Page 44 of Crown of Wings (Fang & Fire #2)
“Fealty yes. But blind trust? That sort of behavior only makes sense in the midst of a crisis. If we were actually at war, we’d want a leader that would instill in us such loyalty that we would follow him to the ends of the Protectorate and beyond.
But we’re not. We haven’t had a major crisis of any sort in the Protectorate other than the seasonal devastation of the storms, the following challenge of drought, and, of course, the endless round of marauders.
But these are all issues that we deal with and move on from, year in, year out.
Yet here we have Rihad taking a leadership role twenty years ago, then quietly and slowly hatching his plans and building…
what? By your own account, he didn’t have a private army that was privy to his plans.
The councilors, for the most part, seem like worthless old fools, not even skilled in the one job they have, which is maintaining the history of the Protectorate.
No. Rihad has no confidantes and even fewer friends—and here he’s planning a bold campaign to harness the evil of the Western Realms, burn through the Protectorate, and attack the Imperium?
All by himself? It just doesn’t make sense. ”
I scowl. “We don’t know anything about his internal network. He’s been in some sort of trance since the Tournament of Gold. And lest you forget, that tournament was barely a month ago. It’s not like we’ve had a lot of time to unravel twenty years and more of his machinations.”
“Fair,” Tennet says, the capitulation unexpected as he twists to pull another of the heavy chairs near him.
Rather than sink into it properly, though, he keeps his seat on the stool and simply leans his back against the chair’s headrest. He then lifts up a booted heel, and balances it on the edge of my chair, a warrior relaxed but still at the ready.
All the while, he stares out over the open plains of the Eighth House lands.
“A man has to have friends,” he murmurs. “That type of person thrives on the glory of secret cabals. They mock the average person while celebrating their superiority with fawning sycophants who have their own perceived power.”
“Perceived,” I echo, following his train of thought.
“A group of men, and they’d mostly be men with Rihad, if not all of them, who think that they have some measure of control, some place of value in his power structure.
Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. But chances are, they have nowhere near the power they think they have even in the best of circumstances. ”
“Exactly. But he miscalculated.” Tennet lifts a hand to rub it against his jaw.
“Fortiss was a miscalculation. He didn’t bring him into his confidence, because he felt like he didn’t need to.
He felt like he had him so firmly under his control that he could flip him at a moment’s notice.
That he simply had to crook his finger and Fortiss would come running.
He miscalculated there. Or he didn’t, and the situation merely changed through outside forces that he couldn’t predict. ”
He glances over at me. “That would be you, in this scenario. You certainly didn’t figure into Rihad’s plans, for sure.
And your arrival had the unanticipated effect of undermining his control not only over Fortiss but, again, if Caleb’s accounting is accurate, over several of the other house warriors as well. ”
I grimace. “You and Caleb seem to have had a great deal of time to get acquainted.”
“He likes to talk, and I like to listen, especially when it’s someone whose accounting is both fresh and unvarnished.
But you’re the important piece here. You turned into more of an enemy of Rihad than everyone before you, combined.
And even when he knew the danger you represented, he didn’t finish you off. He should have. I would have.”
“You’d make the same mistake,” I mumble, my eyelids suddenly heavy. “You dismiss me at every turn.”
“Not every one,” he corrects me, and his voice is suddenly closer, not louder, but?—
I blink my eyes open, to realize Tennet is barely a breath away from my face, his blue eyes startling with their intensity as he leans close.
“You play a dangerous game, Lady Talia, more dangerous by far because you don’t realize you’re playing it.
I would protect you from all who would seek to destroy you, and I’d protect you from your own misjudgment. ”
I smirk at him, most of his words running off me like rainwater off a roof. But I still can’t resist getting in a jab of my own. “But who would protect me from you?”
Somehow from the place where the words formed deep in my mind to how they sound as they slip past my tongue, the tone and intention of my dig changes dramatically.
The question comes out too intimate, too intense, and when Tennet’s gaze locks with mine, my heart thuds roughly against my ribcage, so loud he can’t help but hear it.
His lips curl into a teasing smile. “No one,” he says simply, and leans forward, capturing my mouth with his.
The heat of Tennet’s kiss drives straight through me, eliminating every trace of fatigue and languor in an instant.
Everything inside me leaps to total attention—fear, excitement, desire, and curiosity fusing together with the abrupt sensation of being plunged into an icy lake on a miserably hot and clammy day.
I am suddenly and unutterably alive once more, and my hand comes up without any conscious direction of my own, flailing at Tennet’s tunic.
I don’t know if I’m trying to pull him closer or push him away, but he has no such hesitation.
His own hands come up to cradle my face, his large fingers tangling in my still too short hair as he leans down over me, pressing me into the trap of my reclining chair.
His tongue snakes out and, finding my lips parted, dips into my mouth, hungrily seeking, tasting…
as if he’s trying to take anything that I might give, to conquer any part of me I’m willing to cede.
I reach up and wrap my fingers around the broad palm of his right hand, peeling it away from my face so I can shift, I can breathe.
The movement seems to recall him to himself, and he leans back from me, but only the barest inch. “You and I were promised to each other, Lady Talia,” he murmurs to me, his words like a blade between us. “And I am a man who believes in keeping his promises.”
I draw in an unsteady breath, feeling the danger here, but for once, not wanting to run away from it. “That promise wasn’t made between us; it was made between our fathers. Maybe yours involved you in the discussion, but mine didn’t.”
“Not all traditions are bad,” he murmurs, and somehow he’s leaning forward again, drawing his lips across mine in a move so much more devastating because it is gentle.
He traces a soft and intimate trail across my cheek, up my jaw, resting softly at my ear.
“We might have been brought together by decree, but we could stay together by choice and be stronger for it.”
His teeth scrape against globe of my ear, the pressure sending whirls of sensation shooting through my belly, my blood, compromising both my resolve and my wits at once. Then his fingers are twining through my hair again, the soft pressure tugging my lips toward his once more.
This time I’m the one who reaches for him, who leans up to capture his mouth, to take and to plunder.
He tenses for an instant, then the battle renews again and within seconds it seems he’s pulled me out of the chair and up.
His arms around me as my feet barely shift to ensure I don’t stumble.
His embrace is hard and demanding, and arms surround me with strength, just as he promised.
Just as he promised.
The indignant squawk of a trio of hummerlets bursting out of the sleeping rooms and onto the overlook is all that saves me from utter disaster.
We pull apart and have fully two chairs between us before Fortiss’s voice rolls out over the stone overlook.
“Oh good, you’re both here. I could use the counsel of someone who isn’t a thousand years old.”