Page 26

26

A Perfectly Natural Reaction

T he darkness returns as the runes’ light fades, but it’s lifted again only a moment later when one of the monks uses flint and tinder on a torch. The firelight flares to life, flickering in a way the runes didn’t.

The monks are already in motion. Three settle by the door, pressing their hands to it and bowing their heads. The runes glow again, but only faintly, as they begin murmuring their chanting magic. I’m not sure what they’re doing; perhaps reinforcing the lock?

Yiorgos and the other two head deeper into the treasure room, weaving between stacks of golden dishes and ornaments, silver chests and jewel-studded furniture.

Daenn steps back, his hands sliding over my waist. I force myself to mirror his retreat, force my hands down instead of reaching to hold on to him a moment longer. The danger has passed.

Yes, there are still over a dozen Elyri out there. Yes, they still have that big beetle monster. But the door is locked, and hopefully it should stay that way until Yiorgos has the through-way ready and we are long gone .

So there’s no need to stay cuddled against Daenn. We may be married, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him hold me like we’re actually close.

I ignore how my heart aches to be right back in his arms. He felt safe; that’s all. It’s a perfectly natural reaction to a deadly warrior protecting you. It doesn’t mean anything.

“You know,” I say, breaking the strange hushed silence of the room, “those beetle horns were quite fearsome. Perhaps you should track more down and put them on your armor. Might enhance your ferocity.”

Daenn gives me a dry look, but there’s a tickle of amusement in my chest from the bond. “Would it now?”

I nod solemnly. “You’re in dire need of help on that front. You look far too harmless like that.” I gesture to him, to his wicked blade still dripping with blood, his dark armor that fits smoothly against his body—his broad shoulders and trim torso filling it out perfectly—and his face, with its stone-sharp jawline that is flecked with what I suspect is more blood. I clear my throat. “Maybe add them to your shoulders.”

“Doesn’t seem terribly sensible for flying.” He turns away, heading deeper into the room, pausing to examine the hoard as he goes.

I glare at his back. Of course it wouldn’t be good for flight, but can’t the man pretend to play along?

He must feel my annoyance, because he shoots a half-smirk over his shoulder at me, and—

My heart might give out.

It’s so achingly familiar; I’ve seen it a million times before. But the effect from this grown, muscular, kingly version of Daenn is devastating. My stomach flips and squeezes, and it’s all I can do to swallow, look away, and shove down my emotions before he can identify and decipher them through the bond.

A boom sounds from the entrance, and dust shakes from the ceiling. I cast a nervous glance upward, then at the door.

“It will hold,” a monk says from nearby—not one of the ones working on the door. I give him a small smile, but his words do nothing to console me. Yes, the spell locking the door will hold, but what if the Elyri bring the building down on us instead?

Daenn is already deeper in the hoard of treasures, rifling through in search of the second bracer. I wander in his direction. Not because I want to be near him. I merely want to better see what he’s doing.

The room is cluttered, piled high with chests of all sizes, furniture, and large metal items—like vases and trays and giant bowls. I don’t understand what monks would do with any of this… but maybe, like the bracers, it’s all magical and they’ve been entrusted to protect it? Not all of it looks terribly magical.

I keep my hands to myself just in case.

I pass Yiorgos and his monks as I go. They’ve stopped in front of what almost looks like a large, gilded frame, along the lines of what adorned Tolomon’s house. Except instead of a painting or tapestry inside it, it’s a dull grey material inscribed with so many runes my eyes want to blur over. Like the monks at the door, they’re murmuring, and a slow pulse of light flares through the runes, perfectly matching their cadences.

Daenn’s at the very back of the room. I reach Storm first. He’s sitting on his haunches, looking very put out; the pathway between the treasures is too narrow for his body to fit through to stay pinned to Daenn’s side like he seems to want to be. I pat him consolingly as I slip by, and I earn a grumbling rustle for my efforts.

Daenn is standing before a long, narrow table pushed against this far back wall. It’s lined with smaller chests and other ornate containers. He’s systematically opening them, but as he flips the lid on a chest that looks comically small in his hands, there’s a complex flare of emotions in my chest from him. Satisfaction, fear, determination, reluctance. I peer around his shoulder to see why.

Mundil's second bracer. It’s nestled in a bed of shimmering dark velvet, which only serves to accentuate how old and worn the bracer looks.

My initial reaction is to slam the chest closed again and bury it amongst the treasures of this room. But Daenn’s already reaching in, grabbing the bracer and pulling it out. With his free hand, he begins loosening the laces on his regular bracer.

“Wait—” I grab his forearm to stop him.

He stills at my touch, glancing over with a small frown.

“Don’t put it on yet.”

The frown deepens. “Why?”

Because I hate it. I don’t want him to wear it, to risk duplicating the effects the first bracer has on him. But that’s why we’ve come so far. It’s an unreasonable request.

“What if it overwhelms you? We’re not exactly safe yet. You need to be able to fight.”

There. That sounded sensible.

But Daenn studies me, searching my face, no doubt looking for the source of the fear coursing through my body.

To my relief—a relief I may be imagining is also echoing back from him as well—he finally nods. “I’ll wait until we’ve made it safely home. ”

My hand slips from his arm as he turns and strides to Storm’s side and stores the bracer away in one of the saddlebags. I’m relieved, but not as much as I want to be. He’s still planning on using it, which is—good. That’s good. That’s what we both want. His magic to be gone so he can be free of it and I can be free of him.

So why am I not happier that we’ve achieved our objective and can return home?

We make our way back over to Yiorgos and the other monks. The room shudders under another large concussive blast; I shake the dust out of my hair. The monks keep working, undeterred by the sounds of the Elyri trying to break in.

It’s not much longer before the through-way ripples to life. I don’t need anyone to tell me that it worked; the inside of the gilded frame morphs from that dull grey to a deep, sucking green that tugs at my very being much like the bracer does. It’s not an entirely pleasant feeling, but it doesn’t have the same edge to it as the bracer. It doesn’t feel like it wants to devour in the same way.

Yiorgos stands and brushes his hands together. “There,” he says in satisfaction. He turns to Daenn. “I can’t deliver you directly to your clan—the through-way is limited by the mind of one who knows how to wield it, and neither I nor any of my brothers have had the honor of visiting your clan home. But there’s a village near the foot of the mountains; I’ve been there. Would that do?”

“Yes, that’s perfect. We can make the journey the rest of the way from there.” Daenn inclines his head to Yiorgos. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for assisting us, Your Majesty,” Yiorgos returns. “I trust you’ve found the other bracer?”

“I have. ”

“Good. May it serve you well.” He looks at me. “Thank you, Your Majesty, as well. Your efforts were invaluable in reaching this room.” He gives a small bow.

I swallow away my alarm at the title and nod. “Thank you.”

He turns and places a hand along the gilded frame. The green ripples and shifts subtly, its hue deepening to that of forests and underbrush.

After a moment, Yiorgos nods. “Safe travels to you both.”

Daenn places a hand at the small of my back, the other on Storm, and together we step into the through-way.