threat to my life isn’t compelling enough, he can always be counted on to defend his pride,” she added quietly.
“But your father isn’t a direct ally of Dun Mozg,” he replied. Would King Macario risk his soldiers and his reputation without a formal alliance between Silen and Dun Mozg?
Aless nodded. “You said dark-elves travel between queendoms by way of the tunnels.”
“I did.”
“What if we send a message to your mother, too, and most of our cargo to Nozva Rozkveta by way of the tunnels,” she said, “and then we travel light, by land, with our forces and lead the Brotherhood away from Dun Mozg?”
He crossed his arms, pacing before the paddock. If they stayed here and the Brotherhood laid siege, it could sour the people’s view on the human and dark-elf alliance, but it might also risk terms between Dun Mozg and Nozva Rozkveta.
But if they did what Aless suggested, if they could stay ahead of the Brotherhood, it would mean leading the enemy to a prepared Nozva Rozkveta with—ideally—King Macario’s army flanking. Strategically advantageous. And it would mean preserving favorable views of both the alliance with the humans and between Dun Mozg and Nozva Rozkveta.
And Mati would never want him to bring their problems to an ally’s doorstep if it could be avoided. She’d back this plan.
“I like it,” he said to her at last, and she rubbed her hands together—blood-stained hands. “I’ll brief Riza and have her work out the details with Nendra. We’ll set out before the rising call.” He approached Riza at the tunnel entrance to do just that.
“What about you?” Aless called after him, following in his wake. “Us?”
He turned back to her, took her shoulders gently. Her large, dark eyes gazed up at his. She was brilliant, clever, brave. But tonight, she was completely and utterly his to care for, in every way she needed for as long as she needed, until she felt safe again.
“You were attacked tonight. I won’t leave your side.”
“I… I need to know…” She took a deep breath. “Have you forgiven me?”
Yes, he wanted to say instantly. He’d felt it as clear as a lifespring, only moments earlier.
She’d gone into this marriage under duress and had hidden that from him from the moment he’d met her in Bellanzole, and that… had been aggravating. Thinking they’d been allies, friends even—perhaps something more, when she’d been forced into this and planning to leave all the while. Would she have even said goodbye? Or would it have been easier to just leave with a smile on her face?
But it had been aggravating. Had. They’d spoken about it, and she’d made an effort time and again to prove her commitment. Sometimes to the point of recklessness, like tonight in the ring.
And although she’d hidden the circumstances from him, when he thought of it now, he had no resentment in his heart toward her. None whatsoever. It hadn’t been a betrayal, malicious and sharpened to hurt. She’d been a scared human, sacrificing herself in marriage to a person she’d never met, from a culture she’d known nothing about—or worse, had been misinformed about. If she’d been weak, despite all that, she would have resigned herself to it.
But that wasn’t the woman he’d married. His Aless was strong. When someone told her there was no way out, she made her own. She hadn’t resolved to be with him because her father had told her to; she’d made up her own mind, and for that, he adored her even more. There was no betrayal in her affection now.
“Yes, I forgive you,” he answered.
Chapter 18
As Aless watched Veron speaking to Riza, everything else seemed to fade, to disappear. Colors blurred around her, sounds muffled to unintelligible vibrations, and her gaze wouldn’t be lured away from her husband, who passed on instructions—her instructions—in an important matter.
He’d listened to her, heard her out, considered her input, and it wasn’t the first time. He’d listened to her in Stroppiata, too, about the entry, when they’d fought the harpies, about the shrine…
It would have been easy for him to wave her off, walk away, ignore her “meddling” and tell her not to worry her pretty little head over such complicated matters, as Papà had always told her.
But to Veron…
To Veron, she wasn’t just a pretty little head. She was someone. A person with ideas, with a voice, with a need to help and contribute, valid opinions, and he’d listened.
And then, tonight, he’d forgiven her.
Finally, that hasty plan from before the wedding didn’t stand between them.
She would still follow her dream, but she couldn’t imagine it any other way but with Veron at her side. Together, they’d see the library realized someday. She’d propose it to him, to his mother,
to anyone who’d listen until it existed.
As Riza saluted and strode away, Veron glanced back over his shoulder, met her eyes with his own warm, golden gaze, and she had to remember to blink.
He returned to her, over six feet of warrior, strong, deadly, hers. Blood stained his jaw, his neck, his leather armor, and some of his hair, but she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself around him and kiss him until she forgot where she ended and he began.
With a smile, he offered her a hand, and she took it. He rubbed a thumb gently over the drying blood on her skin. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
He walked her toward their quarters across swaths of shining black pathways, past babbling streams and cascading waterfalls, shimmering with the soft sage glow of the bioluminescence.
A faint tremor shook the surface of the water, and she tightened her grip on Veron’s hand.
“Magic can’t penetrate Dun Mozg.” He cupped her cheek. “It’s encased in arcanir. You’re safe.”
She drew a slow, deep breath through her nose. Thank the Mother.
Veron pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, and then to her lips.
Her fingers ached for him, and she moved closer, rested them on the broad expanse of his chest, let them slip slowly to the sculpted hardness of his abdomen.
The rhythm of his breath changed, deepened, slowed.
Another tremor, and she blinked, meeting heavy-lidded, darkening eyes. He skimmed her jawline with his fingers, raised her chin, held her gaze. Her lips parted, and a shaky breath escaped them.
A couple of passersby smiled at them, and she became very aware of just how this looked. And how it felt.
Veron tipped his head in the direction of their quarters, and she nodded. The sooner they cleaned off all this blood, the better.
Once inside, she pulled off her boots as he did his, then began unfastening her bloodied dress. Veron lit a candle and then headed to the basin, where he dipped his hands and began to scrub them and wash his face.
Beneath her dress, she wore a short challis chemise tucked into trousers—her stained trousers, so she pulled those off, too. She moved to the basin next to Veron, washed her face and then her own hands together with his, using the olive-oil-and-rosemary soap she’d brought from Bellanzole.
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