Page 46 of To Touch A Silent Fury (The Bride of Eavenfold #1)

Lang

I adjusted my deep green doublet and let out a breath, leaning against the balcony.

The air was balmy as evening fell over Droundhaven.

The deepening sky was the backdrop to the city I had always loved.

The lighthouse, known as the Crook’s Spire, sat across the dark canals, the fire already blazing from its twelfth floor and its golden shepherd’s crook curling against the coming night.

I stared out, wishing selfishly I was on the other side of it, just a fisherman waiting for dawn.

“We should go back inside,” Foxlin said.

He had arrived not two days after me, much to his delight and my fervent relief.

One of his captains had sent word to the Vidarium on his behalf, and Ravi had arrived at the barracks the same day Tanidwen and I had left.

A flight on a wyvern is faster than a horse, but a good deal slower than a dragon.

They had rested in the Flourine foothills and then in Manniston before arriving here .

I ran a hand over my hair, feeling the loss. “My head feels cold now.”

“At least you still have some hair. I had to lose my entire beard,” he lamented.

I glanced at him, taking in his freshly shaven face. There was no rule of the City Watch to be clean-shaven. “You had to?”

He sighed wearily. “For the good of all women.”

I smirked. “Well, there’s nearly thirty of them and their mothers in there. You can fill your boots.”

My father and aunt had taken it upon themselves to find me a wife, and their approach was to invite every eligible noblewoman in the Triad between four and eight spans to spend their Tanmer court season in Droundhaven.

That did not surprise me. What did surprise me was how many showed up.

I might be a prince, but I was also the Scourge of Courvin.

There were greater catches in the realm than a murderer.

Maybe my aunt had threatened them.

Regardless, they had favourites, and I was certain my father would make them known to me before the week was out. So this early exercise was not only pointless but entirely exhausting.

Foxlin grinned. “As soon as you’ve picked one, I’ll take the rest of them off your hands.”

“You’re a saint.”

“So you have until the end of the season, then?”

“By the end of Tanmer, I must have chosen a bride,” I said, repeating my father’s words.

Foxlin turned, leaning against the balcony. “He sounds more and more like those moonfuckers every day.”

I couldn’t help but think of Tanidwen. Since she’d been dismissed from the war room a couple of days ago, I had not seen her.

I knew the wing she was in, and the names of her two guards.

Why I had decided to discover those two facts was a fucking mystery even unto myself, but I found myself feeling responsible for her.

I would have checked on her if my brother and father hadn’t been keeping such a close eye on me. No. It was better that I kept my distance from her. I didn’t want them to find a connection between the two of us. She and her dragon should stay as far away from me as possible.

“If you don’t marry,” Foxlin said, interrupting my thoughts. “What will he do?”

I shrugged. “I’m sure there are many punishments at his disposal, though I imagine the most pressing one for you would be my disinheritance. Quite the step down, from the friend of the Crown Prince to the friend of a general.”

Foxlin frowned. “He would name the Wragg in your place?”

“He would threaten to.”

Foxlin stared at me, waiting for me to continue.

“My brother is too easily driven to rage, flights of fancy, and ill-thought action,” I said, carefully. “My stealing of Chaethor justified my father to name me in his stead.”

“So the threat is just that?” he asked.

“No,” I said with a sigh. “He would do it. As much as my brother is not his first choice of heir, nor am I. And he would tolerate much before he tolerates wilful insubordination.”

“Marriage it is, then.”

I nodded. “I suppose it had to happen eventually.”

Foxlin shook his head and walked back to the wooden doors separating us from the headache of flowers and simpering smiles. “You would think he was dragging you to war, not into the arms of a beautiful woman.”

At his words, Tanidwen’s face appeared in my mind, but not as she was the last time I saw her.

I pictured her, without thinking, in her pink-white dress, with gleaming white beads and shockingly white hair.

I shook the image from my head and stepped up beside Foxlin with grim determination. “Let’s charm some mothers.”

He laughed, and pulled open the door, revealing a resplendent golden ballroom with overflowing vases, underflowing drinks, and a steady stream of inquisitive gazes that followed my every move.

Fine, it was hardly war. But these mothers were out for blood.

The moon was nearly full in the sky overhead, the declining roundness signalling the beginning of the end of my current life. The next time the moon swelled to its true form, it would be the first night of Heape, and I would be an engaged man.

Ten-foot doric columns supporting only air decorated the small garden of the guest wing.

It was only a nod to the outdoors, with no true wildness in it.

The carved pond held no life, the moonlit grass was cut often enough that it did not extend past the length of a child’s finger, and the lone tree, thick with leaves and budding with white flowers, laid claim to no birds.

I stepped into it, uncertain why I had come here.

The hour was too late to think of knocking, and if I did, the guards would no doubt report my late night visit to my father.

It was better they believed I was entirely fed up with the girl.

And yet, I was in the garden at midnight.

A light came from a curtained window to the left.

I wondered whether she was still up, or if she had simply left the candle burning.

Then I turned, touching my hand to the cool stone of a column.

The handful of Vintarrun syras I had too easily quaffed were making my head feel all of a sudden fuzzy.

It was hardly my fault, I wagered. If the kitchens saw fit to stock my favourite wine, who was I to deny drinking it? That would be rude .

“What are you doing?” I groaned to myself.

A voice sounded from the sky, so soft, I barely heard it. “If you could keep your personal crisis a little quieter, I would appreciate it.”

I whipped back around, trying to place the voice, looking to the windows higher up the castle. All were dark, and none were open. I narrowed my eyes but saw nothing. “Where are you?”

Then a pair of dazzlingly blue eyes, the whites around them lit by the silver-bask of night, appeared from the bough of the lone tree. “Quieter, still. My guards are asleep. I would like to keep them that way.”

I nearly spoke her true name, then. The thought of it almost fell from my lips. Tanidwen . Then I blinked and let my eyes refocus on the tree. She was lying on one of its branches, her dark clothing and hair concealing her from all but the most inquisitive nature lovers.

I stepped towards her, keeping my boots light on the grass and my voice lower. “Why are you in a tree?”

She stared up at the top of the tree. “Your walls are too thick. I can’t think inside them.”

My breath caught, hearing the honesty in her voice. Yes, she had lied about her existence before Gossamir. But what she had said was true. Tanidwen had lived years in that forest, just as I had. And I knew what she meant. Why did I keep fleeing for air when I never had before?

The castle was suffocating now, more than ever.

And she felt it, too. Though she didn’t spend the night overhearing hushed conversation calling her every name under the sun.

Why my father had invited Stalligin’s former fiancé, I hardly knew, but I caught daggers from her corner all night, which was fair enough as I had burned her betrothed alive.

“I apologise for how I treated you when we arrived here,” I said, instead. “I did it to protect you. ”

Tanidwen, or Vorska, as I kept reminding myself, turned on her side and stared down at me. There was no fear in her eyes, only confusion and curiosity.

I nodded to her. “And I am sorry for disturbing you now.”

She only blinked. “This is your castle.”

I studied her face. It was cleaner, and her pond-water hair was freshly washed and braided, laid along her chest. I was glad she had worn beads when we had first met all those years ago.

Her nose was delicate, her lips naturally rounded with a dusky cupid’s bow, the shadow of her lower lip falling over her small chin.

The full power of her face, combined with that elderly Thread’s indomitable taste in fashion…

the desire for her hand could have started a brawl.

I said none of that. Instead, I ran my eyes down her figure. “Where is he?”

She sat up, a leaf falling from her head as she flicked her head to her right. “Asleep in the room. Ten paces from this tree, if the wall was not there,” she whispered. “The furthest I have been.”

I could see how it pained her, being this distance from him. “I see.”

She frowned. “Does it get easier?”

I realised then, in all the years of discussing dragons with my father, he had only ever wanted to discuss how we could use them.

He had never asked after Chaethor except to check on an injury, or her readiness to fly.

“With time,” I responded, and she nodded.

I supposed that was enough of an answer, and yet, I found myself wanting to explain further.

“It never fully goes away, wanting to be close. It is part of the bond. But when he is older, you can… bear it for longer.”

For a woman so devoted to her lie, she wore her emotions too plainly. I saw the consternation in every facet of her expression. She would have to school herself better if she was to survive this place .

But why did she want to?