Page 13

13

A Sudden Ache of Longing

I am saddle sore after a day of flying. But, oh, it’s so nice being saddle sore from flying with a gryphon versus the mundane horse saddle sore I became familiar with while married to Tolomon.

Regardless, I’m in a wonderful mood, despite how my body aches.

Storm and Raindrop land in a small clearing near a stream. The terrain is familiar. Oak trees, cedars, and a few mesquites with their twisted thorny branches surround us.

We’re in the lowlands, although far south of Verksland already. The terrain is familiar, but it’s a bit greener, a bit more humid. I can still see the mountain range our clans reside throughout in the distance, but our mountain is long out of sight.

We have one more day in our journey. One more day until we reach the edge of the jungle and the temple.

I’m not the only one in a good mood as we dismount. Daenn offers to help me down, but without a crowd of onlookers, I care less about landing on my rear, so I just jump down and smirk at him.

There’s a lightness about him that reminds me of before . Like he left most of the weight of ruling back with the clan and, with it, some of that darkness that’s lingered since he stole me away from Tolomon.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but as he goes about setting up our camp, he feels more like my Daenn. It makes it easy to fall into step beside him, to work together to erect a tent, collect firewood, haul water, and tend to the gryphons.

He’s still brushing down Storm’s flanks when I finish with Raindrop, so I start digging into the saddlebags for our rations. I hope they gave us things that don’t require complicated cooking… or, ideally, any cooking. Neither of us were ever very good at it when we were younger, and for me, at least, marrying Tolomon didn’t exactly give me ample opportunities to practice.

When he notices me pulling food out of the saddlebags, Daenn’s brows raise. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting supper.” I don’t say ‘obviously,’ but I know he can hear it in my tone. He shifts closer.

“Did you acquire a new hobby while in the lowlands? Pick up a few new skills?”

I can’t help it—my mouth twitches at his questions, at the concern that lurks behind each word.

“I acquired many new skills,” I say blithely, meeting his eyes. “Perhaps if you’re nice, I’ll teach you some of them.”

Shock plays over Daenn’s face, and a sudden ache of longing snaps through me.

My eyes widen as I realize exactly how that sounded. My entire face heats, and my chest does too, and the silver tattoo tingles. I look down, returning to my task of pulling out food. Dried, pre-prepared soup things—all I need to do is throw them in our single pot with water. Should be simple enough, right?

Daenn clears his throat, and I’m intensely grateful he pretends like I didn’t say what I just said. “What I’m hearing is that you will not be showing me one right now, which means that you should step away from the supper preparations if we want to actually have anything to eat tonight.”

I snort. “As if you could do any better. Go back to grooming your gryphon, and leave me to make supper in peace.” I pointedly turn away from him.

“No,” he draws out the word.

I can hear him coming closer. I scramble to scoop up the waxed bag holding the food and the pot and scurry away, but Daenn is on me before I’ve gone two steps, reaching around me to grab the food. He plucks it from my hands and retreats as I whirl back around, chasing him to retrieve my stolen goods. He’s like a dancer, spinning and weaving out of my reach.

He nears a fallen branch, and I see an opportunity. I lunge.

His eyes widen; he steps back, tripping on the branch. He catches himself from falling from the stumble, but it leaves him no time to react to my assault: I bowl into him, and we both go down. I laugh, grabbing at the supper things—

And then I’m dumped backward. Daenn is scrambling across the ground away from me, chest heaving.

I stare dumbly at him. We’d been playing, I thought. So why is my chest tight? My hip aches slightly from landing on it, and my left arm burns along the tattoo. Why does Daenn look like he’s barely dodged a killing blow?

He’s on his feet in another instant, and he’s pulling his gloves from a pocket and tugging them on with jerky movements. I hadn’t realized he wasn’t wearing them .

Is that what this is about? Is he so afraid of physical contact?

The gloves, even at night. He slept on the bed while we shared it, but on top of the covers, with a shirt—unlike how he used to. How he doesn’t casually touch anyone like he used to.

I can see it lingering in his eyes. It hangs in the air, his fear of contact, of touching others. He equates his own touch with death. I knew he was wary about it. Understandable, given what he told me… but I didn’t realize how deeply it’s seared into him.

I can’t help it; sympathy wells in me. Even with what he’s done, living such an existence would be so lonely. No one deserves to feel so cut off from those around them that they fear even the slightest brush of skin.

So I do the only thing I can think of. I close the distance between us and I reach for him. He backpedals, gaze shuttering.

“No,” he growls. “Don’t, Emana.”

I halt. “The whole reason you stole me and forced me to marry you is because I’m safe—” He’s shaking his head, so I switch directions. “Your magic is already—”

“ No .” The snarl rips the air.

I lean away from the ferocity in his tone. He’s never spoken to me like that, not even when I’ve hurled insults at him recently.

He drags a hand down his face. When he looks at me again, he’s regained a modicum of that stoic mask. “Please, Emana. Don’t touch me.”

My heart aches at those words. So bleak. Resigned.

Is it any wonder how he’s changed over the years if he’s walled himself off from everyone like this, intentionally drawn back from his own warm nature ?

Instead of responding to his plea, I hold out the pot and bag. “If you’re so determined to do all the work, far be it from me to stop you.” I say the words lightly, moving to press the food supplies into his gloved hands. I slip past him to pick up the brush he dropped. “I’ll finish grooming Storm. It’s been far too long since we’ve gotten to spend time together, anyway.”

I greet Storm with scratches under his beak, earning a happy churring noise, before moving back to the side Daenn had been working on.

Daenn’s back is just barely visible over Storm’s flanks. He stands as still as a statue. I didn’t get a chance to study his expression, so I’m not entirely sure what he’s feeling, but I can almost imagine the ache echoing through him. It’s the same one that echoes through me for the boy I used to know.

I have faint hopes that, somewhere between training as a warrior and stepping into his role as king, Daenn had time to pick up a new hobby and his cooking has greatly improved.

Unfortunately, that is nothing more than a fantasy.

The soup is palatable. Over-salted, but not so much that I feel like I’m murdering my tongue with each bite. Not that I would have done any better, but I make a show of gagging as if it’s going to kill me anyway. I need the levity after our encounter earlier.

Daenn only rolls his eyes. He hasn’t spoken more than two words, but the silence has shifted to something almost companionable. As I chew, I consider what he told me before about his parents and compare it to my realization about his touch .

There is more to the story than what he said. I know there is. Right now, I want nothing more than to know the details he didn’t tell me before. I’m half afraid to know. What if his curse was the cause of my mother’s sudden illness and decline? She was gone so quickly. I didn’t even have a chance to travel back to say goodbye before she was gone.

But surely he would have told me if it was.

No, the old Daenn would have. I don’t know about this new one.

And, I think, my desire to know also stems from my foolish wish that he be the boy I once knew. And if so, it’s silly, and I should let the matter lie. But now that the thoughts have entered my mind, I can’t. I set my bowl aside. I’ve eaten enough to allay my hunger, and the food certainly isn’t good enough to eat more than that.

“Daenn,” I say softly, and his eyes jerk up to me as if he hadn’t expected me to speak to him again, or to use his name, which… that’s fair. I haven’t been the most amenable companion.

His gaze is focused, his attention entirely on me. It makes me want to squirm, but I don’t think he’ll answer my question if I don’t seem earnest, so I meet him head-on.

“Did… did your curse kill my mother?”

His hands tighten on his bowl, but he shakes his head. “No. She didn’t spend much time near me after you left, and I widened that distance once I realized what was happening. She fell ill and stayed in the infirmary for a few weeks. My curse never affects its victims like that, and I didn’t feel my magic move at all during that time. If you don’t believe me, you can check with Sigrid when we return.”

“I believe you.” Something inside me loosens. But I’m not finished. There’s more I need to understand. “I want to know why. Why you took your father’s throne, why your mother died.” I’m careful with my phrasing. I don’t think he killed her. “Just... why?”

He goes very still, nothing moving but his eyes, but he seems to sense my earnestness because after a long, tense moment, he speaks.

“My relationship with my father was strained, like...” He trails off, but I know how that sentence would have ended: like always. His father always had high expectations, unreasonably high demands of Daenn. It’s part of why he’s the best in the clan. The best warrior. The best gryphon rider. His father would accept nothing less.

His voice is heavy as he speaks again. “But I never meant to kill him. I never meant to...” He drops his gaze from mine, but even though he’s looked away, I can’t. Everything about him is raw right now. I know without a doubt in this moment, at least, this is my Daenn, the one I’ve longed for.

And suddenly I wish we weren’t sitting on opposite sides of the fire.

“I realized I’m probably responsible for my mother’s death.” The pain in that sentence guts me, but he continues before I can argue such a ridiculous claim. “I’ve never had any sort of control over my magic. It seems to stem from the amount of time people spend with me, even touch...” His fist flexes, and my heart breaks a little. I wish I hadn’t been right in that guess. “I’ve killed most of my most trusted allies. My warriors survive because I send them out on missions. I suspect this is the first time Eskil has been home since last summer.”

Horror floods me at that. He managed to protect Eskil from his curse only to have him fall because of me?

Daenn glances back up at me, his brow furrowed. “I’ve killed most of the council that sat for my father. Even a few of the chiefs from the other clans have fallen. I’ve done what I can. I cover my skin. I keep my distance from everyone, but the damage is done. The rumors...” He trails off.

I flinch at the word. I’ve heard those rumors. After what he did to Tolomon, what he did to me, I believed every one of them. Shame twists through me. How easily I swallowed them as truth instead of trusting in my oldest friend.

His mouth twists in a bitter smile, like he knows what I’m thinking, and his gaze turns to the fire. “The rumors have spread. I’m nothing but a warlord. A monster. A tyrant.”

“Why not step down?” I ask the question softly. I don’t want it to come across as accusatory, not when he’s actually opening up to me. “Wouldn’t that best protect the clan?”

He grimaces. “If I had someone I trusted to step in for me, I would step down. But Viggo, unfortunately, has survived the curse, and while he’s alive, my trying to install anyone else would only cause a bloodbath. And he would be far worse than me. Death follows me, but he wants nothing more than to turn our clans into conquerors.”

“Like his father?”

“Like his father. He gives me as much strife as his father gave mine. His clan is constantly pushing boundaries, raiding villages and claiming they were antagonized into it…” He shakes his head. “No. As much of a curse as I am, Viggo would be worse for our people.”

And yet, despite how much trouble Viggo gives him, he would never intentionally kill Viggo in cold blood. He doesn’t say it, but I can hear it. I know it, because Daenn’s not a monster.

How did I not see that before ?

I’m certain of that after this conversation. But there’s still one more thing I need to understand, because there’s still one more act that does not fit with the Daenn I knew.

“Why did you kill Tolomon?” Why did he steal me away like an object? I’m not quite brave enough to voice that question. I don’t want him to pull away from me.

His face hardens. “It started when you left, Emi. I’ve been desperate to fix this since it began, and it’s only grown worse. The vultures are circling me. Viggo wants my throne, and I refuse to let him have it and bring war down on our people and the lowlands. I needed to do something.” Slowly, so slowly, he looks up from the fire and stares at me. “I needed you.”

“You could have had my help without killing my husband,” I whisper.

He scoffs. “Do you really think Tolomon would have been all right with you returning to the clan, staying near another man? He strikes me as having been the jealous sort.”

I can’t argue with that. Tolomon was a jealous man. I didn’t realize it at first, but it became more and more clear the longer we were married.

Still, I shake my head. “But you shouldn’t have killed him, Daenn. I would have helped you regardless, and I wasn’t yours to take like some sort of possession.”

Daenn’s on his feet then, his jaw clenching, and I can practically feel his anger surge around and through me.

He leans forward, his voice low. “You keep saying that. Let’s set one thing straight: I have never seen you as a possession, Emana. I was not the one who started the fight with Tolomon. I just ended it.”

He stalks away, disappearing into the underbrush at the edge of our clearing. I stare after him, his words echoing in my mind. I want to believe him, but my bruised heart is a tether to reality. His words are exactly what I want to hear, but they don’t change that he did take me and force me into this marriage. His reasons may have been for the clan, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t run roughshod over me in the process. And I don’t know how to reconcile that with what he’s said.