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Chapter Sixty-Seven

Annora

After spending time with Jasce in the valley, the first thing I think about doing is throwing myself into work. Working with my hands silences my mind, and the gods know I need that more than ever.

The soft, rhythmic chopping of vegetables fills my ears as I bring the knife down again and again. Carrots, potatoes, and turnips pile up under my steady hands.

“Will you stir the stew, My Lady?” the cook asks as she gestures toward the massive iron pot hanging over the roaring fire.

As I grab the spoon and plunge it into the bubbling mixture, my thoughts shift to my younger sisters, and I say a silent prayer for their safety.

Hopefully, Emerin and Tahira are well, and they are waiting for me to take them to Sharhavva. How I want that more than anything—to have them nearby, to watch them thrive.

My muscles strain as I continue to stir the soup, making sure nothing sticks to the bottom or sides of the pot. Such a simple task, yet it makes me feel like I’m contributing.

More vegetables need chopping. More water needs hauling to quench thirsty throats. More bread needs kneading to satisfy rumbling bellies.

One menial task flows seamlessly into the next, each requiring just enough of my attention to keep my thoughts from wandering back to those darker places.

My shoulders ache, and my feet throb by the time we finally serve the evening meal, but when I see the grateful faces of the warriors as they receive their heaping portions, something warm blooms in my chest. Something that makes me feel less broken inside.

More whole again. Fractured, perhaps, but even fractures can be healed over time.

After I help serve the last warrior, I return to the cook’s fire, grab a piece of bread, and tear off a small piece, knowing I need to keep up my strength. The crust crackles between my fingers as I bring it to my lips.

Sillhavva Village.

The name echoes in my mind as I force myself to take that first bite. I discovered the name of the village three days ago on one of Jasce’s maps while he was meeting with his brothers.

I had traced the careful ink strokes until I found it—that tiny dot marking where homes once stood, where families once lived.

My fingers tremble as I tear off another small piece of bread. Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back. I won’t cry. I can’t anymore.

Tears won’t bring those people back. Won’t heal the fracture I ripped across this land.

I finish the last of the bread, then head toward Jasce’s tent. Maybe he’ll be back from meeting with his brothers.

As I step into the tent, my breath snags in my throat. Dozens of sketched seashells cover every surface. They’re pinned to the tent walls, scattered across his desk, arranged in careful patterns that make my artist’s heart ache with their beauty.

Jasce sits on the bed, watching me with those intense eyes that see straight through to my soul.

“Did you do this?” I ask as I take a step closer to where he sits.

“Yes.”

Something breaks inside me as I cross the space between us in three quick steps, settling onto his lap, and throwing my arms around his neck. “I don’t deserve you, Jasce.”

“Yes, you do.”

I bury my face against him, breathing in his familiar scent of leather, applewood, and smoke. “I love you.”

Jasce’s arms tighten around me. “I love you too.”

My fingers tangle in his dark hair as I kiss him, needing to lose myself in him.

“Don’t be gentle,” I say the moment I break the kiss.

His hands tighten on my waist. “Annora...”

“Make me forget.” I roll my hips against his, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest. “Help me forget everything but you.”

The last thread of his restraint snaps as his mouth crashes into mine. This is what I need—this burning passion that consumes everything else.

I fumble with the hem of his surcoat, and he helps me pull it over his head.

Tonight, I want passion, and I want to burn so bright in his arms that all the darkness gets burned away.

His hands slide beneath my surcoat, touching my hips, my stomach, my breasts. My head falls back as his lips trace down my throat, and I arch into him, desperate for more contact, more heat, more of everything he offers.

The rest of our clothes fall away until there’s nothing between us but skin and shared breaths.

When he enters me, the world narrows to just this. Just us. Just the way we fit together, as if we were crafted from the same star.

Maybe we are. Maybe the gods made us for each other.

What a beautiful thought. A perfect thought.

He is mine. And I am his.

Without him, I would have never found the dawn again, the promise of a brand new day.

I dig my nails into his shoulders as he moves, each thrust driving away memories of flames and screams until all I can think about is the way Jasce feels, the way he touches me, the way he loves me.