He rolled his eyes and sighed. “What about Gavri?”
As much as he cared for Gavri, her decisions hadn’t exactly been brilliant lately—from betraying him, to carrying on with Zoran, to derelicting her duty to guard Aless.
She was quiet a moment, nuzzling his chest with her cheek. “Gavri told me that once lost, your trust is unrecoverable.”
Gavri would say that, because up until recently, it had been the truth. After he’d lost Ata, he’d never wanted to go through it again. “One betrayal has the power to destroy everything. And I’m tired of losing things.”
“But you forgave me.”
He had. And it had happened through none of his own making—clearly his heart knew better than he did, and he wasn’t about to complain.
Aless sat up and looked at him, her palm pressed over his heart. “People might sometimes betray your trust, Veron, and you might lose them. But if you choose not to forgive, you don’t have to worry about losing them… because you’ve already pushed them away. It’s still loss, but of your own making.”
He blinked.
“Do you really want to lose Gavri?”
Even though Aless had lied, he hadn’t wanted to lose her… had forgiven her.
He lowered his gaze to the water, watching its steam rise. But wasn’t it better to lose someone knowingly, by his own choice, than to wait for a worse betrayal? Watching them walk away in deception, while he, without knowing the truth, was helpless to do anything about it? Wasn’t it worth the years of wondering what if?
What if he hadn’t let Ata leave that day? What if he’d followed him? What if he’d learned of Ata’s plans?
Would he have been able to stop him? To save him? Would his father be alive right now?
“She told me about what happened with your father,” Aless whispered. “You were just a child, Veron. It wasn’t fair, but there was nothing you could have done.”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong. He was my father. I loved him, and I should have known him better than anyone. But I didn’t.” That day, he’d accepted Ata’s smile without a second thought. “I have forgiven you, but there’s a reason I don’t forgive. I see people, Aless, but I don’t understand them. I can know someone my entire life and not realize they’re going to betray me. I can be in love with a person, and not know she’s plotting to kill my mother. When it comes to understanding other people, I… I can’t even trust myself.”
If he trusted those who betrayed him, if he forgave them, would the next betrayal leave Aless dead? Or Mati? Or Riza? Or any of his sisters and brothers? His people?
He knew Aless would never betray him again, that she’d never hurt him or anyone he loved, and so he’d been able to forgive her. That had to be why.
But anyone else? He’d trusted Gavri after her lie, at least enough to let her continue performing guard duties, and what had happened? Aless and Noc could have been buried under rubble.
There was a reason he couldn’t forgive betrayers. And it wasn’t because they were terrible, or selfish, or evil. It was because he couldn’t trust himself to understand them. And that could mean losing someone he loved… again.
Aless turned to face him, slowly brought her knees down around his hips, and settled into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and as hot as the water was, the warmth inside of him wasn’t from the spring, but the soft look in her eyes as she leaned in and lightly brushed his lips with hers.
“People you love will let you down, Veron,” she said softly. “I’ve been let down and I’ve let down others more times than I can count. But no one is perfect. Everyone makes mistakes. If you don’t forgive, the only difference is that they’ll make their mistakes without you. Is that really what you want?”
Those mistakes hurt. But never laughing with Gavri again? Or losing her, Aless, or any of his loved ones?
“And may I remind you,” Aless said, kissing him lightly again as she leaned into him, “that if not for your forgiveness, we probably wouldn’t be right here, like this, right now?”
A solid point. A very solid point.
“You might not be pushing away just the bad, but the good, too.” Her mouth fell open as she rocked against him, water lapping about them.
Just the thought of her caring enough about his friends—and him—to broach this was enough to make it worth considering. “I’ll think about it, I promise,” he replied.
“Good,” she said with a smile, and he held her close as he lifted her from the water. “Because we have a long ride ahead of us.”
And a few days’ worth of traveling, too.
Chapter 20
As the rain started to fall midafternoon, Veron tucked Aless’s copy of A Modern History of Silen inside her cloak, into her belt. Riding double with him on Noc, she’d been reading it aloud all morning since they’d left Dun Mozg, and the trip had been far less dull with her animated voice spinning tales.
She was fast asleep now, her head resting against his arm, and Noc’s gait had become all the smoother.
You’re fond of her, he told Noc.
So are you, Noc answered.
He laughed under his breath. It couldn’t have anything to do with the apples she’d brought in their pack, which had mysteriously disappeared after their rest stop. Even for that short reprieve, she’d been eager to learn the bow, and could even hit a target now… sometimes.
“You spoil her,” Yelena murmured, riding up to him, hooded and cloaked.
He sighed. Queen Nendra had insisted that Yelena and some of her kuvari accompany them to Nozva Rozkveta, saying she wouldn’t risk Queen Zara’s son and a Sileni princess being killed on the way home from her queendom.
“She was attacked last night, in case you forgot,” he shot back. “By fanatics and, earlier, by you.”
She scoffed. “You know my mother would have me given into the Darkness if I destroyed the peace.” She rolled her eyes. “Besides, let’s not pretend this is about her little tumble in the ring, or the human scouts you killed.” She gave him and Aless a stern once-over. “You were seen all over each other on the main thoroughfare. It was the talk of the cavern this morning. And then you”—she curled her upper lip—“disfigured yourself like that.” She cocked her head toward his hands. “No dark-elf woman would have you now.”
Aless nuzzled his arm sleepily, and he held her closer. He didn’t want a dark-elf woman, or any other. The only one he needed was right here, would always be right here. “All that matters is she does.”
Yelena shook her head.
“Let me guess—you disapprove.”
A huff. “Well, she’s no dark-elf.” Yelena’s eyes fixed on Aless. “But I heard she killed one of those scouts last night. A crossbow bolt through the head, by hand.” She whistled softly. “She may not be a warrior, but she’s not the typical scurrying salamander, either. I still don’t like her, though.”
From Yelena, that was a glowing endorsement.
“And I don’t believe a word about those human deeds in her tales,” she added with a grunt, “except the parts about all the dying and fleeing.”
He suppressed a smile. So she’d been listening to Aless reading.
With the rain coming down, the day dragged traveling in the sky realm, but at least in the tunnels their cargo caravan wouldn’t be slowed by it. No doubt the food and supplies from Bellanzole and Stroppiata would arrive in Nozva Rozkveta well before he did. He and Aless had also sent Gabriella with Danika to deliver the message to King Macario; with any luck, they’d take the tunnels as far as they could and stay out of the Brotherhood’s reach.
Without carriages and cargo, his group made good time, even in the mud, moving fast enough to keep ahead of the Brotherhood’s army while leading them away from Dun Mozg. He and Yelena had made sure to leave behind easily found tracks, so if the Brotherhood wanted him or Aless, they would follow.
Despite being faster, he and the rest of the group still took precautions—short rests only and sleeping in sh
ifts. Scouts to make sure they weren’t cut off by a forward team—Riza was out now with Kinga. With any luck, they’d be in Nozva Rozkveta tomorrow night.
Unlike Dun Mozg, however, Nozva Rozkveta wasn’t encased in arcanir. While nestled on an enormous anima Vein, its only protection was that any magic used on it would mean the witch risking convergence—or what today’s witches referred to as “fureur,” according to Aless. Tapping into the earth’s life force, its innate magic, would mean certain death for a witch. That and potentially upsetting the earth’s anima.
It would be enough. Deep, Darkness, and Holy Ulsinael, it had to be enough.
Gavri rode nearby, and he’d promised he’d think about forgiving her.
One betrayal did have the power to destroy everything, but pushing someone away was destroying everything with his own hands. He couldn’t predict others’ actions with perfect accuracy, couldn’t account for mistakes or betrayals, but when it came to people he loved, he wanted to be there for them through the bad and the good. When they made mistakes, he wanted to be there to help them, to support them, to save them if he could, instead of isolated, away, alone.
Malice didn’t hide in every untruth. He was tired of losing things, but that meant he needed to stop pushing everyone away.
“Gavri,” he called, and she looked over her shoulder, her wet braid swinging, and slowed. “I… I wanted to say I’m sorry. I overreacted.”
Her eyes widened, and she glanced down at Aless before meeting his eyes anew. “You don’t need to apologize to me, Veron. I understand.”
He took a deep breath and brushed his fingers through Noc’s mane. “No, I do. I want to.”
She shook her head.
“I nearly let one argument destroy our friendship. Can you forgive me?”
With a subtle smile, she bowed her head. “Already forgiven. And I’m sorry I let things with Zoran interfere with my duties. It won’t happen again.”
The thought of Aless being under the rubble threaded rigidity through him, but she was right here in his arms. Everything was all right.
“How did things go with you and Zoran?” he asked.
Gavri rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. “I’d resolved to lock up my heart, to keep him out. And then in Dun Mozg, he told me I was the love of his life, that it had been so hard to leave that he couldn’t bear to say goodbye, and that we could never be together.”
That much was true. Zoran’s Offering to Nendra had sealed the alliance between Nozva Rozkveta and Dun Mozg. For as long as Nendra remained in power, Zoran had to stay by her side as king-consort if he wanted to protect that alliance. Zoran and Gavri had loved each other—did love each other—and could never be together.
And I get to be with Aless. In his arms was everything he’d never known he’d wanted, but if he’d been a little more skilled, a little more talented with a blade, he might have been the strongest of his brothers and been bargained away to Nendra instead of Zoran. That was an unjust twist of fate he felt keenly, that he should have Aless in his life when Zoran couldn’t be with Gavri. “I have no wisdom for it. Would that the Darkness had shadowed your lives differently.”
Her gaze downcast, Gavri lifted a dispirited shoulder. “We serve at Her Majesty’s pleasure.”
As she looked back at him over her shoulder, she raised a fist.
The entire group came to a halt. She gestured behind them, where two riders tore up the muddy ground at a steady clip. Riza and Kinga.
They rode up, and Riza slowed her horse to a trot, approaching him.
“Your Highness,” she said, heaving tired breaths, “a forward team. Less than half a day behind us.”
They’d relied on the likelihood that the Brotherhood would follow, but a forward team made the situation vastly more dangerous.
“At this rate, they’ll catch us tomorrow afternoon,” Kinga added, panting.
“Send Gavri and Valka to keep an eye on them. And as for us, no more long stops,” he bit out. They couldn’t risk them. If they were pinned down, and the Brotherhood army caught up to them—he shook his head. “We pick up the pace.”
Riza gave a curt nod. “You heard His Highness,” she called out to the group. “Move out. Now!”
Aless woke from dreams of vining roses and Veron’s touch. As she blinked her eyes open, the sun was setting, and she was still in the saddle with Veron. She glanced around for Gabriella—but no, she’d sent Gabriella with Danika through the earthmover tunnels to Bellanzole, with letters for Papà, Bianca, and Lorenzo, and even Duchessa Claudia along the way. Holy Mother, keep her in your light.
“Are you hungry?” Veron whispered in her ear, his voice a low rasp. He handed her some bread and cheese they’d gotten in Stroppiata.
“Thank you,” she said softly, and nibbled on the food.
When had he last slept? Their pace had only picked up since news of the forward team, and it was taking a toll on everyone. They had to stay ahead, but they couldn’t take much more of this. Veron couldn’t take much more of this.
She’d woken a few times during their travel as they’d paused briefly to feed and water the horses, to rest them and switch to fresh mounts, but Veron had told her each time to go back to sleep. She was saddle sore and tired, but if they hadn’t stopped for long since yesterday, he had to be exhausted. “Is there a way I could stay awake and you could sleep?”
He kissed her cheek. “We’re almost there. Only a little more, and then we’ll both get some rest. Promise.”
His optimism was heartwarming, but she could hear the exhaustion rasping in his deep voice. He was tired. Beyond tired.
Next to them, Riza pulled up on her horse. “Your Highness…” Her voice drifted.
Riza wasn’t one to mince words, at least not in the short time she’d know her. This had to be bad news.
Veron stiffened. “What is it?”
“Gavri and Valka should have returned from scouting by now, Your Highness.” The words were quiet. Uneasy.
Maybe they’d gotten lost. Maybe one of their horses had lost a shoe. Or maybe…
“Could they have gotten lost?”
Veron took a deep breath. “Not out here. We know these wilds well—sometimes our hunting or scouting takes us out this far.”
Which meant…
We have to look for them, she wanted to say.
But it was the wrong thing, and she knew it, deep in her bones. If the Brotherhood had captured them, then they wanted Veron to come looking. Wanted to capture him, and maybe even her, and do who-knew-what to everyone else here.
She and Veron needed to negotiate for their release—only… they had nothing but themselves to offer. And Gavri and Valka would only be leverage until Tarquin got what he wanted—vengeance for his sister, Arabella.
But Queen Zara would be in a better position. And yet… “There has to be something we can do, Veron,” she whispered. “It’s Gavri.”
“Gavri and Valka know what it means to be kuvari,” Riza said, sternly but not bitterly. “They are prepared to give their lives for our prince, and for Nozva Rozkveta.”
“It doesn’t need to come to that,” Aless replied, twisting in Veron’s hold.
“There are no other options,” Yelena said from next to them. “We’re in no position to negotiate, and the humans would be waiting for a rescue mission if we tried that.”
As much as she wanted to argue for Gavri, none of what Yelena had said was incorrect.
Veron’s grip on the reins tightened, and next to them, Noc, unburdened and resting, blew out a breath and tossed his head.
Veron nodded. “No more scouts. We make for Nozva Rozkveta, then I’m certain my mother will send a messenger for terms.”
“It’s the right call,” Yelena said.
It didn’t feel that way, but getting themselves caught or trading themselves in wouldn’t help Gavri or Valka. They had to handle this carefully, with Queen Zara.
Riza passed on Veron’s orders, and the cavalcade picked up the
pace, pushing their horses to the limit. Noc ran alongside the others, spurring them on, and she couldn’t help but glance around Veron’s arms from time to time, searching the darkening distance for Gavri and Valka.
After hours of more riding, night had fallen, and she could barely see her hand in front of her face, let alone the path ahead, but Veron and the rest of the kuvari picked their way confidently. She wanted to ask him about it, but her backside and thighs were so sore, her entire body so achy, she couldn’t even muster the words anymore. Her thoughts lingered on Gavri, and praying for her safety and swift return, along with Valka.
Her eyelids were drooping when something glowed faintly ahead. Like fireflies, lights winked in the darkness, flowing in lazy curls and scrolls. Pixies.
A fresh, alluring scent filled the air—roses—its density surrounding her, so powerful she could close her eyes, reach, and touch the velvety petals. A dream—no, a hallucination?
The glow of the pixies gently illuminated vines twining old ruins, climbing the stone, claiming it in sprawling, verdant green—an ancient courtyard—and bright crimson blooms unfurled amid a thicket of green, roses so large, so vivid, as if they’d grown from her dreams and fantasies. In full bloom, mysterious and lovely, exhaling that most spellbinding perfume in the pure air. So tangled, wild, and yet they shimmered in the glow, dazzled with an otherworldly beauty.
The only roses she’d seen even approximating their brilliance had been at the palazzo, during the wedding, but they hadn’t glittered as these.
“Veron,” she breathed, and her voice was no more than a thin, tired whimper. “These roses…”
Warmth met the top of her head in a kiss, and his tightening embrace pulled her closer. “We brought many for the wedding in Bellanzole, but once cut, they begin to lose their luster. They shimmer here, wild and free, because this is where they belong, where they can thrive.”
As they approached, she gasped. For a lifetime, she could take in their beauty and never get her fill. These roses weren’t like the trimmed, manicured gardens of the nobiltà, but an unfettered, chaotic beauty that nothing tried to contain.
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