Page 104

52

M areleau had never heard a sound more beautiful than Larylis’ heartbeat. It thudded against her ear, echoing the pound of her own. They reclined on the pallet that was nestled at the far end of Mareleau’s tent, their bodies tangled in blankets and furs. Based on the lack of light streaming through the canvas walls, and the darkening shadows that grew around the single lantern lit inside, it must be night now. Mareleau had lost all sense of time during her impassioned reunion with her husband. The memory of their time in the tub—then on the floor, then again on the pallet where they now lay—flooded her with warmth, and a tingling heat built between her thighs. It seemed her desire for him would never be satiated. Her body, on the other hand, was spent.

She shifted her face to prop her chin on his chest and assessed her husband’s countenance. Gods, he was beautiful. His eyes were closed, but she’d drunk in their emerald hue when she’d been astride him earlier, studying his every expression, his every sound, as he’d wrung pleasure from her, and she from him. Their love was both long-standing and new. She was determined to know every angle of him, all the quirks and facets she’d never learned, and any she may have forgotten in their three years apart.

His dark lashes fluttered, and he glanced down at her with a sleepy grin. She lifted a hand and lightly brushed the curve of his bottom lip, then trailed it across the hard edge of his lightly stubbled jaw. His throat bobbed as she brushed the column of his neck, then his collarbone. Her fingers drifted behind his head to where his hair curled slightly, damp with sweat and bathwater. She liked seeing him like this. Undone. Rugged. She liked the way his body tensed as she shifted against him. Lifting herself slightly, she planted a kiss on his lips. His mouth met hers in a tender softness that had been absent between them earlier. With their desires quenched, there was a slowness to their kiss now. A promise.

His hands came to her hips, rounding her curves in a way that had her stomach tightening, her center tingling. Perhaps their desires weren’t so quenched after all.

She was about to deepen the kiss, but Larylis pulled away. “I wish we could do this all day.”

“Look around, Lare,” she said with a chuckle. “We already did.”

A furrow formed between his brows. He pulled himself to sitting and glanced around the tent. When his eyes fell on the solitary light glowing from the lantern, a sideways grin took over his lips. He returned his gaze to her. “I suppose you’re right. But still…”

She sat upright before him and pushed out her bottom lip in a mock pout. It had the effect she’d been after. His eyes dipped to her mouth. Then to her bare torso.

A groan built in the back of his throat. “You make it very hard?—”

“I know.” She let her eyes dip to his waist.

“—to talk about anything serious,” he said, his words dissolving in a laugh.

“Must we? There are so many better things we could do tonight.”

His mirth slowly began to drain from his face. “There…there are some things we should talk about.”

She didn’t like where that was going. His words almost made her feel like she was in trouble. More than that, they reminded her that she had something very serious to tell him too. Something she hadn’t dared confess by way of letter. Her hand went impulsively to her belly, soft and curving in the way it always was, yet too small to reveal the secret growing within. She snatched her hand away and batted her lashes. “Like the gift you brought me?”

Maybe she was a coward for changing the subject, but she wasn’t ready to lose the sweetness of their reunion.

“The gift?”

“I saw you carrying a package when you entered. Was it for me?”

His smile returned, but it wasn’t as bright as before. “It was, but it wasn’t from me. It’s from your father.”

“My father?” Verdian was an even drearier topic than the one she was trying to avoid. But…had he really gotten her a gift? If so, why did Larylis have it?

Larylis threw back the blankets and left the pallet, making his way across the tent to gather his discarded clothing one piece at a time. Mareleau took the opportunity to admire his lean build, his bare broad shoulders, and the perfect view of his backside. Her shoulders slumped as he hid the latter beneath his trousers, then the former beneath his shirt.

Not wanting to be the only one naked, she retrieved the chemise and robe Ann had left out before her bath. She pulled the chemise over her head and belted the silk robe at her waist. Larylis reached the package he’d left by his jacket and sword belt and brought it back to the pallet with him.

“I crossed paths with your father on my way here,” he said, holding the package out to her.

Gingerly, she accepted the gift and lowered herself back onto the pallet. The package was a bundle of brown canvas tied with string. Whatever was inside, it was soft and shapeless.

Larylis planted himself beside her, but there was a tenseness in his posture. “We traveled here together, but when we arrived, he left for the hunt with Teryn, Dimetreus, and your uncles. He asked me to give this to you. But…but I don’t know if you want to open it.”

She lifted her eyes from the gift to find a grimace on Larylis’ face. “Why not?”

“He said it was for the baby. For his grandchild.”

Mareleau’s heart stuttered. Heat rushed to her cheeks, renewing her panic over what she needed to tell Larylis. But beside her anxiety was something tender. Something laced with guilt and love.

She dropped her gaze back to the package and slowly worked the knots in the string. One by one, they fell away, followed by the canvas wrapping. As it unfolded, it revealed a bundle of cloth. She lifted the item, finding a small blanket made from the softest red velvet on one side and elegant white and gold brocade on the other. The pattern was of vines and roses—white ones to represent Selay’s sigil—with woodland creatures weaving through the brambles.

Tears stung her eyes.

Her father had gifted this to her. To the baby. His grandchild.

While she couldn’t banish the resentment that constantly burned in her heart, she felt the edges smooth out.

“I think he’s sorry,” Larylis said, shifting closer to her. “Though I know you’ll eventually have to tell him…”

He didn’t finish, but Mareleau knew what he was trying to say. Soon she’d have to tell her father that her condition had come to an end. That had been the plan, at least.

With the gift in her lap and the emotions building in her chest, the cruelty of her original scheme struck her like a knife to the chest. Yes, she’d been willing to do whatever it took to be with Larylis, but couldn’t she have gone about it another way? She’d been desperate then, fueled by anger and indignation. But she’d lied about a subject that no longer felt like an easy pawn to play with. It felt fragile. Tenuous. Precious. Something that shouldn’t be treated like a game. She remembered how Cora had praised her for not wanting to treat children like pawns. The princess had given her far too much credit.

Again her hand went to her belly. She hadn’t made peace with her pregnancy and had no clue how Larylis would react. She remembered his bitterness over her lie, but that didn’t mean he wanted children any time soon. Yet…something brighter than fear ignited inside her. A fierce and protective fire she’d never felt before. She let it grow. Let it warm her heart and soul.

Her vision blurred beneath a sheen of tears. She felt the pallet shift, then Larylis’ arms gathering her to his chest. “It’s all right, Mare,” he whispered into her hair. “We’ll tell him together. I’ll support your lie in every way, then we’ll never need to speak of it again.”

Her pulse sped like hummingbird wings, drawing words to her lips. Once she said them, she couldn’t take them back. With a deep breath, she pulled away. He kept his arms around her shoulders, as if he feared she’d fall apart. Maybe she would. Her voice trembled, her tone a whisper. “It isn’t a lie. Not anymore.”

Larylis blinked at her several times. “What do you mean?”

“It isn’t a lie. I…I’m with child.”

His eyes went wide.

“At least I think I am,” she said in a rush. “I haven’t been seen by a physician, but the signs are rather hard to ignore?—”

Larylis pulled her back to him again. His embrace was tighter this time, as if he too felt that protective fire. They stayed like that for endless moments, saying nothing, letting their shared tears relay the promises in their hearts.

The edges of Teryn’s consciousness threatened to fray, but he forced his focus to remain steady, narrowing onto the thin strand of light he drew with the tip of his finger. He didn’t know how long he’d been drawing, but the pattern was nearly complete. A rectangle composed of interlocking loops and lines hovered midair beneath his hand. Just a few more lines remained…

Teryn turned his hand, executing a precise loop with the glowing light that trailed his finger like ink. Finally, he made the final mark, a straight line at the very top. With a gasp, he broke away from the pattern. Emylia stood beside him, remaining silent as he connected with his vitale. One breath. Two. He counted his heartbeat, sank into the rhythm of his pulse. Once his nerves had settled, he lifted his gaze to the pattern that hovered before him.

He and Emylia were in her temple bedroom, and the weaving glowed like an apparition in the air. Emylia had taught him how to manipulate the crystal’s light, how to use it to cut through her illusions to create markings in the air. It took all of Teryn’s concentration to focus on drawing with light, but without a body, much less paper and ink, this was the only way he could practice the pattern.

“It’s perfect,” she said, stepping closer and studying it from every angle.

Teryn nodded. He already knew it was. This was the seventh time he’d perfectly replicated the markings they’d found in the book from memory alone. Before this, he’d practiced tracing it, then copying the image beside the original. He’d lost count of how many unsuccessful attempts he’d made before his seven perfect ones, but he knew how many days had passed. Five since they’d discovered the pattern. Six since he’d had last seen Cora.

Despite Emylia’s insistence that the blood seal would eventually fade, they were still unable to project themselves outside the crystal unless Morkai was sleeping. That wouldn’t have been a problem, for Teryn would have an easier time taking over his body while Morkai slept, but the sorcerer was already a step ahead. Each night, he’d begun tying a wrist to the bedpost, and the vials of blood Teryn needed to draw the pattern with were always at the far end of the room. This meant Teryn had to first throw all his efforts into untying the binds around his wrists before he could attempt anything else. Even so, Morkai almost always awoke before Teryn could free his wrist. The one time he’d managed to free himself, he was so fatigued that he hadn’t managed more than a single step away from the bed before he lost consciousness.

He hated his own futility. While he’d grown more adept at seizing control over his cereba at night, it still wasn’t easy. His moves were uncoordinated, erratic, his limbs too heavy as if they weren’t his own. The only time he’d felt somewhat whole was when he’d stepped into his body to kiss Cora.

His heart ached at the thought of her. Where was she? Was she somewhere safe? He had no idea what was happening during the day. What dark deeds had Morkai accomplished in Teryn’s absence?

He had no answers. All he could do was practice.

Practice.

Practice.

So that when the time came, he’d be ready to act.

He waved his hand through the weaving and the light dissolved. “Again,” he said, and started the drawing all over again, working from the bottom up.

Emylia had shown him the memory of the original weaving. She’d been telling the truth about it being too far away for her to clearly see. The crystal had been resting on a stone in the forest while a pair of hunters held down a gray unicorn with iron chains. Morkai had stood in the shadows far from the crystal—beyond the radius Emylia could project from—while he’d woven his pattern of blood. Unlike Teryn, Morkai didn’t use his hands to manipulate blood. Instead, the blood moved on its own above the sorcerer’s palm. Still, Teryn had been able to make out one important detail: where the pattern started. It began with a straight line across before weaving downward toward Morkai’s hand.

After studying the pattern, Teryn knew it had been forged of a single unbroken line from top to bottom. All Teryn had to do was draw it in reverse. To fully break the spell, he’d need to draw it with the sorcerer’s blood, and to do that he’d need to memorize the pattern.

He had one step down. One step that he was determined to repeat over and over?—

Teryn’s hand froze, his newest drawing only a quarter complete. A sense of pressure eased from around him. It was a sensation he’d only begun to feel since Morkai had blocked him and Emylia from projecting, and he rarely noticed it until it was gone. The only time it dissipated was when Morkai was asleep.

His eyes met Emylia’s, and she gave him a nod.

It was time to practice in a more tangible way. Perhaps this time he’d make it across the room to the vials of blood.

But as he and Emylia projected their etheras outside the crystal, it wasn’t into the dark bedroom at Ridine Castle. It was a clearing in a dense forest blanketed by night, illuminated under shafts of moonlight that stretched pale claws through the treetops. Teryn’s body was hunched on the ground. The sorcerer inhabiting the body curled his fingers, one hand digging into the earth, the other clutching his chest. His head was bent over several pieces of parchment that littered the mossy forest floor. On each page was a pattern inked in red.

Blood weavings.

Morkai’s chest heaved, but it was Teryn who felt those breaths, felt the shallow pulses of air that moved inside him. Morkai sat back on his heels and threw his head back, letting the moonlight wash over his face. His lips twisted in a triumphant smile.

Teryn looked from the sorcerer to the bloodstained papers, then to Emylia. “What has he done?”

Her gaze was locked on something farther away.

Teryn followed her line of sight. His breath caught as he saw a hulking form half hidden in shadow. He stepped closer, noting the silhouette of a pair of antlers, an enormous set of paws. The creature shifted on those paws and took a lumbering step toward Morkai. Moonlight shone on brown fur and claws that dug into the earth. Another step revealed a boar-like snout with curving tusks, nostrils flaring over a mouth of serrated teeth. Teryn saw the antlers clearly now, each tine ending in a deadly point. But that wasn’t nearly as unsettling as what rested below those antlers; where eyes should be, the creature had four fleshy faces.

Four faces with mouths locked open in a silent scream.

Four faces with hollow gazes.

Four faces Teryn knew.

Four faces that had now become a Roizan.