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Without a word, the Ever King began to trudge back to the trees.

Before I could think, the words came. “Your story is only beginning. Take care with the hearts you claim.”

A furrow creased between his crimson eyes. He said nothing to me, but turned on the crowd. “Consider my debt square, Warrior.”

“Erik,” Stieg said, holding a hand out. “You don’t want this fight. You can end it, don’t listen to Davorin. He’s a spineless bastard who will give you no loyalty.”

Erik ignored Stieg and looked to where Valen kept to the edge of the trees. “My debt with your warrior is clear. Tack on the blood hair woman too.” He flicked his gaze to Malin. “Seeing how she took me out of that room. But with you—it will never be cleared until blood spills.”

“We don’t have to be enemies, boy.”

“Is that what you told my father right before you killed him?”

Valen sighed. “You were young; you do not know all the reasons.”

“Don’t tell me what I know. I know what he did to your precious little seer fae. I also know I will never forget the sight of him tumbling into the sea.” Erik stepped into the shadows of the trees. “Consider this truce at an end.”

The Ever King faded into the darkness in the same moment Torsten drew in a sharp breath.

Chapter40

The Storyteller

Sol hadTor wrapped in his arms. I wasn’t certain we’d ever be able to pry them apart. Torsten was still bloody, still looked like he ought to be on a funeral pyre, but when we inspected the wound, as the boy king said—it was closed. Nothing but a blood-smeared mess on his skin.

Whatever path of fate came with Torsten’s song, still held. Rave, Ettans, and Falkyns traipsed our small camp, taking shifts on who’d stand watch.

Herja returned to the walls with the archers. Hus Rose remained untouched.

The sea fae had settled for the night from scout reports. It seemed, for now, we could rest.

The mood was somber in the trees. Few folk spoke about what happened in the battle. Most coupled off or burned offerings for their friends who’d fallen. Kings and queens visited those in their individual armies who’d been wounded or killed.

Saga led a prayer to the gods for Rune, Magus, and Yarrow. Ari handed the new Serpent Lady a talisman from her brother and promised the support of their crown as she navigated her new title.

“Cuyler.” I touched his shoulder in one of the healing lean-tos that had been hastily erected.

The blood fae stirred, a mossy bandage still wrapped across his eye. He forced a grin, but it was more a wince. “Cal.”

I didn’t try to hide the disquiet and took his hand. “You almost died, you sod.”

He chuckled. “That I did. Seems I’m short an eye.”

“For certain?”

“Well, it’s not in my head anymore, so.”

I let out a wet laugh when he beamed. “You bleeding idiot. It’s not something to smile about.”

Cuyler sighed and closed his uninjured eye. “Well, it’ll be quite a tale to tell. The more battle scars one has, tends to attract all manner of blood fae women.”

I rolled my eyes, leaned over, and pressed a kiss to his sweaty forehead. “Don’t lose the other one, you fool.”

“Ah, but two missing eyes might very well attract two women.”

I shoved his shoulder, glad he at least had his wit, then made my way back to the camp.

With Herja at the gates it gave Gunnar and Eryka a bit of respite. Gunnar inspected Bard’s scar across his throat, then mocked Tova the way she kept her hands all over his uncle.