Page 34

The sun was high by the time Aemyra blinked her eyes open, her body pleasantly achy, and she stretched luxuriously. She could feel Terrea through the Bond, soaring somewhere in the Deàrr Mountains, pleased that Aervor had submitted to her.

The storm had cleared the sky and Aemyra blinked into the sunlit room. Fiorean was sound asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, and Aemyra felt like a traitor to her own cause when she felt no hatred for him. The distrust lingered, and likely would until she was sitting on the throne with Lissandrea’s crown decorating her brow.

Pushing her conflicted thoughts to the back of her mind, she slipped from the sheets, grabbing a robe and opening the veritable apothecary Fiorean had outfitted her with yesterday.

Enjoying the sunlight warming her back through the window, she withdrew every vial, jar, and instrument. The selection of herbs was impressive, and Aemyra quickly found what she was looking for.

As was her habit, Aemyra filled the teapot with clean water from the ewer, which no one would have laced with the binding agent. She wrapped her hands around the teapot and heated it with her magic. Delighting in the sensation of having it returned to her, she set about mixing the right herbs.

“You look beautiful in the morning.”

Fiorean’s voice made her jump, and she almost dropped the raspberry leaf she was shredding. He was leaning against the bedpost, observing her with a smile.

Putting the lid back on the teapot, she poured them both a cup, making sure not to confuse the two.

“Drink up,” she commanded.

He looked down at the liquid but did not lift it to his lips.

“If you wish to experience a repeat of last night then you will drink the tea,” Aemyra said firmly.

The expression on Fiorean’s face was conflicted, but she saw his eyes dart to her lower abdomen.

She took a long draft, the bitter taste pursing her lips.

“I will have control over my own womb,” Aemyra said.

Fiorean lifted the cup to his lips. “I have been taking a tonic daily for years, Aemyra. My father might be gone, but I would never subject my child to the kind of upbringing I experienced.”

Setting her cup down on the table, Aemyra thought of their half-finished conversation from the night before.

“You can help me make this territory better,” she said.

“Mhm.”

“My true inheritance is a quick temper, the ability to forge steel and cure minor ailments. Beyond that, I keep nothing of what I have been given.” Aemyra spread her arms wide. “My power belongs to my people.”

Fiorean’s expression softened. “I’m listening.”

“We must root out the stain of the Chosen from Tìr Teine, starting from within this caisteal. I wish to free Sorcha from the dungeons as soon as possible. Then we will figure out how to get Evander to abdicate,” Aemyra said.

Fiorean’s jaw slackened. “That will be far more complicated than you think. My brother will never willingly step down as king, and Athair Alfred has hundreds of priests and Covenanters at his disposal. Even if I could convince the royal guard…”

Aemyra moved closer to him “We have to try. We both know that the real people making the decisions are your mother and Athair Alfred. Remove them, and Evander will listen to you.” She pressed her palms to his bare chest. “You once told me that you believed your brother could become a better ruler than me. Do you still believe that?”

Fiorean didn’t answer.

“I’ll take your silence as confirmation that your feelings regarding your brother have changed, and I already know you do not share your mother’s faith.”

Fiorean set his empty teacup down and took her hands. “People will still die, and I cannot guarantee that I can make my brother see sense. This plan is hardly foolproof.”

Aemyra nodded. “Which is why you will help me escape when the time is right.”

Fiorean paled.

“You don’t have to be implicated if you don’t want to be. Tell Evander I knocked you out while you were sleeping and I discovered the secret passageway myself.”

“Who would believe that?”

“I would,” Aemyra retorted with a smile.

Fiorean pulled her closer. “I make no promises, but I will help you for as long as it best serves Tìr Teine. As long as the safety of my family is not in jeopardy.”

Aemyra nodded; it was better than she had dared to hope for.

If Fiorean could plant a seed of doubt, start to turn them against the Chosen—Athair Alfred’s regime would crumble from the inside. And Evander…well, perhaps the dragon madness would take care of that problem for them.

Looking pointedly at the tea she had brewed, Aemyra said, “Part of my plan involves ensuring that every woman, migrant or magical or otherwise, has the right to choose what happens to her body. Has a say in who she marries.”

Fiorean smirked. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with me telling you what to do last night.”

Aemyra wasn’t prone to blushing, but thoughts of the third ravaging that had taken place after they had tumbled out of bed and onto the rug heated her skin.

Before Fiorean could distract her, she placed a hand on the solid planes of his chest.

“You said that you invited the ùir women here to marry your brothers because you saw it as a way out for them?” she asked.

Fiorean nodded slowly. “Yes. However, none of them were required to make the journey, and both Elear and Nael made their matches for love. You haven’t had a chance to get to know Charlotte, and I know you think Elizabeth insipid, but I assure you they are very well matched with my brothers.”

Aemyra patted his chest reassuringly. “That wasn’t what I meant. It’s hard for me to understand why you chose to offer an escape from oppression to women outside of this territory when there were women here, in Tìr Teine, suffering right under your nose.”

Fiorean frowned. “I can assure you that had I known ab—”

“Those who worship the Savior in this city are few, but the Chosen have views toward women that are entirely backward. I witnessed men commit atrocities and attempt to justify them by saying they were working in the name of the Savior. I saw villages burned to cinders by the Covenanters.”

“There is a limit to how mu—”

Aemyra interrupted, her temper spiking. “If I was able to save people from the evils of the priests as a blacksmith’s daughter, think of what you could have done as a prince.”

Fiorean stilled, and Aemyra sighed.

“When Sir Nairn was appointed to captain, punishments for criminal activity became severe.”

“And you view that as a bad thing?”

“When children are being thrown into the dungeons for stealing food they cannot afford thanks to the taxes of a mad king, yes,” Aemyra said, her voice rising.

Fiorean’s expression darkened. “I never heard about any of this.”

“I’m not telling you this to blame you.” Aemyra sighed. “I’m telling you so we can agree that this will never happen again if we rule together.”

Those emerald eyes snapped onto hers, a promise lighting their depths.

He was easily as powerful as she was, and a prince of Clan Daercathian. Even without the unsettled succession, a match between Penryth and àird Lasair would have made sense.

“My first commission in this city had been to forge manacles for the caisteal dungeons. I never questioned why the shackles were to be made so much smaller than what would traditionally fit around an adult wrist.”

Fiorean paled.

“Where are they now?” he asked, after a moment. “The children you saved?”

Extracting herself from his arms, Aemyra looked up at his face. “They are all priestesses in Brigid’s temple. Five of them are anyway. I have never been able to shake the guilt of crafting their manacles with my own hands.”

Fiorean’s calloused fingers stroked the smooth skin of her cheek. “They were the first to oath themselves to you, after Kenna?”

Aemyra nodded, a lump appearing in her throat as she thought of them. “I know you can’t let me visit, but can you please tell me if they are safe?”

“They are confined to the temple but living comfortably. I can send a guard down later this afternoon to inspect.”

Aemyra relaxed slightly. “Thank you.”

His hair was falling out of the knot he had slept in, auburn strands framing his scar.

“Why do you keep it covered?” she found herself asking.

Fiorean swallowed. “Because it is a mark of shame.”

Aemyra traced the outlines of the puckered skin with the tips of her fingers until she noticed Fiorean shudder.

She dropped her hand, and he caught it in his own.

“They are from my father,” he finally replied.

Aemyra’s heart jolted. Three distinct lines ran down the side of his face, deep enough that the original wound must have been open to the bone.

“But—”

Fiorean squeezed her fingers gently. “I told you that you still have much to learn about my family.”

Aemyra knew enough to fit some of the pieces of the puzzle together. The king had been drawing too much of Kolreath’s power into himself and it had driven him mad. She wondered briefly if his other sons bore similar marks. If his wife did.

“It is only a mark of shame if you let it be so,” Aemyra said quietly.

“These scars are from my father’s hunting knife. Given to me the night I tried to stop him from whipping my mother to within an inch of her life.”

Dropping her eyes to their entwined hands, Aemyra worked hard to keep the revulsion off her face. Whatever she had been imagining, it hadn’t been that.

“When I lay bleeding on the floor, he made me watch as he gave her ten extra lashes for the trouble. I Bonded myself to Aervor the next day,” Fiorean said bitterly.

He had been thirteen years old. For the first time, Aemyra truly believed that things were perhaps more complicated than she had realized. This man who had become her husband was far more than the hateful prince she had assumed him to be.

“At least when I Bonded to Aervor I became more powerful than my father. It was enough to get him to stop abusing my mother, but I couldn’t bring myself to…”

The words hung in the air between them.

“That is not something to be ashamed of,” Aemyra whispered as she finally met Fiorean’s gaze.

She gently tucked his curtain of auburn hair behind his ear and knew he was wondering if Evander would grow as violent as his father.

The scar was brutal, that was true. Puckered, and still angrily red after all these years.

“I cannot erase what was done in the past, or the mistakes that my father made, but I can promise you that I will do whatever it takes to protect the people of this territory. And you,” Fiorean said.

Silently, Aemrya allowed her husband to pull her back to bed.

This time they simply lay under the covers, holding the broken pieces of each other together.