Page 4

Chapter Four

TANYL

I tucked Sylvie’s arm through mine as we entered the castle. Briar was a quiet presence on our heels, the small pack he’d pulled from his saddle slung over one shoulder. As promised, I paused long enough to tell one of the guards to take care of Briar’s horse.

Sylvie cast me inquisitive looks as we moved toward our chambers. She knew .

Except she couldn’t. Briar and I had sworn. No one can ever know.

I’d been careful in the courtyard. But careful wasn’t good enough for Sylvie. She’d spent a decade of her life speaking as little as possible. She’d learned to observe. Sometimes, the things people didn’t say were the loudest.

I stopped outside one of the empty guest chambers in the royal wing. Briar stopped, too, his gaze touching Sylvie briefly before resting on me. Under the chandeliers’ light, the fatigue showed on his face. It etched itself in the strain around his mouth and the faint lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. Dust coated his hair, turning it a shade darker than the chocolate waves from my memories. When we’d bathed in the rivers, he’d flicked it from his eyes with a toss of his head. A warrior’s movement, brisk and efficient.

“This is your chamber,” I told him, nodding toward the door. “I’ll summon a servant to help you remove your armor.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “No need, Your Grace. I can handle the armor on my own. Respectfully, sir.”

The last might as well have been a thunderclap. It struck the air between us, tightening my cock and putting a groan in my throat.

Damn him. Damn him, with his serious gray eyes. His tempting mouth, the bottom lip plump and pink. His dark waves just long enough to hold him, to direct him. His barely-there sigils, plain currents that whispered of power just under his rounded human ears. The earnest, pleading, needy look that never left his eyes. The jaw covered with stubble that grew back the moment he scraped it away with the edge of his knife. The black lashes, long and thick as a girl’s.

So pretty. So fucking pretty.

Sylvie observed, her curiosity flowing from me to Briar and back again.

I tried for indifference as I addressed Briar. “Very well, but even the warrior-priests of the Rivven can’t magic soap and water from the air. A servant will bring both, Sir Briar, and then you can join my queen and me for a light repast before you seek your bed.” I gestured toward the pair of glossy doors at the end of the corridor, where two guards stood at attention on either side. “The royal apartments are just there. Come to me when you’re ready.”

Briar’s throat worked again. “Yes, Your Grace.”

The three of us waited. I tipped my head toward the guest chamber’s door. “Go on now, Sir Briar.”

He flushed. With another nod, he entered the chamber and shut the door.

Sylvie looked at me.

“Come, my love,” I said, offering my arm. When we reached our room, I dispatched one of the guards to the kitchens. I sent the other to fetch a servant for Briar.

“A man,” I clarified. “It’ll be more comfortable for the Rivven.”

The guards nodded and left.

Sylvie spoke the moment I closed our door behind us. “You won’t question Crispin right away?”

Surprise stopped me on my way to the wash basin. As I rounded on her, suspicion teased the edges of my mind. “No. Did you know anything about the Council reaching out to the Citadel?”

Her eyes widened—then filled with anger. “Of course not. You know Crispin never shares his schemes with me. And even if he did, you know I would tell you.” A wry smile curved her lips. “Or maybe you don’t.”

“I do,” I said, remorse coursing through me as I closed the distance between us. Her chin went up, hurt replacing the anger in her eyes. I tucked a lock of platinum hair behind her ear, then trailed my fingers down the smooth, warm column of her neck. “Forgive me. My father saw plots in every corner. Sometimes, I fear he rubbed off on me.” My own smile was probably wry as I stroked my thumb over her pulse. “Despite my efforts to ensure that wasn’t the case.”

The hurt on her face faded. “All of Spring says you’re Galathil’s opposite in every way.”

“Thank the gods.” Letting my smile grow, I leaned in and kissed her forehead. “And the goddesses,” I murmured against her skin.

She slipped her arms around my waist and pressed her body to mine. Desire flared, and I pulled her even closer until her breasts mashed against my chest and my cock lodged against her pussy. It was so easy to grind my hips against her.

So I did, moving a hand to her ass and holding her in place as I put my lips to the sweet-scented hair above her ear. “Your drawers are still on my chamber floor, my lady. You wore nothing under these skirts when we went to the courtyard. You stood among my knights and the lords of the Council with your pussy still wet from my tongue, nothing but a few layers of silk between my men and your well-tended cunt.”

Her gasp was loud in my ear. “Stop.”

I squeezed her ass, rocking her pussy over my dick. “You said the Rite of the Dead that way, didn’t you, with your clit still throbbing and your juices smearing your thighs?”

“Tanyl…” she whispered against my neck. But she didn’t push away.

“I fucking want you,” I said, running my lips down her neck. “All the time. Every moment. Sometimes, I think you’re a witch.”

Now, she did push, her palms firm against my chest. Disapproval shone in her sea-colored eyes as she tipped her head back. “You say these things to shock me.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her right back. “Because you’re so beautiful when you’re flustered.” I found her nipple through her gown and squeezed until her breath hitched. “My little sestra.”

Her lashes fluttered, and her teeth made half moons in her lip. “So you won’t question Crispin?”

Amusement tempered my desire. Easing her away from me, I put a finger under her chin. “My little sestra, and my savvy queen.” Nothing got by her. If she’d been born a man, she would have almost certainly challenged Crispin for control of the Silver Sea.

I sucked in a breath as she gripped my cock through my trousers, squeezing just a little too hard. “Answer the question, my lord.”

Blood pumped to my shaft. Moonlight slanting through the windows turned her hair the color of whitecaps. Turning my hand on her chin, I pinched the stubborn little point. “Are you sure you want to challenge me?” I murmured.

Her eyes were steady, her grip on my dick uncompromising. “I want to know if you’ll kill my brother for embarrassing you.”

“He hasn’t embarrassed me yet. But it’s interesting that you think he acted on his own.”

“Crispin has always used the Council as a shield,” she said. “This was his doing, even if he claims the others backed him. None of the other lords are foolish or brave enough to contact the Rivven on their own—or even collectively.”

I raised a brow. “Foolish or brave? Which is it, Beauty?”

Her nostrils flared slightly as the pet name filled the scant space between us. But her tone remained even as she said, “A man can be both, don’t you think?”

In my mind, wind swept across dry, cracked ground, the merciless blast kicking up dust that stung my eyes and coated my lips. It clung to my skin and worked its way into every crevice. But not in the river. In the river, strong, brown hands waited for me. Solemn gray eyes lowered. Knees bent.

Sylvie waited, watching me, her fingers tight around my aching cock.

“Yes,” I said. “A man can be foolish and brave.”

She withdrew her hand. “You should question Crispin without delay. Tonight.”

I shook my head. “I want to hear what Briar has to say first.”

Before I finished the sentence, I knew it was a mistake.

So did she.

Steady, blue-green eyes held mine. “You call him by his first name.”

The bloodiest wars are fought at home. My father had loved saying it, following it up with, Every woman is a battlefield. Considering his fondness for mistresses, he’d been something of an expert on the subject.

Lying to Sylvie was foolish, but I wasn’t quite ready to be brave.

Dropping my hand from her chin, I stepped back. “I’ve met him before. In Saltvale.”

Shock flared in her eyes. She understood the meaning behind the word. The weight. And it was excuse enough for me to turn and go to the sideboard, where glasses and a pitcher of lyssop waited.

I took my time pouring, my body angled away as I arranged my thoughts. No one can ever know.

But she knew a little now. My wife knew something. I’d cracked the door to the past I’d done everything I could to forget. The year in Saltvale. Sun and starvation. The wind and the unrelenting hunger. The worst sort of hunger—the kind I’d pretended to forget. For a time, I’d convinced myself the pretense was real. But that was a laughable lie. How could I pretend when the feast had just knelt at my feet in the courtyard and promised to answer my cry for help ?

Silk rustled as Sylvie approached, her tall, slender beauty filling the edge of my vision. She waited.

She was good at it. Patient and tireless. She kept the Hours as they did on the Isle of the Gods—as Father Aegor did, kneeling in the temple six times each day and night to pray to Perun and his goddess-wives. On feast days, she honored the minor gods who dwelled in the streams and brooks. Riba the god of reeds. Birau the god of silt. Apat the god of moss. By Perun’s cock, there were probably more.

She waited for me to finish pouring. Because when I did, I’d have no excuse to face away.

“I trained with him,” I said, turning with a glass in each hand. She took the one I offered but didn’t drink, just watched as I sipped. Waiting.

Waiting for more. Moonlight from the window gilded her pale hair and the tips of her eyelashes, turning her into one of the goddesses she worshipped.

The lyssop went down smoothly, and I licked my lips, tasting the sun-drenched valley where Spring bordered the Summer Court.

“The Rivven are reluctant to allow full-blooded elves to train with them,” I said. “When my father sent me to the Citadel, the pledges threatened to revolt. The Grand Master was ready to put me on a boat to Storm’s Hollow when Briar volunteered to pair with me.”

Sylvie absorbed this in her shaft of moonlight, her slender fingers pinching the stem of her glass. “You spent a year together.”

“A brutal year.” She knew the circumstances, as everyone did. Elf or Vetran, the stories of the Rivven’s grueling quest were well-known. Not that Saltvale was much of a quest. The “quest” was simply don’t die .

Memories beckoned. Something joyful and tremulous danced in a pair of gray eyes as callused fingers clutched mine. I found a river, Tanyl.

Sylvie drew a breath.

A knock rang out, and a voice drifted through the door. “Your Grace? I beg your pardon. We’ve set a table out here, and the food is ready.” A pause. “And Sir Briar awaits.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, dishes laden with cheese, fruit, and dried meat spread over the table. A fire crackled in the hearth. It danced and shifted, throwing shadows on the walls.

As the servants bowed and left, Briar stared at the tapestries that covered the dining chamber’s walls. His gaze lingered on the largest one, which showed sestras standing in a semicircle before a stone basin perched on a pedestal. The holy women’s robes had mellowed with age, the once-brilliant white reduced to dull ivory.

“It’s the godswell on the Isle of the Gods,” I said, toying with the stem of my wineglass. I flicked a look at Sylvie, who hadn’t stopped staring at Briar since we sat down. “I’m told the sestras use it to commune with Perun. Unfortunately, the river god is prone to answering in riddles.”

Sylvie gave me one of her steady looks. “Most men don’t want to hear what women have to say, even if their words come from the gods.”

My position at the head of the table allowed me to see Briar looking between us, his head on a swivel as he probably struggled to puzzle out what he was hearing—banter or a challenge?

The bloodiest wars are fought at home. Occasionally, my father had dispensed wisdom in between wine-soaked belches.

“Only fools ignore the words of women,” I said.

Sylvie tilted her head. “And yet so many men insist on being fools.”

She wasn’t going to let me forget not summoning her to the Council meeting. Things between us would remain unsettled until I made amends. That would prove difficult. Because I knew what she wanted, and I couldn’t give it to her.

Letting a smile touch my lips, I raised my glass to her. “Any man would make himself a fool for you, Beauty,” I said over the rim.

Her cheeks pinkened, and she looked away as I put my lips to the rim. As the lyssop slid down my throat, a blue vein in her neck fluttered just a little more rapidly.

I’d won the skirmish, but not really. The battle between us was almost as old as our marriage. It would continue long past dinner.

Turning to Briar, I waved my glass toward the tapestry. “My mother wove it in her youth. She was deeply devoted to Perun’s wife, Veluna, the Goddess of Thunder. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. She died a year after I was born.”

He stared for a moment, intelligence in his eyes. He knew better than to look at Sylvie, who watched him from her place to my right. Briar sat on my left, giving the two of them a direct view of every expression that might play over the other’s face.

“But you know that already,” I added. “From our time in Saltvale.”

Briar’s lips parted, and he started to glance at Sylvie before he caught himself. It was a valiant recovery—and it wasn’t quite good enough.

No one can ever know.

But I’d broken our vow. Briar just didn’t know how thoroughly. He’d removed his armor, leaving him in his gambeson. The gray padded coat was simple but finely made, the stitches small and even. Sweat stains turned the fabric around his collar and armpits a darker gray. Stubble shadowed his square jaw. The absence of armor should have made him smaller, but it didn’t. His body was armor enough.

“Yes,” he said, the word emerging low and rough, as if he wasn’t used to speaking. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes, of course, Your Grace. Saltvale.” As the silence lengthened, he grabbed his wineglass and drained half the contents. He stopped abruptly, then lowered the glass and stared at the pale liquid inside.

“It’s lyssop,” I said, “a kind of sparkling water pulled from the rivers around?—”

“I know what it is,” Briar said, then flushed. “My apologies, Your Grace, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He licked his lips. “It’s been a while since I tasted lyssop.”

I sat back in my chair. “The servants brought lyssop because they know I prefer it. But we also have wine if you’d like that instead.”

He set his glass down. “That’s not necessary, Your Grace. I’m quite pleased with the lyssop.”

Sylvie rose and went to the sideboard where the servants had left the pitcher. When she rounded the table with it in her hands, Briar froze like an animal cornered by larger prey.

“Oh,” he said as she stopped beside him. His gaze bounced from me to his glass to her, and he reached for his glass only to withdraw his hand. “You don’t have to?—”

“It’s custom, Sir Briar,” I said. “The queen serves hospitality to honored guests.” I sat back in my chair. “For my wife, there is no nobler guest than a Rivven from the Citadel.”

Briar hesitated a moment longer before offering his wineglass. His cuff slid up, and the chain etched around his wrist came into view, dark hair scattered among the links.

Sylvie poured, and the heady scent of lyssop mingled with riverthistle. The faded chains around her wrists showed at the edge of her sleeves, the fabric secured with dainty ribbons. Firelight played over her gown and hair, which fell down her back, the ends almost—but not quite—brushing Briar’s forearm.

I hadn’t lied about the custom. Always, the queen served the king’s guests. Sylvie had done it a hundred times before. But never for him.

And he looked. He tried not to, but he failed all the same. It was there in his soft, swift intake of air, and the minor tremor in his hand as he lowered his glass. The flicker of appreciation in his gray eyes as he took in the curve of her hip and the hollow of her throat. It trembled in his voice as he murmured his thanks and then fixed his stare on his plate as if he’d never seen food before. Anything to keep his eyes off the woman moving back to the sideboard.

Emotion twisted through me. Hot and sinuous, it coiled around my bones and snaked through my veins. Jealousy, of course, but the funny thing was, I couldn’t have said for whom. Laughter at my own wretchedness threatened. Before it could shake loose, I opened my mouth and asked, “Will you bless our meal, Sir Briar?”

He jerked his head up. For a moment, something shrewd glimmered in his eyes. But there was something else, and it twisted in my heart like the tip of a knife.

Hurt. He believed I mocked him.

“Please,” Sylvie said, taking her seat once more. She offered Briar a smile—the unguarded kind she rarely displayed to anyone but me. It put a dimple in her cheek, transforming her from beautiful to breathtaking. But the smile was for me this time, too. She thought I mocked Briar, and she didn’t like it.

“I’ve never heard a Rivven pray,” she added softly.

Briar returned her expression with a shy smile of his own. “I’m afraid my prayers are nothing special, Your Grace.”

“Respectfully, Sir Briar, all prayers are special.”

Their gazes held for a moment.

“Yes,” he said, breaking her stare to look at me. At my nod, he lowered his head. “Perun protect us.”

“Perun protect us,” I murmured with Sylvie.

Head bent, Briar continued, his voice low and smooth. “Show your favor on this home and those who dwell within it. We await your blessings, which flow like the rivers of Spring and Vetra. Yea, Perun.”

Sylvie looked up. “Yea, Perun,” she said softly, touching her fingertips to her forehead and then the center of her lips.

Briar and I did the same, and I caught his gaze as I plucked a grape from the bunch on my plate. “My wife knows the challenges I faced in Saltvale, but I never shared the name of the man I faced them with. You are welcome in the Spring Court, Sir Briar, as you welcomed me in Mistport when no one else did.”

Briar stilled, gratitude appearing in his eyes.

Gratitude. For me, of all people. For a second, anger flared in my chest, the flames mirroring the blaze in the hearth. He had no business displaying gratitude—or anything else. He was a warrior. Hadn’t he learned not to show his hand? But the blunt maneuvers of the battlefield were altogether different from the silky whispers of court politics.

“Eat, Sir Briar,” Sylvie said, breaking tension I hadn’t felt until that moment. I uncurled my fingers from the arm of my chair. When I rubbed them together, grooves from the wood lingered in my fingertips.

Briar obeyed, and for the next few moments, the three of us ate in easy silence, the crackle of the fire accompanying the clink of cutlery on plates. Eventually, Sylvie looked at Briar across the table.

“My husband says Saltvale was brutal.”

He lowered the bread he’d lifted to his lips. “It was,” he said quietly. “It still is. Most years, a little over half of the pledges don’t survive it.”

She leaned forward, her brows pulling together. “But halflings are so rare—and so important for the people of Vetra. Why put yourselves in that kind of peril?”

Briar sat back, something thoughtful in his eyes. “I think that’s part of it, actually. The Rivven have to be strong even in the most trying circumstances. Our order was formed to fight the Scarrok. King Liam of Vetra tolerates our presence because we serve an important purpose. The Vetrans need to use the rivers for moving goods and people.”

Sylvie’s brow smoothed. “And you protect them against the Scarrok. The humans should thank you, not simply tolerate you.”

A smile touched his lips, the expression so earnest I wanted to strangle him—and then bend him over the table until he begged forgiveness for making me jealous and hard.

“We’re grateful to have a home,” he said.

Sylvie’s smile was sad. “Because you don’t have one here.” She hesitated.

“What is it?” I asked.

She glanced at me, her frown making a brief appearance before she focused on Briar. “You have one elven parent. I just wondered…”

“My mother was elven,” he said. “Her name was Elia Sirthana, daughter of Helsaran Sirthana.”

“I’ve heard the name,” Sylvie said, respect in her tone.

I plucked another grape. “Helsaran was a legendary healer. Sir Briar inherited his grandfather’s gift.”

Briar shook his head. “My gift is modest compared to my grandsire’s.”

“Nonsense,” I murmured, popping the grape into my mouth. I crunched it between my molars, and the juices burst on my tongue. Swallowing, I let a smile curve my lips. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of.”

Flushing slightly, Briar looked at his plate. “Healing is a useful gift. I’m grateful for my magic, as well as the connection to my mother’s family.”

Sympathy filled Sylvie’s gaze. “And your father, Sir Briar?”

He looked up. “Lord Roger of Mudwall.”

Sylvie’s eyes widened as she absorbed the name of the prominent Vetran estate.

Briar noticed, and a wry smile pulled at his lips. “I’m sure you’ve heard that name, too, Your Grace, but I’m not surprised if you were unaware of my connection to it. My mother died birthing me, and my father married shortly after. My stepmother gave him three sons in as many years. My bastard blood meant I couldn’t inherit, and being a halfling marked me for the Rivven, but she still worried I would grow up and supplant her sons. She feared I would outlive them all and then steal their inheritance. So she convinced my father to send me to the Citadel early.”

Sylvie’s frown deepened. “How early?”

“I arrived in Mistport shortly before my fifth birthday.”

Outrage sparked in her eyes. “Five years old?”

“You pledged yourself to the sestras at ten,” I pointed out.

“It was my choice,” she said, keeping her gaze on Briar. “I never wanted to be anything else.”

We felt the sting of her words at the same moment, both of us sucking in a breath. Briar tensed, and he cast another searching look between us as Sylvie bit her lip.

“I’m sorry,” she said, meeting my gaze and then lowering hers. “I didn’t mean… I only meant that I planned on spending my life on the island. I never thought Mairwen would?—”

“It’s all right,” I said, reaching over and grasping her fingers. Lifting them to my lips, I kissed her knuckles before releasing her. “I was pleased to be left at the altar, even if it meant pulling you from Perun’s.”

Reproach and knowing surfaced in her eyes. She hid the latter as she glanced at Briar.

“Mairwen is your sister,” he said, offering a little nod.

“Yes,” she murmured. “I supposed that’s very old news.”

Briar’s grin was quick. Boyish. “It’s the only kind we get at the Citadel.”

She smiled back. “It was the same at the Sancta Sestra. Probably worse, to be honest.”

Something sparkled between them. Camaraderie, maybe, as if they shared a secret even though I watched them do it. Jealousy twisted inside me again, pushing me to punish.

Gods, I could punish them both.

The thought slid alongside the bitter, burning resentment. As I watched them, chains etched around their wrists and soft smiles on their faces, the bitterness fled, leaving only the burn.

I settled back in my chair and turned to Briar. “Of all the Rivven, why did your Grand Master send you to Storm’s Hollow?”

His smile faded. He sat up straighter, and I could see him collecting his words, gathering them up and sorting them into the right order in his mind.

“Grand Master Silas approached me after he received your Council’s message,” he said finally. “He knows we trained in Saltvale together. He believed that connection might prove useful.”

“I see. And what do the Rivven gain from this arrangement?”

Briar frowned. “We don’t have anything to gain, Your Grace. We just want to help.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But your Order’s existence is transactional. You said it yourself.” I gestured to the tapestry behind him, where the Perun River wove between kingdoms. “The humans rose up against the elves a thousand years ago. They wanted us and our magic out of their lives.”

Briar’s frown deepened. “Respectfully, Your Grace, I know the story.”

“You know the history,” I said, “but sometimes it’s worth repeating. The humans drove us out, magic and all. We gave them their wish, cutting the continent in half and sealing our power behind the Covenant. But something twisted in the tempest as we carved Spring from the land. No one knows how or why—only that it gave birth to monsters. The Scarrok pass freely through the Covenant. They don’t care about borders. They haunt our rivers and Vetra’s alike, killing anything that breathes. But the humans, thank Perun, have their secret weapon.”

“Tanyl,” Sylvie said flatly.

“The Rivven,” I said, my gaze on Briar. “Half-elf, half-human—weak enough to survive in Vetra yet strong enough to keep your magic. You can’t be turned by the monsters you battle.”

Briar’s expression didn’t waver, but his silence said plenty.

“Halflings are accidents of blood,” I went on. “Most die before they can draw their first breath. The survivors are always male. That makes you something of a miracle, Sir Briar, and a precious commodity for the good people of Vetra.” I smiled. “Forgive me for sounding cynical, but I don’t believe for one second that Silas is putting one of his legendary warrior-priests in harm’s way out of the goodness of his heart. So tell me, Father, what’s your true purpose for entering Spring?”

Silence fell over the chamber. Even the fire seemed muted as tension filled the air. Sylvie went still at the edge of my vision, her attention on me.

Briar’s stare didn’t falter. It was quiet and steady, humble as ever and all the more devastating for it. He’d never needed a sword to disarm me.

And it was so very dangerous. Having him in Spring was dangerous. The way he looked at me with those big, soft eyes. The way he looked at my wife.

“I asked you not to call me that, Your Grace,” he said evenly. “As you’ve suggested, I live by my sword. I’ll likely die by it, as well. Death is a given for me. My father’s blood makes it so. But I have more time than a regular human, and I’m grateful for it. I’d like to make good use of that time. The Scarrok can’t be killed, but my brothers at the Citadel have discovered new ways to subdue them. I’ll show you what we’ve learned if you’ll permit me. Sir.”

As it had in the courtyard, that single word landed like a boulder tossed into a still, flat lake. He lobbed it at me, and I had no idea if he meant to. Probably not. Briar wasn’t calculating. But he wasn’t stupid, either. He had to know.

Didn’t he?

I found a river, Tanyl. And he’d loosened the knot of his loincloth, brown fingers coaxing the leather from his hips.

The fire popped, and it was the breaking of a dam. Sylvie roused, light playing over her hair as she looked between Briar and me. He lowered his gaze to a spot on the table between us, a knight awaiting the judgment of his king.

But I wasn’t his, and he wasn’t mine. Not anymore.

Still, I had a kingdom to save. You will fail , my father whispered.

“All right,” I told Briar, and he lifted his head. “You’ll show me tomorrow.”