Ahead, a thicket of them knotted in a massive bramble, thorny and breathtaking.
“Nozva Rozkveta is seated over the largest Vein of anima in the land, the force from which all life and magic springs. And for as long as we have existed here, so has the Bloom, cocooning our home from all who would do us harm, allowing in only friends to our kind.”
It was as if the land itself protected Veron’s people—now her people—enshrining them from danger.
Soon, Veron halted the cavalcade and everyone dismounted. He helped her down onto her sore legs, and it took some waddling while braced against him before she could even move properly.
They approached a Bloom thicket, knotted and twisted chaotically in vines and roses, but Veron didn’t stop. The tangle parted for him, reshaping into an arched colonnade that he entered without hesitation. All around them—on the sides, above them, even below—vines writhed in living form, held that shape, as she accompanied him, as the others followed behind with Noc and the horses.
At the end of the Bloom’s colonnade, the path lowered to a large stone door, ancient and massive, etched with runic script. Still holding her hand, Veron approached it and tapped a rhythm on its face, the Nozva Rozkvetan knock.
The massive door opened, ground against its stone frame, revealing a tunnel inside and two kuvari in leathers.
“Your Highness,” they greeted in unison. “Nozva Rozkveta bids you welcome.”
He thanked them as he entered, stroking her hand softly, and the rest of the cavalcade followed.
The tunnel was dark, but at its end was a lavender glow. As they approached, Veron raised her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her skin.
“Welcome home, Aless,” he whispered, and they stepped into a vast space.
Bioluminescent mushrooms climbed the cavern walls, bathing the realm below in that lavender light, along with radiant white glowworms and glittering vines of the Bloom sprawling as far as the eye could see.
She gasped, looking everywhere at once, at gleaming dwellings of mirror-like black stone and glistening streams weaving among shining paths. On the outskirts, fields of green shoots peeked up from ebony soil.
“H-how can they grow here, when—”
Veron grinned at her, his golden eyes soft. “The Vein. It seeps life into everything here. Into everyone.”
Groups of singers ringed unfinished structures, their tones impossibly deep, their songs unlike anything she’d ever heard. Passersby stopped to bow and offer cheery greetings.
Veron nodded toward the tall, black towers peaking above a building like a cluster of crystals. “I wish we had time to stop at the lifespring first, but we need to tell my mother what’s happened.”
“Let’s get Gavri and Valka back first,” she said with a nod, and then she could ask what a lifespring was.
Riza joined them as they strode toward the palace, and every muscle in Aless’s body rebelled. The long ride had been difficult, painful, but they’d made it here before the Brotherhood could catch up to them.
Nozva Rozkveta would have time to prepare for the attack, and by the grace of the Holy Mother, hopefully the food had arrived by way of the tunnels.
Four kuvari guarded the palace entrance, and they stood aside as Veron entered and proceeded straight down the main hallway to a set of massive doors.
Two kuvari opened them, and inside, the grand hall yawned, massive, the Bloom vines climbing its walls, ceiling, and stalactites and adorning them in glittering green and crimson roses that radiated a vivid glow.
This place breathed life, teemed with it.
At the end, a regal woman sat atop a translucent crystal throne, its peaks fanning out behind her. She had a diamond-shaped face, elegant and smooth, slightly lighter than Veron’s, and voluminous platinum hair, cascading in curls sectioned with beads, a futile attempt to contain the wild tresses. Her clothes were a robe and peplos of the finest silk she’d ever seen, and Papà’s imports had not been inexpensive. Her feet were bare and clawed, their points shorter than the sharp ones on her hands, where she wore a pair of arcanir bracers.
Every part of her was lithe, sleek, and even as her crossed leg bounced lightly, it did so with a catlike grace, and yet her arms and shoulders were muscled, toned. The queen sat upon a throne now, but her physique said she could have anyone pinned to the gleaming black stone within seconds.
Her eyes were a warm amber, gentle and placid, and yet they glittered with innumerable facets of jeweled wisdom so deep those eyes could be infinite.
Veron’s mother. The queen. Queen Zara.
This was her husband’s mother, and meanwhile, she’d arrived with Veron in wrinkled, dirty, rain-and-sweat-soaked clothes, looking like something feral and smelling… well, “worse” was putting it mildly. Clearing her throat, she swept some stray horsehair from her rain-damp riding habit, her other hand in Veron’s warm hold.
The queen smiled as her gaze landed on Veron, genuine, sweet, in a way that lit her face radiantly. She stood from her throne, pushing off with a limber little leap, and strode the length of the distance between them.
Veron bowed before the queen, and Aless followed suit.
“Welcome home, Veron,” the queen said evenly, her low voice mellifluous, pleasant. “And you, daughter”—a gentle hand touched her shoulder, and Aless slowly straightened to face a smiling queen—“I welcome with a glad heart.”
The queen was so beautiful that it was difficult not to stare.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Aless breathed. “I’m honored to finally meet you.”
The queen glanced down to where Veron’s hand still held hers, and somehow, the queen’s radiant smile widened. “I hope in time you’ll come to call me Mati.” Turning to Veron, she added, “I am overjoyed for you, Veron.”
A corner of his mouth turned up as his gaze turned to her briefly, soft and loving, shining and pleased, before he looked back to his mother, that gentle smile fading. “Mati, I wish we came only bearing good news.”
“The supply caravan arrived by way of the tunnels earlier today, and we’ve already begun distributing food,” the queen replied. “And they brought news of the Brotherhood army and your plan.”
If only that were the only bad news.
Veron took a deep breath and nodded. “They’ve taken Gavri and Valka captive.”
Chapter 21
Veron walked with Aless to his quarters, her hand in his, and stared at the floor. He’d brought home his bride, and his mother and queen already approved of her. He’d be making the Offering to Aless at the second ceremony in three days.
In those three days, they might already be embroiled in a war.
One of his best friends and another of the kuvari could be held by a radical faction determined to annihilate his people.
Mati had said she would be sending one of her kuvari to the Brotherhood army to discuss terms. One had already volunteered, even knowing it was likely a suicide mission.
If only they could send in a small team to rescue them—but that would have no chance of success. If Tarquin was smart, he was holding Gavri and Valka in the heart of the camp, and a dark-elf team would have no chance of making it through the outskirts. Gavri or Valka or both would be killed, along with the team.
The convergence of such keen anguish and the most ardent joy he had with his wife weighed like the sky of stone upon his shoulders. He held her hand, and allowing himself to feel even a fraction of that joy came with the sting of Gavri held prisoner, possibly hurt, possibly suffering, and their people stepping into what could be an impending war.
“Papà will come to our aid, Veron,” she said, rubbing his arm. “He wouldn’t make this alliance unless he was prepared to defend it. And we’ve already demonstrated its validity. Dark-elves defended humans in Stroppiata. We earned the duchessa’s friendship. People embraced us. The Brotherhood alone is left, an embittered old radical on the back foot. Papà will snap up the chance to rid his land of it.”
The lives and wellbeing of Gavri, Valka, and all their people rested with a man who had traded Aless—his brilliant, brave, wonderful Aless—away with not a care to her unwillingness, in the coldest, most unfeeling way imaginable.
“I wrote to everyone. I wrote to Bianca, and to Lorenzo, too,” Aless added, giving his bicep a squeeze. “Lorenzo won’t give up on this—unlike Papà, he actually cares about us. And maybe Bianca could have a word with Luciano, convince him to talk his brother down.” She gave him a nudge. “We have multiple plans in place. Something will work in our favor. You’ll see.”
Those hopes were remote, but she was right in her optimism, in her morale. They had to believe in something, or else the battle was already lost.
“Besides, your mother already said she had a plan.”
In an hour, Mati expected them over for a midnight supper with Vadiha, Dhuro, and Yelena. Before he and Aless showed up, he’d have to muster the requisite morale. Mati had given her orders. It was time to support them.
“You’re right. I know you’re right,” he said, pulling her in to kiss her temple. “We’ll find out more when our messenger returns.” Not if, but when.
She gave him an encouraging nod as he opened the door to his quarters. Not much had survived since the Sundering, but he’d never needed much.
Inside, the space was bare but for his blackstone tables, laden with bowstrings, fletching, arrowheads he’d been making, and a boot brush and leather balm. Aless flitted to it and lifted the brush, grinning. “You really do have a boot thing.”
He cleared his throat. “Taking care of your boots is just being responsible.”
She lifted a brow, her grin broadening.
“If you don’t, the leather can be hard, too stiff, unforgiving, and—”
That brow lifted higher, and she leaned against the table. “I’d say ‘go on,’ but I have the worst case of saddle soreness known to humankind.”
Shaking his head, he smiled and closed the distance between them, grazing her cheek with his fingers. It was a surreal pleasure to stroke her without worrying about his claws harming her, and he couldn’t get enough of her smoothness, of touching her, everywhere she wanted, in the way she wanted.
“If you’re sore”—and he was, too—“I have the perfect cure for that.”
Shuttering her eyes playfully, she tilted her head. “I am all for curing, although I should warn you that after days of riding in the rain, I reek like a farm animal right now.”
He suppressed a smile. There was a possibility that something more amusing than Aless existed in the world, but it had to be slim. “I meant the lifespring. It has restorative properties.”
Those eyebrows shot up and her mouth fell open before she tried to turn her face away. But no, he would get full view of this. Blushing, she looked everywhere but in his eyes until at last she relented and bit her lip.
“I’d love to hear all about this ‘cure’ you thought I meant,” he teased, holding her gaze.
Her long, elegant fingers toyed with the fastenings on his jacket as that blush was soon joined by a coy smile. “Well, it would involve you, me, and…” She glanced toward the bed, then gasped. “Veron!”
He followed her line of sight to the enormous human-style mattress sitting on the platform below his blackstone headboard. Her mattress. “Someone must have brought it in from the tunnels.”
She darted to it, ran her hands over it, then pressed a palm into its springiness. “This really is… How did you…”
“I thought you might like it,” he said, “so I had it brought over from Bellanzole with us when we left.” Along with all its bedding and pillows and countless other things that had adorned the beds in King Macario’s palace—somewhere, in one of the carts.
Her eyes were wide but, when they met his once more, took on a mischievous gleam. “Oh, Veron… This bedchamber will see a lot of ‘curing.’ A lot.”
He burst out laughing before he could help himself, and she only grinned back at him. He offered her a hand. “But first, the lifespring?”
Taking it, she nodded. “And supper.”
Aless rubbed her neck as Veron led her into the smaller, private dining chamber of the queen. The ache she’d felt there—and everywhere else—had disappeared, along with every trace of soreness ever. A short soak in the lifespring, and she was completely renewed.
They’d met two women there, Vlasta and Rút, who’d thanked Veron profusely for his help.
He’d explained that they were lifebonded, a dark-elf ritual that somehow joined two lives as one. They made each other stronger, shared life, but if one died… they’d share death, too. An oddly frightening and yet romantic concept.
The mystic at the lifespring, a healer named Xira, had given her robes that the other dark-elves seemed to wear outside of special occasions and traveling or combat. Soft and a neutral off-white, they wrapped her comfortably, with matching trousers that tucked into boots. It was strange not wearing her usual garments, not to mention wearing the same clothes as Veron, but she wanted to make an effort to fit in. These were her people now, too, and her family.
The queen wanted to have a private meal with her, Veron, his brother, and his sisters, but there was so much happening that it seemed impossible to just focus on getting to know her new family.
And there was the matter of the library. Paladin Grand Cordon Nunzio hadn’t seemed averse to the plan, and she had to strike while the iron was hot, but with the Brotherhood threatening all-out war, it would have to wait.
She took a deep breath. Tonight was about making a good impression.
“They’ll adore you,” Veron whispered to her as they entered the queen’s quarters, where glowing Bloom vines wrapped pillars and climbed across the ceiling, like something out of a daydream. Veron led her off to the side, through a large archway into a dining room with a round blackstone table ringed by benches.
A number of people were already there—a stern-faced woman with long, tousled hair, carrying a little baby, and a man with her, the sides of his head shaved and his hair tied back.
There was a tall man with shoulder-length hair, his face simmering under a taut brow, and three women with wild hair only barely tamed into thick braids—clearly they’d taken after the queen. The three of them wore face paint, one with black smudges over her eyes, another with a strip across them, and a third with a line across each cheek.
All eyes turned to her and Veron as they entered, with the stern-faced woman holding the baby and the man with her rising first.
“Everyone, this is Aless,” Veron said with a smile. “Aless, this is my sister Vadiha; her husband, Arigo; and their daughter, Dita.”
Dita had large, sunny-yellow eyes with long lashes, chubby little cheeks, and little pointed ears, with fine white hair wisping off to the side.
“She was hungry, so she’s up a little late,” Vadiha said as she approached with Dita in her arms, who reached out a tiny hand for Veron’s hair. He gave her his finger to clutch instead and kissed her forehead lightly.
“Veron,” Vadiha breathed, her eyes wide as she stared at his hand. Her husband’s eyebrows shot up, too. “What’s happened? Did you—did you do that to yourself?”
His claws. He’d said they were a point of respect, hadn’t he? This was a shock to his family, because he’d changed for her.
But that change… had meant everything. It had meant they could both set aside fear, and be together without worrying about accidents. He’d done it for the sake of their marriage. Even faced with his family’s shock, she wouldn’t take that back. Even if that made her selfish.
Veron gave his sister a cavalier shrug. “I’m happy, Vadiha.”
But Vadiha’s gaze meandered to her, blinking long, pale lashes.
Veron leaned into his sister’s line of sight, blocking her. “Vadiha. I mean it.” His carefree voice had firmed.
But his sister’s eyes only hardened as they met his.
“Love,” Arigo whispered to Vadiha,
“it’s not self-harm. Some things need to change when two worlds collide.” Arigo offered her an encouraging smile and a nod as he accepted Dita from his wife. “It’s great to meet you, Aless. Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you,” she said, with a smile and a nod in return. “I still have a lot to learn, so I appreciate any help as I find my footing here.”
Dita cooed, blinking wide amber eyes at her, and reaching for her hair with tiny, clutching hands.
Arigo laughed. “I’m sorry. She seems to be in a hair-loving phase.”
“I kind of want to touch it, too, though. I’ve never touched a human’s hair,” one of the women said as the trio approached, a strip of black face paint across her eyes like a blindfold. She pursed her lips. “Is that weird?”
“Playing with each other’s hair? Not weird at all,” Aless answered. She wasn’t all that different from them, but if they were curious, she wouldn’t shut them down.
“I’m Amira,” she said, offering her hand. “You humans take each other’s hands, right?”
“We do,” she said, taking Amira’s hand.
“Gentle,” Veron warned his sister.
“I know, I know. Their skin is silk thin. I know.” Amira’s fingers were stiff as she kept her claws away. “Veron, how do you keep from accidentally hurting her? Even without the claws, I mean, the skin, you know—”
Pressing his lips together tightly, he gave Amira a slight shake of the head.
“It’s not that fragile,” Aless cut in. “I mean, I can get thrown on my backside in a ring and not explode.”
A bark of laughter burst from one of the other two women.
“This is Zaida and Renazi,” Amira said, cocking her head toward them as they inclined their heads to her, the one with the lined cheeks laughing to herself. “We’re volodari, and actually headed out on a hunt shortly, but we didn’t want to go without meeting our new sister.”
The one with the smudges over her eyes took a deliberate step forward, the rest of her body perfectly controlled. “Amira’s mouth runs away with her, but we are glad to meet you, Aless. I’m Zaida.”
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