Page 13 of This Midsummer Heart (Seasons of Legend #4)

Chapter thirteen

Silverbeard

Titaine

T

ears,

hot

and

humiliating,

dot the corners of my eyes as Daegris Silverbeard—said beard now little more than neatly trimmed stubble, now that he is a civilized, married elf—seizes Auberon from behind.

Daegris always has terrible timing like that.

My foolish emotions are swept aside in a moment as Auberon lets out a shout of surprise, and I realize: Auberon never heard him coming.

A glance behind me assures me he never saw Daegris’s wardens, either, a quartet of three female wood elves and one male armed to the teeth.

“You’ve lost your touch, man,” Daegris says good-naturedly, as if this meeting were not instantly uncomfortable. Daegris is stealthier than most elves, but the four wardens didn’t bother to hide their approach from behind me. Even though I did not see them, it was obvious they were there.

Auberon rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks no doubt darkening at this embarrassment—something I know without being able to see him. Becoming a Houselord through war means Auberon has always put too much stock in his physical prowess and skills. But now?

I brought him along for his strength and fighting ability. Since I’m apparently still a queen consort of elves, I didn’t even need him for invitations to stay in elven woodlands.

And were I not with Auberon, I never would’ve lost Giselda and our supplies. I’ve tied myself to a nuisance for no reason.

Even more of a nuisance is the way Daegris and his wardens turn their attention to me, all sweeping into low bows immediately after offering them to Auberon. But since they’re moon elves, there’s a slight air of mocking to their formality.

“Lady Titaine,” Daegris says, his teeth flashing in the darkness. “You are as radiant as ever.”

“Actually,” Auberon pipes up, “I asked her to turn down a bit of that radiance, given the changes to Nerania. What in the boughs of Dauron happened here?”

“A story best told over a warm fire, behind the safety of the city wards.” Daegris’s face becomes neutral in an instant, and though he retains his smooth, easy movements as he steps forward to offer me his arm, I can feel the tension radiating from him.

“Come, friends. You must be tired and hungry after such a journey—on foot no less.”

His arched brow is aimed at Auberon, but I don’t think Auberon can see it. I take Daegris’s arm, a twist of my mouth conveying that this is a story best told elsewhere, too. This time, without others to hear it.

Little by little, I brighten the natural glow of my magic by peeling back the glamour I used to hide it. It’s a courtesy I am offering to Auberon—one he won’t appreciate. But I do not wish to see him shamed further.

Even if he is…him.

“You’ve held on to your magic here,” I say to Daegris, dropping my voice back to a whisper as we leave the village.

The city of Lunevelle isn’t far from this village, which used to be a resting point for the caravans coming into the vast city.

The last time I was here, it was harvest time and the merchant vans were backed up to the outskirts of the forest.

I’d never even considered the presence of bandits then.

“Indeed we have,” Daegris answers after some careful thought, “if not in the way we expected. The river always kept the darker side of the wood at bay.”

“Does it still run?” I ask.

“As swift and strong as ever.”

I consider this a moment. “Dark magic has always had a touch of chaos to it. Perhaps, now that the gods have vanished, it will thrive.”

“Ah, Titaine. Always the bearer of good news.”

“Why is it not good news?” I ask, a bit peevishly as I am forced to pause to duck beneath a low-hanging branch. On the other side of it, I return my hands to Daegris’s arm. “If magic is here at all, your people may yet thrive.”

“Do reserve your judgment until we reach the city,” Daegris says, patting my hand.

And that is when I notice: I’ve forgotten to hold on to Auberon. A quick glance behind me assures me he is still with us, and that three of the elven guard are trailing us, the other scouting the path ahead.

Auberon returns my look with a bored expression that means he’s actually annoyed. Why? Because I’m holding on to another elven male’s arm instead of his? Did he really wish to hold my hand that badly?

A horrible thought tightens my throat. Is Auberon developing feelings for me again? Is it because I saved him? Would that I had left him tied to that tree!

There’s only one thing worse than that possibility. What if Auberon has been carrying feelings for me all this time? What if he never stopped loving me?

That would certainly explain some of the actions of his House in the previous five years. The elves we fetes once outsmarted and undercut with both ease and regularity were suddenly so much more ruthless. It was natural, I thought, since we were returning to our status as enemy Houses.

What if all that was simply Auberon’s love for me turned to anger and hate?

I return my attention to the overgrown path. The trees lean inward, as if listening for our secrets, brushing against my shoulders and hair as if trying to coax them out of me. Auberon has longed for revenge since the day I broke our bond. He does not love me. I know this.

Just as I tell myself so, I hear his steps quicken behind me, crunching twigs and acorn caps from last year. Then he is taking my arm from Daegris and holding me back without so much as a by-your-leave, saying “Careful, Titaine.”

I am ready to snap at him that he’s the one who should be careful, since I’m the only one of us still holding onto her magic—but a gout of blue flame erupts where I’d just been standing.

“How—?”

I can’t even finish the sentence. Shock and fear strum through my body, trembling my wings. I can still feel the heat from that flame on my face.

Auberon’s arm curls around my waist then, pulling me closer, and I do nothing to stop him.

“I’d like to know how, too,” Daegris says, after assuring his scouts he’s fine.

“Dark elf,” Auberon answers with a shrug, then guides me back onto the path.

We resume our trek toward Lunevelle, our party moving far more quickly than before. This time, it is not only the scouts whose heads constantly swivel, searching for more danger.

“That wasn’t a will o’ the wisp,” I hiss at Auberon. “That flame would’ve burned us alive.”

“I felt it, too.”

I should thank him for saving me, or at least express gratitude in a way that does not leave me in his debt. I open my mouth to do just that, when Daegris chimes in.

“Well done, dark elf. I ken you’ve saved our hides.”

Auberon snorts a laugh. “You’re welcome, pirate. Getting slow in your old age, are you?”

Daegris returns his laugh, the sound loud and bold against the strange half-silence of this wood. “I’m getting slow alright, but it’s nothing to do with age. And what about you? Getting surprised by me like that. What would the dark elves say if they knew a pirate had bested their king?”

The two carry on their banter as if there’s not a care in the world, their voices cutting through the night and startling birds out of the trees. Slowly, I extricate myself from Auberon’s grip.

To my dismay, his hand lingers on my lower back, tucked beneath the translucent fall of my wings. Even after five years—more than that, given the state of our bond before I ended it—the warmth of his hand is all too familiar.

He’s just trying to get back on your good side by charming you. He always was a charmer and a flirt. That’s why you could never fully trust him.

But that is the one secret I’ll never tell: I did trust him, once, and I trusted him completely. My conversation with Cassandra changed all that.

Poor girl,

the Lady of Nerania Wood had said, genuine pity softening her gaze. You don’t even know. Auberon couldn’t be faithful to you even if he wanted to. He needs an elven consort, but more than that, it isn’t in his nature. He and Lusida will always be drawn back together, like moth and flame.

And because words matter to fetes, I asked her, Which is he, the moth or the flame?

The flame, of course. Auberon has always been, and will ever be, a flame disguised as a moth, like the will o’ the wisps on the far side of this Wood.

You just have your designs on him for your sister, and for the prestige a union with the Houselord of Elves would bring,

I accused her.

Cassandra shook her head, almost sad—sad for me. I respect you, Titaine. I should not like to see another great woman brought low and shamed by her foolish husband.

You think Auberon a fool?

If he cannot see what is before him, let alone his own nature? Yes, I think that makes him a fool. And fools know no other way than to play fools’ games—even if it is with a lady’s heart.

It’s the sublime darkness of these woods that brings old memories to the fore. I wish I could forget them. Maybe I almost had, since I thought I could travel to Nox with Auberon.

As the spelled gates of Lunevelle appear in the distance, still glowing faintly with the magic of the moon elves, I make up my mind to part ways with Auberon. In the morning, I’ll rise early, and I’ll leave without him.

Morning dawns with an eerie red glow that makes me instantly aware of the dark magic lacing this Wood. Nerania isn’t at all like I remember it, and neither is the half-empty city of Lunevelle.

I stretch and flutter my wings back into shape, shaking off too little sleep after too long a journey, when my foot connects with something. Something warm, and mostly smooth, though I feel a firmness underneath.

I jump out of bed with a scream at the exact moment Auberon bolts upright with a yell, struggling to disentangle himself from the silken sheets. Instead, he tumbles onto the floor, revealing he is naked from the waist up.

Well. I guess I needn’t have worried Auberon was losing his strength. Muscles ripple on his abdomen, his chest as chiseled as ever.

What am I thinking? I don’t care what Auberon looks like, or what condition he’s in—though, clearly, he’s benefited from some healing by the elves.

I’m looking at him again. Stop that!

“What happened? How—why—” I stammer, forcing my eyes to shift towards the wall.

Auberon gets up slowly from the floor, kicking away the clinging sheets.

Other than his missing shirt and his idiotic sleeveless mail drying by the open window, we’re both fully dressed.

A panicked glance at the bed reveals it is mostly un-mussed, and that the pillows are placed on opposite ends of the bed.

Good. Nothing happened. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. But my head is pounding.

“You don’t remember anything about last night, do you?” Auberon asks, a sly grin sneaking its way onto his face as he retrieves his mail and discarded shirt.

“Nothing,” I confirm, still breathing too hard and too fast. I sit down on the bed when I begin to see dark spots. “Someone must’ve cast a spell on me—“

“Dear Titaine,” he chides, clearly loving every minute of this. “I’ve always told you that faerie wine couldn’t hold a candle to elven spirits. Now do you believe me?”

That would explain my pounding head. But why on earth was I drinking with the moon elves?

“Elven spirits are so much more liberating than faerie wine,” Auberon continues.

My stomach sinks. I do not like the smug tone of his voice one bit.

“You were much

more forthcoming. One might say you were spilling your closest guarded secrets.”

I cross my arms, defiant. “I have no dark secrets.”

“Dark? No. They were rather sweet.”

My eyes widen. “What did I say?”

“You told me you missed me.”

My mouth drops open in shock.