Page 18

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By the time the sun hung heavy in the western sky, we’d passed a handful of villages and climbed deep into the mountains. Mixed forest gave way to sparser spruces and firs, bent against the cold like old women, and the peaks’ bare slopes were crowned with glittering snow.

A final village, smaller than the rest, clung to the flanks of the mountains in a narrow valley just before a major pass. By unspoken agreement, Aric and I paused in the center of the road, studying it from a distance. The village seemed quiet, no guards in sight. Sturdy sheep dotted its paddocks and smoke drifted serenely from manifold chimneys, blending with the haze of low-hanging clouds. I recognized the pass from my study of Gildenheim’s geography, or at least I thought I did.

My heart sank. If I was right about our location, we’d covered less than thirty miles and still had the breadth of the mountains to cross. The journey should have taken two days, but at this rate we’d be lucky to get there before the coronation. We hadn’t accounted for Aric being slower than a typical horse—in retrospect, a grave miscalculation.

The already dipping temperature and heavy clouds promised a wet and frigid evening. I pulled my coat tighter to my neck with one hand as a raindrop hit my face.

-The cold will only get worse after sunset,- Aric said, mirroring my thoughts.

I nodded grimly. My body was already weeping at the prospect of another frigid night of sleeping on the ground—especially if it decided to rain in earnest. Along with the cold, fear prickled my spine. The glow wyrms had been harmless enough, but if they and the walking trees were real, what about the rest of Gildenheim’s legends? I wasn’t keen on taking the chance that the soul-hunting wyrdwolves from the “folktales” Tatiana and I used to scare each other with would turn out to be as harmless as puppies.

-We should see if the village inn has any beds available.-

I hesitated. “You don’t think they’d recognize me? Or you, for that matter. Unless you’re planning to sleep in the stables?”

-I doubt the news of my assassination has spread this far,- Aric said. - And no, I don’t think they’ll recognize either of us. We’re not dressed as nobles, and the majority of Gilden citizens can barely even write their own names. I doubt they’ve been studying my portrait in their spare time.-

I pulled a face. As far as I was concerned, there was no excuse for illiteracy in a wealthy country.

-It’s something I plan to remedy,- Aric said, his tone sharpening as he sensed my disapproval.

“What, having your citizens study your portrait? Do you plan to distribute cameos?”

-Teaching them to read. The knowledge gleaned from books should be available to everyone.-

Annoyance had turned to earnestness in his voice. Interesting. I’d known Gildenheim lacked a system of public schools like those run by the Adepts in Damaria—a worthwhile investment, since any person could potentially manifest magical ability. But I hadn’t realized Gildenheim’s rulers cared about such things. Perhaps they hadn’t, before Aric.

I turned back to the village, scrutinizing its streets. It appeared harmless. Sedate. That didn’t mean it was. Smiles and mild manners could hide a weapon just as well as a soldier’s uniform.

But I was exhausted. My entire body hurt, both from a night of sleeping on the ground and from the remnants of my earlier flare. The cold already pinched at my skin, threatening a night worse than the last.

“Aric, are wyrdwolves real?”

His words were tinged with confusion at my tangent. - Why wouldn’t they be?-

That, and another raindrop splattering on my hand, finalized the decision for me. It might be self-indulgent, but I was willing to take Aric’s assurances about our safety for my own if it meant a good night’s sleep.

“Never mind. Let’s ask for a room at the inn.”

The sun was already broaching the horizon, so we loitered near the road until Aric transformed back into a man. He shook himself with a full-body shudder as he finished pulling on clothes.

“Archives and indices,” he muttered. “Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to not have hands ? I’ve been plagued by itches all day.”

I managed not to laugh. We made for the village, carrying the saddle and impossibly heavy bags and hurrying to outpace the coming rain.

The village’s streets were as quiet as they’d seemed from a distance. A few heads turned to watch us pass, making my shoulders tighten with apprehension. But they soon turned away again, uninterested. I tried to relax. We were on the main road to Damaria, and adjacent to a major mountain pass besides. The villagers here saw travelers every day. We were just two more—albeit two who were carrying an expensive saddle with no horse in sight.

The inn was easy to find. Humble but clean, it had its own small courtyard just off the main road. Inside, the building was dimly lit by tallow candles backed with pewter—they couldn’t afford Adept-crafted lanterns; no surprise there—but a hearth spilled warmth and light throughout the interior. I cast a suspicious glance at the fire, remembering the green flames in my chambers at the castle, but this one looked ordinary enough.

The inn’s main room was empty aside from a group of three travel-worn customers drinking beside the hearth and an innkeeper behind the bar. I glanced warily at the travelers, who were watching us none too subtly. One of them, a woman, Gilden-pale and dark-haired, didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t looking. I didn’t like the way her eyes lingered, hungry and intent. It was probably just curiosity on her part. But my nerves prickled, and I was glad of the rapier at my side. The sooner we were out of their sight, the better.

Aric, setting down the heavy saddle, caught my elbow as I started across the room. He lowered his head towards mine, and for a dizzying moment I thought he meant to kiss me.

Instead, his lips brushed against my ear, sending a tingle down my neck. “Let me do the talking.” His voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

I pulled my elbow from his grasp. “Why? I can haggle as well as you. Better, probably.”

“It’s not about haggling. Your accent stands out.”

“My accent is impeccable, ” I retorted, deliberately butchering each syllable. Aric winced as if my pronunciation physically pained him, and I hid a smile as I followed him to the bar.

“A room for the night. And a meal.” Aric set our purse down on the bar. “We’d prefer to dine in private if possible.”

“Of course.” The innkeeper’s accent, by comparison to Aric’s, was like pond water to melted ice. Aric’s own pronunciation, of course, was crisp. Flawless. Royal. Too late, I realized that his accent might betray us worse than mine.

I glanced over my shoulder at the other travelers. Still watching. My nape prickled a warning. Did they recognize Aric? Or me?

I leaned around Aric, caring more about speed than hiding my accent. “And a bath, please. As hot as you can make it.”

Aric gave me a sharp look. I countered with my most winning smile. “I desire to wash before bed, husband. At least one of us smells of horse.”

The tips of Aric’s ears turned pink. He looked at the bar instead of the innkeeper as the woman named a price.

Aric paid without argument—so much for haggling—and we went upstairs to wash and change. He slotted the key into the lock and turned it.

Then stopped in the open doorway, blocking my view of the room.

“What? Does this room come equipped with assassins, too?” I rose on my toes to look over his shoulder and was treated to a view of a chamber with a washstand, an empty tin tub waiting before the blazing hearth, and a bed with the sheets made up. Smaller than I was accustomed to, but clean. No assassins to be seen, unless they were hiding under the bed.

Oh. The bed. There was only one.

My face warmed. We’d slept together in the arboretum, but the idea of sleeping beside Aric as a man knotted my mind into a much more complicated tangle of conflicting feelings.

The stairs creaked behind us. Someone else was coming up, and we were standing in the hallway for anyone to see. I nudged Aric in the ribs. “Inside. We can discuss inside.”

I pushed him into the bedchamber and closed the door behind us, turning the key in the lock. As the bolt clicked into place, I let out a sigh of relief.

Aric set the saddle he’d been carrying on the ground. “I’ll sleep on the floor.” His voice was grey with resignation.

I dropped the saddlebags on the bed. I’d managed to go the whole day without thinking of how he’d flinched from me on our wedding night, but it couldn’t be avoided forever. “I thought we’d established that I’m not going to stab you during the night. I realize you find me abhorrent, but surely we can manage to occupy the same mattress without touching.”

Aric flushed scarlet. “I—ah—I—why do you think I find you abhorrent?”

I folded my arms. “I believe the last time you and I were about to share a bed your words were Let’s get this over with. ”

Aric actually covered his face with his hands. “Bianca. I thought you were planning to kill me and usurp the throne. It had nothing to do with… well, you.”

Oh. Oh. “So your reaction wasn’t because you find me abhorrent?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I wanted to snatch them from the air and stuff them back down my throat where they belonged.

What I could see of Aric’s face was the color of sunset. “Abhorrent is not the word I would choose.”

I was tempted to ask what word he would choose, but I didn’t trust my tongue. It seemed determined to tie itself into knots whenever the subject of our relationship came up.

“Well,” I managed. “I don’t see an issue with sharing the bed, then. We are married, after all.”

Aric lowered his hands from his face, though he was still flushed. “I’m just… not accustomed to sharing a bed.”

My brows lifted. He’d caught me by surprise, especially considering that he had a lover at court. Though there were certainly more places than bedchambers in which to engage in such activities. Perhaps he was more adventurous than I’d given him credit for.

I cleared my throat before my mind could run off into the dangerous territory of musing about such adventures. “Well, if you insist on sleeping on the floor, I won’t stop you. But if you can tolerate the hardship of lying next to me, I promise not to kill you in the night. Agreed?”

I held out my hand to him, as if we were closing a deal. Instead of taking it, Aric gripped my wrist. His eyes narrowed. He turned my hand palm up, revealing the strange new scars running across my skin: a spiderweb of thin golden lines from the lantern’s broken glass.

“When did you perform blood magic?”

I looked up at him sharply. “I haven’t, other than our wedding ceremony. This happened when the assassin attacked. I cut myself on the lantern and these marks appeared later. I didn’t know what they meant.”

Aric cupped my hand in both of his, fitting around mine as if our hands were made for that purpose. His thumb traced the odd scars, warm and gentle. A tingle ran up my arm that had nothing to do with magic.

“These are definitely blood magic marks.” His thumb crossed my heart line, following one of the cuts. “See?”

He turned his hand over, showing me his own palm. A handful of golden marks gathered at the tips of his fingers. I picked out the one from our wedding on his fourth finger, which a ring would have graced had we been married in Damaria. They were identical to mine except for the placement and size.

“But I don’t even know what blood magic is,” I said. “And I’m certainly not an Adept.”

Aric released my hand. The heat from his palms lingered on my skin like the last notes of a song. “You’re familiar with witch’s eyes, yes?”

We didn’t call them the same thing in Damarian, but I gathered the meaning. Each person with magical potential developed golden flecks in their eyes as their power manifested—the same color, I realized, as the marks on our hands. My own eyes were terra-cotta brown, not a hint of gold, but I’d stared into Tatiana’s plenty of times—we used to make a contest of seeing which of us would blink first. I nodded.

“Magic always leaves a mark,” Aric explained. “Your Adepts are fond of channeling it into physical forms and letting those vessels bear the brunt of it. But there are other ways.”

“Greenwitches? But I thought they were just untrained. They can’t make weapons or other devices the way Adepts do. Can they?” My concept of Gilden magic was suddenly spinning on its axis.

“No, though we may have to disagree on whether that’s a good thing. And greenwitches have their own methods of training—it’s just different from Adepts. Most of them apprentice within their communities, so they can better serve as healers or crafters.” He caught himself, clearly drawing back from launching into a detailed explanation. “But that’s not what I meant. Blood magic is a different method, used only by Gilden royalty. It’s an ancient type of spell casting that binds power with pain.”

“How charming.”

Aric grimaced in agreement. “I prefer to avoid using it if at all possible. But it’s required for certain rituals, like the coronation.”

“And the wedding ceremony.”

“Yes.”

I frowned, examining the scars. “But then—what are these from? The only magic I remember is from our marriage.”

“Bianca. You turned me into a horse.”

“I told you. That wasn’t my spell.” I tapped the locket. “And besides, I’m not royal. How could I have cast blood magic?”

“Of course you’re royal,” Aric said. “We’re married. Have you forgotten the shared blood?”

I opened my mouth to protest. Closed it again. Oh. “That would have been helpful to know.”

“I did tell you our vows were sealed with magic.”

“Well,” I said, “you left out a stupendous amount of detail.”

Aric’s mouth twitched towards a wry smile.

I curled my hands closed, hiding the marks. So they were the sign of blood magic. If only I knew exactly what that meant. Whatever I had inadvertently done… I was almost afraid to guess. At least now I knew why my palms were crisscrossed with golden lines.

Aric was watching me with a pensive expression. A furrow had formed across his brow, and I suppressed the urge to smooth it away with my thumb. I tucked my hands safely behind my back instead, where they couldn’t develop a dangerous mind of their own.

“I’ll go down and see about that meal we asked for. Let’s hope they understand my horrific accent.” I flashed Aric an innocent smile and headed for the door.

I was taking the coward’s way out, avoiding the dangerous flutter in my chest and what it could possibly mean. But I had always known I was a coward.

The offerings the inn sent up—soup and day-old bread rolls—were better than I’d expected. I devoured two rolls and an entire bowl of soup in a few minutes flat. The broth was enriched with some sort of gamey meat and flavored with dried rosemary and sage. Probably imported from Damaria; I doubted the herbs grew at this altitude.

The inn’s girl delivered two steaming pitchers of water when she came to take the empty dishes away. I let out a blissful sigh and started towards the tub, then stopped and turned towards Aric.

“Would you…”

He turned around, presenting me with a view of his narrow shoulders. My eyes ran down his back, and I swallowed, trying to quell the unexpected—and unwanted—heat curling in my stomach.

“I was going to ask if you would like to bathe first. You seemed rather upset about the mud.”

“Oh.” Aric’s shoulders were taut. “I… that’s all right. You’re probably worse off than I am.”

Not exactly a compliment, but this wasn’t an argument I had any desire to win. I headed towards the tub and loosened my hair from its knot. “I’ll be quick.”

Aric moved to the bed. Straw shifted within the mattress as it settled under his weight. He rummaged through one of the saddlebags, retrieving something from our remaining supplies.

I poured hot water into the tub, unbuckled the dagger at my wrist, and toed out of my shoes. Then paused, my hands on the hem of my undershirt. I glanced over my shoulder. Aric sat with his back to me, bent over something in his lap. The hearth immersed the room in a golden glow. Plenty of light to see by, should he happen to turn around.

Well, even if he did decide to look, I had nothing to be ashamed of. And besides which, we were married. He would have seen it all by now had our wedding night gone according to plan.

I dropped my clothes in a crumpled heap and slid into the bath, biting back a hiss as the hot water found the scabbed-over cuts on my shins. The water lapped at my chin as I sank down as deep as I could. I cupped some in my hands and splashed it over my face, tasting salt as grime washed from my skin.

The tub was already clouded with dirt. Myriad cuts I hadn’t even noticed prickled and stung as the water reached them. I should clean them before the bath got cold; Julieta had taught me, among other things, to never ignore a wound—even a small one.

I pushed myself upright, shivering as the cooler air hit my damp skin, and reached for the soap.

Something rapped sharply against the window. I yelped and lunged for my dagger. Water sloshed over the side of the tub. I was halfway to standing before I realized I was still completely naked, and the sound had caught Aric’s attention, too.

My eyes locked on his. Both of us froze. Aric was standing, facing me, a book dangling from one hand—when had he acquired that ? His eyes were a winter sky. They flicked downwards for the briefest instant, then hastily returned to my face. He held my gaze, color in his cheeks and fire in his eyes.

An answering heat kindled low in my stomach. Deliberately, I lifted my chin, challenging him to comment.

Another rap at the window. Both of us flinched, jolted out of whatever impasse we’d fallen into. I twisted towards the window, my dagger half drawn. Outside the panes, a large, wet bird clung to the sill, tapping an oversized orange beak against the glass.

“A… puffin?” Aric’s voice was huskier than usual.

I sheathed the knife. Not an attack. Just a seabird, confused and very out of place. Perhaps it was disoriented by the rain.

The puffin tapped its beak on the glass again, more insistently. As if it was determined to get in. But why would a bird—

Oh. I grabbed for my towel and, wrapping it hastily around myself, hurried to the window. When I opened the sash, the drumroll of steady rain greeted me.

The puffin thrust out its beak, offering me a tiny vellum scroll. I held out my hand gingerly, wary of being bitten—were puffins friendly? The bird deposited its message into my palm, made a peculiar rattling sound with its bill, and flapped away into the night. I watched it go, incredulous. When Evito assured me he could handle sensitive messages, I’d expected a highly trained spy or a clever spell, not a seabird.

“What was that ?”

I turned around. Aric was closer than I’d expected—I almost walked straight into him. The towel slipped, and I nearly dropped it. Aric’s gaze tracked the movement, and he swallowed hard. Warmth rose to my cheeks, but I didn’t step back.

Neither did Aric. His gaze moved to my mouth and stayed there, the blue of his eyes nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils. We stood close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, and it woke an answering warmth in my core. Without conscious thought, I lifted my hand to rest on his chest, feather-light. Aric’s heart thumped hard against the splay of my palm.

Scant inches remained between us. It would take only a breath for one of us to close the distance.

Then Aric cleared his throat. He stepped back, far enough that my hand dropped from his chest, and turned deliberately away from me. His knuckles were white on the book in his hand.

Disappointment flared—foolishly, irrationally. I’d been imagining things, my senses eroded by exhaustion. Aric might have been caught by surprise seeing me unclothed, but of course he wasn’t actually interested. And neither was I. This wasn’t a children’s tale where curses were broken by true love’s kiss, and even if it had been, we had a truce, not a love match. Thank the seas nothing had actually happened. I couldn’t afford another vulnerability, especially one that wasn’t returned.

“What did the puffin give you?” Aric asked, still looking firmly away from me.

I dropped my gaze to the scroll, glad of the distraction from my near embarrassment. “A message from Ambassador Dapaz.” I scanned the lines of ink, written in a small, neat hand that slanted sharply. The penmanship was familiar, though I couldn’t put my finger on why. “He doesn’t have much to report. The guards continue to search. He says my retinue is still being detained, but they’re unharmed.”

Aric frowned. “Nothing about Marya? Or the search for the assassin?”

I shook my head. I’d hoped for some new and useful detail, but Evito’s silence on the matter meant nothing. We’d only been gone for one full day—it was likely too soon for the situation to have drastically changed, and Marya might not have trusted the ambassador with anything she’d learned on her own so far. Better no news than word of worsening developments—like a message from my parents. I could only hope they hadn’t heard about my wedding night yet.

And that they weren’t somehow involved.

“At least you know your people are safe.” Aric’s shoulders loosened slightly. “I’m sure that’s a relief to you.”

“It is.” I lowered the scroll. “Where did you get a book?”

“Marya included a few key volumes in our provisions.”

My brows rose. No wonder the saddlebags had felt like a sack of cannonballs—I’d been unwittingly toting about Aric’s personal library. “A few? How many is a few?”

“Only six,” Aric said. “She limited it to the essentials.”

“ Six? Aric, how were you even planning to read them? Your eyes were on the sides of your head!”

Aric looked down at the book in his hands. “I was optimistic they would be in their normal position for the return trip.”

I started getting dressed. I’d had enough of vulnerability for one evening.

“Tell me, then, what books are so essential they needed to accompany us to the border?”

Aric was silent for a long moment. I glanced over my shoulder at him, but he was standing with his back turned, his face hidden. Tension coiled through his frame like an Adept’s clockwork device.

“Aric? You can turn around.”

He didn’t. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the book. It was closed, so he couldn’t possibly be reading. It occurred to me that silence might be a defense for him, an inverse of how I often concealed my own discomfort with brightly fluttering words.

“I am well aware of my failings,” he said at last, his voice as bitter as salt water. “As is most of the Gilden court, for that matter. You needn’t parade them before me.”

My stomach twisted. He thought I was mocking him.

I walked around to face him. Aric didn’t look up.

“Aric. My question was genuine. I want to understand what’s important to you. I… I want to understand you. ”

Aric, finally, looked up. His eyes were fit to drown in.

“And what if, should you come to understand me, you don’t like what you discover?”

My next words could shatter the thin ice we walked on, sinking us both. And while I could tell myself I needed to understand Aric for my country’s advantage—the unnerving truth was that I simply wanted to. Because he fascinated me, like the endlessly changing swell of waves on the shore. A current that could all too easily pull me under.

“In our vows, I promised to care for you,” I said. “Can you truly care for someone you don’t know?”

Aric’s gaze flickered. “I would argue it’s worse to be truly known and despised than not cared for to begin with.”

Virtues, he was as intractable as a statue. I wanted to shatter him.

“Then that’s a risk we both take. But I would argue we can hardly do worse than how we began our marriage.” I picked up one of the other books at random. “Now, I am going to sit by the fire and read about”—I squinted at the title—“a history of agriculture in the Zhei Empire. If you care to join me, I’ll be by the hearth.”

I sallied over to the fire and settled myself on the flags, doing my best to pretend I was reading and not watching Aric from the corner of my eye.

A long moment passed. Then, hesitantly, as if he suspected me of laying a trap, Aric came to sit beside me, cross-legged.

“It’s a volume on alternative logging practices,” he said quietly. “After I read the treaty terms, I wanted to learn if there were any means of fulfilling its stipulations without harming Gildenheim’s remaining wild places.”

This man. How had I ever thought him heartless? My mouth curved.

“How despicable of you.”

Aric looked up at me sharply. Our eyes met, and his lips quirked into a wry smile.

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But there are certainly those who judge the time I spend reading as worthless compared to skills I lack. Compared to… certain other people.”

His hands had tightened on his book. I was certain he was thinking of Varin. Earlier, I’d thought that Aric must never have known the sting of being deemed unworthy, but I’d been so wrong. If only their positions were reversed. A true courtier on the throne once more. If I could go back now, I’d glare the whisperers into silence.

“I think it’s admirable,” I said, holding his gaze. “And entirely worthy. Knowledge serves a ruler more than fencing, that’s for certain.”

Aric watched me for another long moment. His smile soft ened, deepened, becoming something less careful and more real. For a moment I thought he might say something further or, Virtues help me, lean towards me as he had earlier.

Then an ember popped in the fire, and both of us jumped, startled out of the moment. We looked hastily down at our respective volumes and fell into a silence that was almost comfortable.

Aric read in truth. I let my book lie open on my lap, unable to focus on the printed words. Aric was absorbed, and unobserved, I watched the firelight limn his face, tracing his features in gold and… green?

I blinked at the hearth. Yes, the flames burned verdant—just as they had in the castle.

“Aric,” I murmured, “why is the fire green?”

He glanced up from his book. “A greenwitch spell. It makes the flames last longer to save on wood. You’ll see it in every hearth in Gildenheim, if you look the right way.”

I recalled what he’d said earlier about greenwitches apprenticing within and serving their communities. How different from Damaria, where Adepts not only trained in isolation, but rarely sold their magics to anyone save nobles or wealthy merchants. It was a difference I found I didn’t mind.

Aric went back to reading. I rested my head against the wall, the warmth and the deepening night slowly lulling me towards drowsiness.

The fire shifted and crackled. The rain beat a steady patter on the roof. The bath had eased the worst of my aches and pains, and I was warm for the first time in what felt like days. Any inclination to get up gradually washed away, erased like footprints from the sand at high tide.

An arm slid beneath my knees. Another around my back. My eyes fluttered open just enough to see what was happening. Aric had me in his arms. The ground vanished beneath me as he scooped me up, carrying me to the bed. He eased me onto the mattress. A blanket’s weight settled over me. A moment later, the mattress dipped beside me as he slid into bed on the other side, leaving a careful space between us.

I should have protested being tucked in like a child. Instead, exhaustion interfering with my logic, I squirmed towards Aric and nestled myself against the warmth of his side.

Aric stiffened. His muscles were frozen, but his warmth was like a personal hearth, welcome and melting. I sighed and pressed closer, resting my cheek on his chest.

Aric’s heart thrummed beneath my ear, a beat as comforting as the familiar swash of the sea. He lay without moving, barely breathing, long enough that he might have turned to stone. Then, just before I crossed into sleep, his arm crept around my waist, so lightly I probably dreamed it.