Page 57

Chapter twenty-eight

R elief washed over me when morning came and his warm body was still wrapped around me beneath the covers.

“Good morning.” His deep timbre resonated delightfully against my back, followed by a long, quiet inhale.

“Are you smelling me?” I giggled, stomach fluttering so violently I breathed deeply to settle it.

“No.” But I could feel him smiling into my hair.

I snorted. “What do I smell like?”

“Strawberries.” His lack of hesitation plastered a stupid grin on my face. “And the sun.”

I giggled again. “Well, what does the sun smell like?”

The warmth of his exhale covered my skin with goose bumps. “Everything that is good. ”

Tears welled in my tired eyes, the shuddering in my chest pounding against the tightness of my throat.

That tug was a thousand times stronger than my fear of disappointing Simeon.

Stronger than the fear of whatever consequences might befall me should Elias Winterton discover my heart’s secret.

I would marry my betrothed, perform my duties.

Hopefully, I could learn to be fond of him. That would have to be good enough.

As Gavin and I laid together, the desperate silence between us spoke a pleading shout that pierced the grating darkness of this world and crushed the burden of expectations.

I felt the responding ache in my chest, and though I didn’t know much about love, I wondered if what I felt for him was something like it.

I needed one more day.

“We’ll arrive in Brinnea today?” I quietly asked. After counting the days back, I realized what day today was. The winter solstice.

“Yes. About a five-hour walk from here.”

“Can we put off meeting Simeon until tomorrow?” I asked. “I know he might be expecting us, but Finn said there are grand celebrations in Brinnea, and I’d like to see them… with you.”

A long pause ensued. The anticipation beat my stomach to a pulp until finally, he answered, “Yes. Whatever you want.”

I let out a tattered sigh of relief and tucked his hand into my chest.

Minutes later, it was me who climbed out of bed and suggested we better start moving. I had a small headache from last night’s overindulgence, but I was grateful. Without the bread and water he’d forced on me, it would have been much worse.

After I stood, his palm rested where my body had been.

The flames beneath the hearth warmed the faded pine floors.

I padded over to the sack that contained our food and unwrapped a bread roll.

I filled a glass with water, sat down in the chair in the corner, and looked up to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me.

The longing in his eyes cut through my stomach like a knife.

My cheeks heated. “What?”

“Nothing.” But his smile didn’t reach his eyes. The floor creaked beneath his feet as he strode over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself some of Damond’s potent liquor. His eyes were colder. Distant .

“Isn’t it a little early to have a drink?”

He shrugged and took a sip.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” I asked, frowning. “The solitude? The traveling? The fighting? And—” I followed the glass to his lips. “The way it makes you feel?”

“Yes.”

I chewed and swallowed another bite of my roll. “What do you think about to keep yourself going?”

One more sip and he was done. “I think about finding you that day in Warrich.” He set his glass down with a forceful thump.

“I think about how the people who were supposed to love and protect you starved the light and life right out of you just so that they could rebuild you however they saw fit, and it becomes very clear to me, again and again, why I’m still fighting. ”

My brow furrowed. “You didn’t even mention Molochai.”

“I don’t need him to rile me up when your puppeteers do a fine job of that all on their own.” The words cracked out of him like an angry whip.

“I’ll be okay, you know.” But he cringed at my words. “I’ll—”

“Why didn’t you try to heal yourself?” He gestured to my side. “With your power, you could have.”

I leaned back in the chair and shrugged. “I didn’t think about it. But even if I had… I think healing takes something out of me. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t help Caz after saving that boy.” Another shrug. “I’d rather save my ability to heal someone who truly needs it.”

Broad shoulders sank from my answer. The wrong answer, by his reaction. His jaw pulsed as he considered my words. Three long strides and the space between us disappeared. He squatted in front of me, large hands on my knees. “I want you to promise me something, Aryella.”

“What?”

“I don’t know all of what this world—this war— will require of you, but I fear there will come a time when you feel the need to sacrifice yourself—in one way or another—to save others.

I fear that your power will take too much from you, and that you’ll let it.

” He cupped my face and a familiar heat pulsed through me. “Promise me you won’t.”

I thought of Caz and Marin and their baby. Of Gemma, Finn, Ezra, even Elowen.

Of him .

“I don’t want to promise that.”

“ Please .” His appeal wrought deep tremors from his chest. With gentle urgency, he pressed his calloused palms to my cheeks. “Gods be damned, Ella , do not sacrifice yourself for this world.”

My lips quivered. I was afraid. But then I thought of Ollie and how I would still trade places with him if I could.

Despite the dread pooling in my belly, I knew my answer.

If I had to, I would give it all.

Begrudgingly, I lowered his hands from my face and my gaze from his. “I will do what I have to do.”

“I know you will.” His fingers tightened around mine in my lap. “And I’m asking you— begging you— not to.”

“And I’m saying no.” Prying my hands from his strong grip, I stood and wiped my eyes. “I won’t make that promise.”

Soon, I wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

Soon, he would return to whatever it was he’d been doing before his agreement with Simeon had sent him to me.

Soon, he would be relieved of this mess.

When the time came for battle, I knew he would join the fight.

There was a chance I might see him again, but by then, I would be married to Elias, and Gavin would be another soldier in my army rather than my teacher or my friend.

“Ella, sweetheart—”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” And before he could contest, I added, “We should go if we want to get to Brinnea before the celebrations start.”

When I started to lift my nightgown over my head to change for the day, he rushed out the door—as I knew he would—without a single look.

***

An hour into the final leg of our trip, my knees gave out.

My wound pulled and ached with every stop up the steep, rocky hills.

I couldn’t do it. I tried and tried. And he let me try despite my struggling grunts, until one icy rock had me slipping, falling, panting, had my hands gripping my wounded side while I bit back frustrated tears. My tears were where he drew the line.

He shifted our bags to hang off his shoulder and carried me the rest of the way on his back, my extra weight no hindrance to his strong, agile movements. I almost fell asleep once or twice with my cheek pressed into his shoulder, but I refused to miss a single frozen waterfall.

They were everywhere. Long, perilous icicles—affixed, suspended in time—dropping off rocky cliffs into lakes of blue water so clear they had to hold nature’s sacred breath within them.

Evergreens were scattered across the rough forests and reached up into winter’s gloomy gray sky.

Snow crunched beneath Gavin’s feet as he walked, but the chill wasn’t bitter. Just cold enough to freeze.

I memorized how it felt to have my arms wrapped around his muscular neck and shoulders. How his silky, dark hair kissed my cheek. How his earthy, clean scent engulfed my senses. I hoarded these pieces of him, intending to draw upon them later. When he was gone. When I missed him.

I asked him to keep talking and telling me stories as he walked, but I kept the why to myself—to hear his deep, comforting voice, to try and memorize that too.

Hours later, at the edge of the vast conifer-covered terrain, we saw the stunning ruins of a castle appearing to drop right off the edge of a cliff. And beyond the cliff, crystalline waters stirred beneath a soothing overcast sky.

The scent of fresh salt and musk drifted across my nostrils, and the crisp winter breeze stunned my lungs awake. I sucked in a greedy breath to get more of that sweet, enveloping air.

When I released my gasp—unintentionally close to his neck—I noticed goose bumps prickle across his skin and smiled. At least that went both ways.

“Is that…?” It was so magnificent, I felt like my breath leapt out of me. “Is this where they lived?”

“Yes.” He increased his pace.

The closer we got to the ruins, the louder the squawks of seagulls grew.

Flourishing green moss crawled up the stone walls and back down the craggy cliffside, persevering in even that tired place.

Not dead, for the foundation was strong and the rooms were still framed with resilient stone.

I imagined the castle one day restored to its former self, rebuilt from the ashes of its original footprint.

He let me explore the ruins but followed closely.

I stopped and turned, neck craned, when I came across a cylindrical structure lined with shelves, and on the ground, tattered remnants of what those shelves once held.

If there had been treasures and jewels in the castle, thieves had taken those long ago.

But they’d left a few of the books, destroyed and disintegrated as they were.

“Was this their library?”

He bent down and picked up a dusty, tattered, brown leather book with the spine barely intact. “Yes.”

I grinned. “It’s just like yours.”