Page 77 of Silverbow (The Godsung Saga #1)

He darted a look at Oryn, who had pushed back his plate and twisted on his stool, engrossed in a conversation with the burly proprietor. “Is he…”

“Prince of Eastwood, of course,” Aiden grinned. “Elred’s only heir.”

Liam let his fork clatter to his plate. Light.

Master Graniteforge reappeared in the inn. He clasped his hands together and gave Oryn another bow. “The messenger hawks have been sent, Your Grace.”

Oryn inclined his head in thanks.

“If you would allow an escort-”

A look passed between Oryn and Enya, the continuation of some argument Liam hadn’t heard. “A few days, Enya-”

“I would rather see the bloody healer a few days sooner,” she gritted.

Oryn nodded in concession and turned back to the dwarf. He was studying Enya with newfound wonder. “We leave at first light.”

“But Your Grace, the escort-”

“Is not necessary. We know the way to Drozia.” The dwarf looked uncomfortable. “I do not wish to do you any dishonor, Master Graniteforge, but we need to see a gifted healer as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Your Grace, my lady,” the man conceded. “I trust you’ll send word if you need anything else before dawn?”

Oryn nodded again and the man departed, drawing the innkeeper with him.

Liam gazed at the silver haired demi-elf again and wondered how he’d never considered Oryn bloody Brydove was something more than just a gods damned demi-elf.

It was written all over him, from the proud lift of his chin to the way the others bent to him.

And light , no man had a right to be so gods damned good looking.

Fitting, he supposed. Still, bitter jealousy coursed through Liam’s veins as he watched Oryn help Enya from her chair, even if she gave him a look that seemed to crackle. Aiden chuckled beside him as if he sensed the direction of Liam’s thoughts.

***

The boyish demi-elf whistled merrily as they readied the horses at dawn. “Finally, someone to help with the bags. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been schlepping saddlebags? ”

Liam eyed the man warily. He supposed he didn’t. The mountain of supplies seemed to have grown overnight. Foodstuffs and a pile of heavy fur-lined cloaks had joined the heap. “How old are you anyway?”

Aiden flashed him a grin. “It’s rude to ask an immortal their age, you know.”

“Sorry,” Liam mumbled.

“One hundred and seventy-three, give or take a few years,” Aiden answered. The hoof pick in Liam’s hand clattered to the stone floor as the demi-elf shrugged. “You lose track after a while.”

“And…the others?”

“ Ancient ,“ Aiden huffed. “Well, Bade is anyway. Oryn only has fifty years on me, but he bloody acts like he’s Mosphaera’s personal gift to Elaria.”

Only fifty years. Liam was still shaking his head as they left Wayforge and started up a steep mountain trail.

It was narrow enough that they rode in single file, and he kept shooting looks back to where Enya grimaced in her saddle.

She’d washed the brown dye from her hair in the inn, the usual copper gleaming in the sun that filtered through the trees, but she still looked a bit gray.

The Prince of Eastwood rode behind her, eyes boring into her back.

“I’m fine,” she snapped at no one in particular as Arawelo stumbled over a loose rock that made her hiss through her teeth.

She took particular offense when they called an early stop, but Colm gently assured her it was for the horses.

Even fresh from a week of sailing, all but Arawelo and Kiawa were flagging by the time they emerged in a little glen.

She glared down at the five of them who dismounted and stretched.

Her arm, bound as it was, made for awkward riding, but Oryn strode over, his black in tow, and patted something solid and unseen.

“There’s a step here,” he said, his hand tapping against the surface.

Enya glared at him as she swung her leg over Arawelo’s neck and gingerly stepped onto nothing but air. Liam shook his head to clear it. His tongue seemed to fuse to the roof of his mouth as he watched Enya hover and lower gently to the forest floor. Mad. Now I’m going mad.

Still stunned, Liam followed Colm to a stream, letting Pips drink beside Lanta. The demi-elf left her on a loose rein and bent over the ferns, whispering something Liam couldn’t hear. He watched him from the corner of his eye. Colm chuckled and nodded, as if something were talking back.

“Who are you talking to?” Liam asked .

“The gnomes, of course,” Colm answered.

Barking mad.

“The what?”

“Gnomes, they’re little-”

“I know what a gnome is, or rather, what the stories say they are.”

Colm chuckled.

Liam shifted uncomfortably on his feet, peering into the fauna. “What are you saying?”

“I asked them to send a message for me.”

It was really too bad the man was a raving lunatic. Liam had rather liked Colm.

“What kind of message?”

“The same that went with the hawks. Just in case.”

“And the gnomes will…”

“They’ll pass it along their tunnels while we take the long way around.” Liam’s disbelief must have been painted on his face. “You never noticed the gnomes in Greenridge Forest?”

“There are no gnomes in Greenridge Forest.”

Colm barked a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder as he turned Lanta back toward the picket line Aiden was setting.

Liam peered again into the ferns, but there was nothing there.

He followed back into the camp and perched on an oddly comfortable stone bench as the madman tended a kettle over the fire.

Enya and Oryn were still at the stream, but the others had gathered around. They sat, passing a bottle of dark amber liquid around the fire.

“Say Colm, you’ve known a Second or two, haven’t you?” Aiden asked from where he lounged on an elbow.

“I have.”

“Are they all so bloody…” He glanced at Liam before choosing his word. “Unhinged?”

Bade huffed a laugh as a grin broke out across the other man’s face. “I’d say the line runs true.”

“I pity whatever poor fool tries to make her his wife,” Aiden sighed.

Liam felt heat creeping up his collar as the fire wielder flashed him a knowing look. The others, he realized, were pointedly not meeting his gaze.

“Enya doesn’t want a husband,” Liam said flatly .

“So we’ve heard. She’ll come around one day when she’s older and wiser,” he winked.

Colm cocked his head. “You know, by relative lifespan, I’d reckon she’s older than you, Aiden.”

“Definitely wiser,” she chirped, coming to the fire on Oryn’s heels.

Aiden gave her a mock bow from his perch and offered her the bottle. Enya seemed immune to the smoke as she took a long pull that made Liam shudder.

“That’s not saying much,” Bade drawled.

Enya clutched the bottle to her chest. “Gods Bade, was that a joke?”

“That’s unfair,” Aiden objected. “I’ve never walked into a dragon’s lair. Or set a soldier’s outpost on fire.”

“You did set my tent on fire. Thrice,” Bade grumbled.

“My townhouse,” Colm said.

“Don’t forget the Sun Palace,” Oryn added.

“Remember that wedding in Zeskayra?”

Bade and Oryn let out deep, rumbling laughs and the fire wielder threw up his hands in surrender. Liam watched Enya drag her comb through her long copper hair and stare at the loose waves hanging over her shoulder. He tapped the dirt in front of where he sat in silent invitation.

“You will?” She asked.

“‘Course.”

He could feel Oryn’s eyes boring into him as Enya gingerly sat and Liam combed his fingers through her long tresses.

“I didn’t realize you were a handmaiden too,” Aiden mocked as he wove a neat braid down her scalp.

“I’ll be whatever Enya asks,” he retorted, glaring over her head at Oryn.

“How’s the healing holding up?” Colm asked.

“It’s not his best work,” Enya sighed.

Liam tried not to take too much satisfaction in that.

“Perhaps next time you could dodge,” Oryn growled.

Enya picked at the nails of her free hand. “I’ll take that under advisement. ”

Enya

The inside of her lip was bleeding from the number of times she’d bitten it holding in her cry as they wound through the mountains.

The terrain was difficult, and each little slide of rock sent a jolt through her shoulder that made her want to weep, but she wouldn’t admit she regretted not staying in Wayforge to await the healer’s arrival.

They didn’t know if Pallas was looking for his clutch and she still hadn’t worked out what Hylee had gotten out of their bargain.

Part of her feared she might come to collect the eggs now that they were no longer guarded by a dragon.

Behind the wards of Tuminzar, the demi-elves put their gifts on full display.

As they climbed and the temperature dropped, they bundled themselves in the furs that Master Graniteforge had procured for them at the inn.

Inside the little dome Oryn wielded around their camp, Enya shrugged out of hers, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow beside Aiden’s crackling fire.

The flames shifted from orange to purple to green as he talked animatedly.

Bade, whose gift she hadn’t seen in Estryia, drew up little stone seats and benches for them.

Sometimes, as they climbed, he changed their path and called out places to avoid in the rock.

She flinched when the teapot floated to refill her cup on invisible bonds of air. Beside her, Liam blanched.

“The teapot does it?” Aiden asked incredulously. He’d been trying to get a reaction out of them as he wielded little fire birds in his flame.

Enya shook her head. “Just something we saw at our last Testing.”

“Louissa bloody Adler,” Liam grumbled.

Colm cocked his head. “She was your Tester?”

“Do you know her?” Enya asked.

The demi-elf shook his head. “We’ve spent much of Davolier’s reign abroad. But I’ve heard of her. She’s one of the king’s most trusted wielders, an architect of the Silver Night. And rumor…” He cleared his throat. “Rumor is she is close to Peytar Ralenet.”

Enya’s brows rose. “Do you think she could have sent him to Ryerson House?”

Colm shrugged. “I don’t know. It is…interesting, is all. ”

Renley

Renley stood with his back against a stone column, watching the dancers swirl about in their finery.

All the wealth of Estryia was on display for the opening ball that began the week of revelry leading up to Maia and Pallas’s wedding.

Servants in the blue and white livery of Trakbatten House meandered through the crowd, silver trays held aloft.

Renley’s own silver armor was polished to a shine, his gold cloak pinned over one shoulder.

He smiled, watching Rhiannon Oakhart pick her way toward him in his periphery.

She was his favorite of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, though he supposed a good guardsman shouldn’t have favorites.

Where most of them were shallow and vapid, Rhiannon was kind and smart.

He supposed that was why Maia seemed to favor the northern girl, even if she was the youngest daughter from an inconsequential lower house.

She came to stand at his elbow, frowning into her wine.

“Are you having a pleasant evening, Miss Oakhart?” Renley asked, his eyes never leaving his queen.

“No,” she answered tersely.

Renley frowned. “Is something the matter, Miss?”

“My dance card is full, Guardsman Ryerson, and the one man I hoped to dance with this evening isn’t on it.”

Renley pressed his lips together to hide his joy. “It’s a pity that a better partner cannot be found in a room so full of people.”

“I found a better partner, but he seems determined to hold up a column all night.”

It was an effort not to smile. “The roof might fall in.”

“And then we’d all have to go home early, what a pity,” Rhiannon mused into her drink. “You cannot leave your post even for one?”

“You know I cannot, Miss Oakhart.” And even if he could, Renley wasn’t certain her father would approve. As it was, the man was watching him like a hawk from the other side of the ballroom.

Rhiannon heaved a sigh. “Fine. I suppose I’m stuck with some Davolier cousin.”

She turned, making for the floor again. Renley made a choice that would shape the rest of his life as he called after her. “Miss Oakhart?” She paused. “Might your dance card have an opening tomorrow? It’s my day off. ”

A smile that made his heart stutter lit her face. “I think I can find the time somewhere between embroidering pillows and picking out ribbons.”

Renley watched her melt back into the crowd and turned his gaze back on his queen.

He’d been retreating to his dreams more and more. They were where he lived now. Not in the shredded body in the dark cell beneath Peytar’s palace. Here, in the dreams he could conjure from memory, was the life he had loved.

“She’s lovely,” the man with the golden topknot said at his shoulder. Renley wasn’t sure if he meant Rhiannon or his queen, but on that night, it had been true of both women.

“Is Enya…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question. He’d been waiting endless nights and days for the demi-elf to reappear to him.

“In Tuminzar,” the man who called himself Andril answered. “She’ll be granted sanctuary.”

Renley sagged back against the column. Thank the gods.

“She knows who she is,” he added. “Is there anything you’d like me to tell her?”

Renley heaved a shuddering breath. “When she needs it, remind her that she was loved. Remind her, no matter which name she chooses, she will always be my daughter.”