Page 12

Chapter Eleven - Luka

L uka presses against his chest as foreign feelings blossom; Theo’s sorrow and determination, salty but strong. Despite the chill seeping through his boots and the dry taste in his mouth, Luka’s heart feels light. For a moment, he closes his eyes against the pale of snow and the cloudy dawn, and he transports himself back to last afternoon, when he was wrapped in Theo’s arms.

Throughout the night as they walked, the moon their only guide, Luka comforted himself with the chorus of Theo’s feelings. They moved at a rapid pace, Cathalan quick without the fear of pain from the sun, and Luka, despite the ache of his muscles, desperate to return to Akull. When Theo falls into slumber, Luka is left only with the echo of his own thoughts in his head, the reminder that they have less than two months to save Cassian. Less than two months before, without a doubt, his brother will fail the Bombani Exam.

Less than two months before his own mother will kill his little brother.

His throat knots and he shoves the emotion away. He can’t let Theo feel his sadness – and the realization makes his eyes fly open. He glances at the Balivartian king out of the corner of his eye as he touches his breastbone. Luka can feel Theo’s emotions because of the mating bond, and Cathalan can feel Luka because of the marriage between them –so could Cathalan –

Surely not.

“You ready?” Cathalan asks. Hours of traveling through the night have turned Cathalan’s tan face pale and drawn dark bags beneath his eyes. But when the Balivartian king turns to face Akull, the exhaustion drains away into determination.

Luka follows his gaze. He swallows.

Akull rears before them, all icy walls and promises of death and violence. They chose to approach from the thick forest on the east. The guards have yet to spot them amongst the winter-blackened trees. Luka rubs his mittens together, the rabbit fur lining damp with his nervous sweat.

If only he could have hidden in that little cabin with Theo for years. If only he never left.

But there’s no point in thinking about that now. Now, when Luka has Cassian and so many others counting on him.

I’ll save the impyassi from my mother’s rule. I’ll make sure Cassian and my unborn sibling are kept safe from Linne.

No matter the cost.

Luka squares his shoulders and nods. “Ready.”

Cathalan spares him a wan smile. “There’s my Luka,” he murmurs fondly. He brushes a stray curl, knocked free from Luka’s hood, behind Luka’s ear. Luka shudders at the brush of Cathalan’s gloveless hands, frigid against his cheek.

“Time to save my –Darri. And my people,” Cathalan says, the words so soft, they must be meant for his own ears alone. He doesn’t look back as he approaches the side gate.

Guards posted for early morning watch spot them seconds later.

“Halt!” a man with a pale golden braid shouts, leveling a crossbow.

Cathalan slows, but does not comply as he raises his hands. “Do we need to go through this again?” he says. He glances at the cloudy dawn. Weak red light filters through the gray clouds, not strong enough to burn him –so long as the clouds remain.

“State your business!” the guard orders from the watchtower above.

Cathalan rolls his eyes and ignores the command. Luka keeps pace with him, only jerking to a stop when the guard loses a bolt. The projectile slices through the snow, close enough that it snips a line of fire across Luka’s cheek.

“Rude,” Cathalan mutters, whipping the blood away from the matching wound on his face.

“Standing before you is the King of Balivartia and the First Consort,” Luka announces. His voice is only a little hoarse, and he wets his lips before continuing. “You hold our people hostage, and we wish for their freedom –and in return, we will give you recent news of the fall of Cesscounthe.”

The guard levels his crossbow with them. He’s too far up for Luka to clearly make out his gaze, but the sharp lines of his shoulders easily convey his nerves.

“Open the gates,” a familiar voice orders.

Luka’s stomach drops.

Of course he’s still here.

Luka fights to keep his face calm, and curses inwardly when he finds how difficult it is to hide his fears. For months now, he’s allowed his emotions freer rein, and now they control him, and it seems all logic is lost.

The smaller gates ease open with a sigh, and there, standing and smiling at the entrance, is Octavian Scholar. Vittoria postures at his side, one hand on her axe as she takes them in and the other on a small pouch.

“I spot no reinforcements, Sevell Octavian!” the guard stationed at the watchtower reports.

Sevell Octavian. Octavian has been promoted.

“Of course not,” Octavian says. He folds his hands together, offering a shallow bow to Cathalan and a dip of his head to Luka.

“Balivartian king, Danessi Lockehart,” he says. “So good to see the both of you again. I was hoping you’d come back.”

Octavian leads them into the heart of Akull. “Bold of you to return to your captors so soon after your escape,” Octavian says, offering a welcoming grin.

“Well, I couldn’t leave my people behind.” Cathalan smiles just as warmly. If not for the guards bordering them and the weapons bristling from Octavian’s coat, they could have been mistaken for two friends. “I hope they’ve been treated well.”

“As well as can be expected.” Octavian inclines his head.

Cathalan’s smile sharpens. “And I’m sure you, Octavian, will be especially disappointed to hear our news.”

Octavian misses a step.

Octavian is uneasy.

It’s difficult to tell at first over the grip of Luka’s own fear. Even with Cathalan’s steadiness bracing him, Luka still vibrates with nerves. He tries to tuck his mittens behind his back, but they still shake so fiercely, Luka is sure Vittoria, who trails them on their way to the Elder’s stronghold, sees it plainly.

Cathalan doesn’t exchange a victorious look with Luka, but the punch of excitement in Luka’s gut is confirmation enough.

Octavian didn’t think they would come back.

The plan is working.

So far.

Cold sweat gathers in the small of Luka’s back as they stop before the stronghold once again. Luka sets his teeth and lifts his chin as they enter.

Nothing has changed in the days since their escape. The Elders sit in the same seats, looking down from their high above dais. Their faces remain painfully blank as Cathalan and Luka enter, and once again, Luka stifles his nerves.

“I must say,” the head of the Elders, Gilianna, begins, looking them both over. “I’m surprised to see you return after such a desperate escape, Balivartian king?”

Cathalan inclines his head. “I could never abandon my people, Moon-Blessed Elder,” he says, using the title Theo explained as most proper. Both Luka and Cathalan studied the Kiterans as much as any high-born, but scholars didn’t keep cohesive records of Kiteran culture. Balivartians and Siacchians alike thought there was little point in understanding their barbaric northern neighbors, which would have left them at a disadvantage if not for Theo’s knowledge.

“Avoid eye contact,” Theo schooled them the day before. “Address the woman properly and ignore the others. She is the head of the pack.”

Gilianna’s lips curl into a surprised smile. “Your manners have improved since we last spoke. How… respectable, and unexpected of a Southerner.”

Cathalan chuckles. “I am nothing if not unexpected.”

Gilianna inclines her head. She says, “We cannot return your people after the accusations leveled at them.”

“Have you not already executed one of your own for the accusation of spying?” Cathalan asks. “Surely the life lost will suffice.”

“Don’t toy with me, Balivartian king,” Gilianna warns. “I was told you come with information to trade for their lives.” She arches a thin brow. “Though I am curious as to how you came across this knowledge.”

“I am no fool, Moon-Blessed Elder,” Cathalan says. “I left soldiers at the base of the mountain. I met them after my escape, and they reported how things have changed with… well.” He pauses with a coy smile. “I will share the information, depending on how discussions go.”

He continues before Gilianna can speak, “And be aware, Moon-Blessed Elder, that my soldiers are not only stationed at our shared border, but outside Cesscounthe as well. If my people do not receive word from me after our meeting, they will move to lay siege against the city, weakened as it is.”

Luka hides his surprise – and distaste. That must be a bluff, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare look at Cathalan to give him away.

“Threats are unnecessary,” Gilianna says, raising a hand when a man at her side moves to speak. “We know you want your people.”

“Will you offer us no assurance they will be released once we speak?” Luka asks, just as they rehearsed.

Before Gilianna can chastise him, Cathalan shoots Luka a look. “Be quiet, Consort,” he says, and unlike their practice sessions, he manages not to grin.

Luka ducks his head, playing the role of foolish, mouthy spouse. They’ve fooled all but Octavian, who glares at Luka, clearly seeing through the ruse. None of that matters though; the question has been asked, and Gilianna will struggle dancing around the answer now.

“You’re very lucky we’ve determined you are not Theodori Hunter Wolf-Born’s mate, Luka Lockehart,” Gilianna says after a long silence. “I don’t suppose you’ve returned with him or his supposed mate, Xyla Mobiele? Are they hiding beyond our gates?”

Cathalan’s face twitches almost imperceptibly at Xyla’s name.

“They abandoned us, High Elder,” Cathalan says. “After we helped them escape, they left us to die in the snow to save their own skin. They are no allies.”

“Lies,” hisses Octavian. “First you claim to be a foreign diplomat – a noble – when you arrive, and now you are a king, and now you are making these claims?”

Gilianna fixes him with a fierce glare, and Octavian instantly quiets.

“Share your information,” Gilianna says after a long silence. “We do not want war with your country, Balivartian king, nor do we want to lose more to a mindless conflict. After, we will weigh your story’s worth against the lives we hold.”

“If my people are not returned to me, whole, I will be very unhappy, Moon-Blessed Elder,” Cathalan says, breaking their script as his voice drops an octave.

Luka presses his lips together.

“Enough of your peacocking.” Gilianna waves a hand. “Share your information, Balivartian king.”

Luka watches Octavian’s face as Cathalan speaks:

“Cesscounthe has fallen once again. This time, not to your people. Nor has it been reclaimed by the Siacchian government. No, impyassi rebels have taken the Council. The capital is a mess of conflict. Your guards are lost, but the battle is not.” Cathalan takes a step forward, looking just above Gilianna’s head as he speaks.

Octavian’s face pales the slightest bit.

“Now is the time,” Cathalan says, voice soft but powerful. “You can reclaim the capital entirely and fully crush their council. Before, you had a weak grip through… certain alliances.”

A muscle twitches at Octavian’s right eye, though otherwise his face remains still.

Cathalan continues, “Whatever you decide, Balivartia will support your efforts.”

By the time he finishes, his lips lifted in a polite smile, Gilianna’s brows have reached her hairline.

“Balivartia will support us… assuming the prisoners are released unharmed?” she says.

Cathalan’s smile widens. “Exactly.”

“I never imagined Balivartia to be so forgiving –”

Cathalan’s expression sharpens. “Consider it as you doing me a favor by lowering Siacchian trade tariffs.”

Gilianna falls silent. She sits so perfectly straight in her chair, her spine doesn’t even brush against its back. Her eyes drift to the side as she looks at her fellow Elders. Their faces appear equally apathetic, but she must read something there, for when she looks back to Cathalan, her jaw is set.

Before she can speak, Octavian clears his throat. “If I may add something, High Elder?” he simpers.

Luka strangles the urge to bare his teeth. Memories of Octavian bringing Luka to Linne, to Xyla, injured, and Evland Childes –dying –

He stuffs the memories deep, instead focusing on the steady beat of his heart and the new strength of the mating bond that connects him to Theo–and the marriage bond linking him to Cathalan.

“Please,” Gilianna says. “I’m especially interested to hear about these Cesscounthe rebels. They never appeared in any of your reports, Scholar.”

Octavian shifts his weight. “That’s… there are things that my contacts kept from me, High Elder. That much is becoming clear.”

When Gilianna’s brows again rise, Octavian rushes to finish, “Cesscounthe is the heart of the Siacchian empire. We need their farmlands, High Elder. If we can take the capital, we can take their country. And if we have truly lost it, and this is not some fabrication the Balivartian king is spinning –”

“I will not have you accuse my guest,” Gilianna cuts in, steely. Luka must hide a smile, though the swell of victory in his chest immediately flattens when Gilianna adds in a softer, more private tone, “But you are correct. A liar proven once will prove himself to be a liar again. Whatever you claim, Balivartian king, we will send a scouting party to accompany you.”

“I understand.” Cathalan inclines his head by a hair.

“Please hold a civil tongue in your head or not at all, Octavian Scholar,” Gilianna says to Octavian.

“Of course,” Octavian says through gritted teeth. He stares through Cathalan. Muscles flex in his jaw as his hand tuck behind his back, surely curling into fists.

Warm satisfaction curls in Luka’s stomach at the sight. For so long, Octavian cast a long shadow of fear over his heart, but now Luka can enjoy the sight of his tormentor forced to make himself smaller.

Octavian bows his head and finally says in a low voice, “I cannot determine if this information is true or not. I can only advise that you handle it with care. The situation at Cesscounthe was… delicate when I left, though nowhere near as fraught as the king claims. If we were to send an army based on his word alone and if he has lied to us… we will likely lose any allies we have left in the capital.”

Gilianna steeples her fingers. “I’m aware,” she says. She glances at her fellow Elders from the corners of her wrinkled eyes before she waves her hand. “We will speak amongst ourselves. Vittoria, please escort our two… guests… somewhere they can wait in the meantime.”

The blonde guard approaches them, her face impossibly stonier than it was before. As she glowers, Luka realizes she was likely punished for their escape. From what little he learned of Kiterans from Theo, they are not a people who take kindly to their leaders making mistakes.

“And your prisoners?” Cathalan asks before Vittoria can herd them away. “Will you release them to us?”

Gilianna’s lips curl into a cold smile. “Not yet.”

They’re left in a small, windowless room to wait. While Luka worries the floorboards with pacing, Cathalan mutters to himself.

“Stop fretting,” Cathalan says after Luka completes his fifth lap of the room. “It will do you no good.”

“I’m thinking of what our next move should be,” Luka says while he gnaws on a hangnail. “What are you doing?”

“They’ll make their decision based on what we’ve already said, Luka,” Cathalan says. His face is calm except for the lines of tension in his neck.

“Is it true what you said? About having your people outside Cesscounthe, ready to take the city?”

A cord appears in Cathalan’s neck and then disappears. “No.”

Before Luka can press Cathalan further, the man turns to him with an expression that were he any less pretty, would have been called a leer. “And what’s this I felt yesterday afternoon? And again yesterday evening? Have you and you-know-who sealed your bond?”

Heat rushes up Luka’s neck. “That’s – you – how –”

Cathalan points to the circular mark on his palm. “I feel what you feel, Luka.”

Luka tries not to think back to all that he felt – Theo’s warm fingers, his mouth, his –

“You –” Luka tries to say.

“I know, I know. Some privacy would be nice. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to entertain lovers until I have a royal heir on the way? I could have him beheaded, Luka.”

Luka bares his teeth. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Cathalan smiles. “No. I wouldn’t. I am happy for you, Luka.”

They fall into silence again, and all too quickly, Luka returns to his thoughts. His worries.

Luka completes his sixth lap and silently celebrates the knowledge that they likely won’t be killed. No –Cathalan is too important for that.

But who knows how long the Elders will take to make their decision. Will he and Cathalan have enough time to make it back to Cesscounthe – to save Cassian – everyone?

As Luka concludes his fifteenth lap of the room, a knock sounds at the door.

Luka darts forward as the lock clicks open and Vittoria’s dour expression meets them.

“The Elders have decided to release your people,” Vittoria says. Behind her, afternoon light filters through the narrow hallway. She taps the hilt of her axe mindlessly as she speaks. “Upon the condition that you will take Octavian Scholar and myself in a search party to investigate. Should we find that Cesscounthe is not in the state you report, both your lives will be forfeit.”

The tension in Luka’s chest eases, but Cathalan’s expression remains blank.

“Well?” Vittoria says. “What say you?”

“I will agree to your terms,” Cathalan says, holding up a finger before Luka can speak. “On one condition.”

Vittoria narrows her eyes. “Speak.”

“I need to be sent ahead of the party. Your Elders will let me leave now, with your fastest steed –”

“No.”

“– my people are being sent to Cesscounthe as we speak, but they are acting on a messenger’s command. They will be scattered and in need of a firm hand. I worry that if they arrive at Cesscounthe without me to lead them, the battle will go astray and lives will be lost. I cannot have that.” Cathalan does not smile as he meets Vittoria’s stare directly. He folds his arms over his chest, squaring his shoulders. Suddenly, the difference between his height and Luka’s seems much larger as Cathalan directly meets Vittoria’s stare.

“We cannot trust you. Those rumors about you being a demon prince must have some stock,” Vittoria says.

Cathalan all but laughs in her face. “Those nursery tales they spread on the front because they wanted to scare your children? What do they say – that we drink the blood of our enemies? Would you like to check me for fangs?”

Vittoria curls her lip.

“You could send me with a scout, as your Moon-Blessed Elder suggested,” Cathalan says. “Your strongest, most trusted soldier. There would be no doubt then – it’s not like I would ever be able to defeat such a warrior. I am only a king bolstered by rumors, after all.”

Vittoria’s stone face doesn’t crack.

After three long, slow heartbeats, she says, “You are a powerful tool in our hands. Why would we let you, the King of Balivartia, go so easily?”

“You’ll still have my people in your little party, won’t you? My consort?”

Vittoria’s silence is confirmation enough.

Cathalan says, “I understand that I’m politically powerful and there are none like me –”

Despite himself, Luka cannot help rolling his eyes.

“– but I can give you a Balivartian heir instead.”

“Balivartian heirs are about as common as summer rabbits,” Vittoria sneers.

“Not this one. His claim to the throne is kept secret. None know he is a threat. If I am killed, he is next to compete for the throne, and they will never see him coming.”

Vittoria raises a blonde brow, and Luka gapes at Cathalan.

You don’t mean –

“Who is this man?” Vittoria asks.

“His name is Darri.”

An hour, much worried pacing (in Luka’s case), and one nap (in Cathalan’s case) later, they are released from their windowless room and Cathalan mounts his newly acquired horse with his new Kiteran companion – whom Cathalan will no doubt make short work of once they are out of eyesight of Akull. The darkening evening is cold enough that Luka’s teeth chatter as he stands with his back to the half a dozen Kiteran guards –including a scowling Vittoria.

Cathalan only pauses for a moment after he’s seated. He looks down at Luka, his face apologetic.

“I’ll see you again, my love,” he says with a little too much drama for Luka to be able to take him seriously.

I have to go after her, was all Cathalan said to explain why he was leaving Luka behind.

But why? Luka wanted to ask. Why is Xyla so important to you?

And, of course, the question left unanswered while Cathalan’s snores filled the room:

Darri is your brother?

Really though, that last part should have been obvious. They even look alike.

“Darri will keep you safe,” Cathalan says as he turns his horse’s head. “And don’t turn your back too long to that Scholar.”

“I know,” Luka says.

Cathalan reaches for him, and Luka clasps the Balivartian king’s hand with his own. The ring of scar tissue at his palm winks up at him from his chapped skin.

“Try not to do too many stupid things,” Luka says.

Cathalan smiles, and though the gesture is careless, fear flickers in the corners of his eyes. “I’m not sure why I feel like this, Luka,” he says. “It scares me, a little.”

Empathy warms Luka’s heart. He understands why, but he doesn’t have time to explain.

“Are you done?” Vittoria asks behind him. “We need to prepare to leave by sunrise.”

Exhaustion hangs from Luka’s body like hands trying to drag him beneath icy waters. Cathalan squeezes his hand and turns the horse away.

“I’ll see you when this is all over, First Consort,” he calls back as he shoulders the supply bag the Kiterans gave him. His horse makes its way slowly through the plowed snows, the steed of his Kiteran guard close behind.

Luka closes his eyes, imagining what things will look like when this is all over . When he opens them, Cathalan is gone.

I hope so, Cathalan.

Oh, Thought, I hope so.