Page 31 of Fate of Echoes and Embers (Heirs of Elydor #3)

ISSA

I sat on the edge of the bed, my hair still damp from a glorious bath.

I hadn’t expected anything more than a wooden tub and was surprised when the innkeeper led me to a sunken stone basin, its waters scented with crushed nightbloom petals and warmed from beneath by hidden embers.

She had locked the door behind me, another clue, as if I needed one, that I was in Grimharbor and not back home in Hawthorne Manor.

Above me, thick, dark beams gave the room a cavernous feel, while the lanterns flickered with an eerie orange/yellow light, fueled by the region’s peculiar firevine oil. It smelled of spice and damp earth, a distinctly Gyorian scent.

That I would find myself here, in enemy territory, welcomed by both the innkeeper and Adren, was wholly unexpected.

Adren. Was it more than coincidence that Kael had befriended me, his right-hand man a relative the entire time?

And that I should find my way here, working with him to restore the portal to my ancestor’s realm?

There was a saying in Elydor: the threads of fate are woven long before we see the pattern.

I had never put much stock in such things, yet here I was, entangled in a history I hadn’t known was mine, in a land that should have been hostile, with a man who should have been my enemy.

And then there was Marek.

He was acting strangely today. I’d seen the look that passed between him and Adren when speaking of the Depths.

For all of Marek’s bravado, and skill, he knew deep down what I did.

What everyone who spoke of the Maelstrom Depths knew.

What Adren had uncovered about how King Balthor was able to hide the Wind Crystal in them: by sacrificing those who carried it to their watery graves.

There was little chance he would make it out alive.

I closed my eyes, imagining myself standing on the dock, waiting for him to return just as I stood on the battlements back home, scanning the horizon in the hope that he had simply gone for a morning ride and would come back at any moment.

This time, I’d not find him in The Moonlit Current. He would be gone, forever.

If only I had fallen for someone easier to love.

A human who could help me secure Hawthorne.

One without years of scars from a search for answers.

One whose endless smiles didn’t mask a pain that ran deeper than I could have imagined but one I knew all too well.

The pain of the loss of a loved one. The kind of pain from which you never truly heal but only learn to live with, some days better than others.

There were times I woke up and didn’t think about my parents immediately, even getting dressed and beginning my day without a memory intruding.

But there were others—a comment about them, a vision of them sitting on the dais together in the hall—the smallest thing could trigger a sadness that welled inside me, having to live without them and their guidance.

When the door opened, a decidedly damp Marek stepped inside.

“You’ve been to the stone basin?” I asked as he tossed his satchel beside the bed and locked the door.

“I have, though I’ll admit my first thought on seeing it was that I wished you were still there.”

“You are wicked,” I said, my heart racing at the sight of him.

Marek ran his hand through his hair and then, as if realizing he’d slicked it back, shook his head. That unkept look was part of his appeal.

“I’ll not deny it.”

Every step he took toward me was predatory, and with each one, I had to remind myself to breathe. Without warning, he lifted me, carrying me to the bed. Just as quickly, he placed me on it and climbed up, positioning himself at my feet.

“Uh, Marek. What are you doing?”

I should stop him. Knowing it and being motivated to do it were two different things. It was unlikely I would ever have a chance to do this, certainly not with Marek, again.

“I might be wicked,” he said, pushing the camisole Mev had given me upward with both hands.

“And a slew of other bad things.” Just as the urge to cover myself grew too strong, Marek stopped the camisole’s progress, took my hands, and placed them on the bed, silently telling me not to hinder his movements.

He then grabbed the inside of both knees and spread my legs wide.

“But I never. Ever…” Marek lay both hands on me, his thumbs opening me wide.

It took everything inside me not to move, to cover myself.

“Break my word. When I make a promise, sereia, I fulfill it.”

With that, Marek grinned and lowered his head between my legs. At the first touch of his tongue, I nearly came off the bed. It was such an odd sensation, I had no notion of whether it was good or bad. The sight of him like that… I grabbed the coverlet between my fists to keep them immobile.

At the second touch of his tongue, becoming accustomed to the sensation, I nearly jolted off the bed for an entirely different reason.

With each lick, Marek’s tongue swirling and teasing as his fingers had done, I struggled to breathe.

To think. It was the singular most pleasurable thing I’d ever experienced, and apparently, he wasn’t finished.

Groaning, as if he too enjoyed it, Marek did not let up.

I grabbed the back of his head, holding on as if he were the quarterdeck railing and a strong storm threatened to toss me overboard.

“Marek,” I murmured, no other words forming in my mind. “Please,” I begged, not wanting him to stop. “Please.”

In response, as if knowing what I asked for, he increased the intensity. With the flick of his tongue, I tightened my grip, belatedly realizing I was clenching his hair between my fingers. He didn’t seem to care. Whatever he was doing, how he’d learned that, I didn’t care.

Nothing mattered.

Nothing except, “That,” I said. “Just that way, please.”

My entire body shuddered, clenched. Released in a wave of sensation that was unlike even the last time Marek had made me feel this way. I gasped, wanting to pull him back toward me as Marek lifted his head. He watched as I struggled to compose my thoughts, the tumbling mess that made little sense.

Nothing did.

That was…

“Incredible.”

“A promise is a promise,” he said, as I collapsed on the bed.

He said nothing for a moment, but when he joined me, I realized it was because he had removed his shirt.

He wore nothing but loose, linen trousers, suitable for sleep.

Lying beside me, propped up on his elbow, Marek was also grinning from ear to ear.

“You seem… pleased with yourself.”

“I’m pleased you are,” he said, leaning forward for a lingering kiss. I turned toward him, Marek pulling me into his bare chest. Another strange, but enjoyable, sensation. We stayed that way, wrapped in each other’s arms, until I heard his steading breathing. Peeking up, I realized he was asleep.

I allowed my hand to lay on his chest, the warm skin beneath my fingers oddly comforting.

Not knowing what tomorrow would bring, I closed my eyes and tried not to think on it.

The Depths. Hawthorne Manor. Draven. The Gate.

I attempted to let all of it slip away, pretending, for just this moment, my growing affection—once again—for him was not going to likely be my undoing.

And yet, as I lay in his arms, I could not shake a vision of Marek at the helm as a storm raged around him.

No one knew precisely what the Depths were like since none had survived them, but my imagination conjured an image anyway.

I saw him attempting to tame unnamable waters, both Marek and Tidechaser losing the battle.

I did not want Marek to die.

Pressing myself closer to him, I wanted to wake him up and beg him not to do it. Find another way. Instead, I contented myself in this moment, knowing such a plea was futile, but also knowing there was a real possibility we would share very few moments like this again.