Page 39 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Her grandfather had always hoped she’d end up with a nice nymph boy. He’d talked of little else in the last days of his long life, when ghosts crowded his mind and the only thing that troubled him was the thought of her being left on her own.

“You need a nymph to build your grove,” he’d insisted, his voice gone dry and reedy no matter how she plied him with sweet tea and homemade lozenges. “You need a partner who’ll weave himself into you, support you, so you can wear the crown without all this sorrow.”

Historically, male nymphs acted as the support system for the women of the grove, who were tasked with leading the group, carrying out traditions, and making the major decisions that could, in a dangerous world, lead to life or death.

In her grandfather’s view, her ideal partner would be gentle, steadfast, disciplined, and submit to her authority in all things, as he’d done with her grandmother and his forefathers had done since time began.

Of course, nothing was ever that simple, no matter what her grandfather believed. The rules had changed many times. Having a queen was traditional, but it was just a name tacked onto a greater, older thing that did not define itself by imaginary limits.

To be queen was to tēq, to carry. To bear.

To be the partner of the queen was to follow, no matter how treacherous the path. To ease the burden, no matter the sacrifice.

These things didn’t rely on strict, imaginary lines of gender or sexuality. They were a partnership, neither existing without the other, each unwaveringly essential in their contributions.

Her grandparents had that perfect partnership, and it grieved her pappous that Alashiya didn’t, especially now that she bore the burden of tēq.

He’d urged her to leave the land, to strike out into the unknown in search of other groves, where a husband might be found who would take some of the weight from her.

Knelt on the floor beside a powerful dragon, a king in his own right, Alashiya didn’t have to wonder what her grandfather would think of him.

Too bold, she could almost hear his ghost whisper. Too hardheaded. He’s not soft enough for you, my joy. You need to send him away and find a nice nymph who will know his place.

Everything about Taevas was wrong. When she looked up at him through her lashes, she was struck once again by the shocking boldness of his hard features, the power of his body, the burning violet of his eyes.

If there was such a thing as a direct opposite of the perfect nymph, it was Taevas, the perfect dragon.

Was there something wrong with her? There must have been, since nothing stirred in her at the thought of a diffident, soft-spoken husband and never had.

Her grandfather and her father’s examples should’ve been enough to mold her expectations, but something had gone wrong along the way, apparently.

Even in her imaginings, Adon had never been a nymph.

It wasn’t the softness of a nymph but the power of the dragon that quickened her blood.

Was it not its own kind of softness, the worship that Taevas promised in that low, bass murmur? Surely even her grandfather and the generations of queens’ partners who stretched behind him couldn’t find fault with that.

Alashiya gave herself a swift internal shake.

Her dragon had a way of casting a spell on her, pulling her in despite her very real concerns.

That was its own form of danger. Her gut told her that he was genuine, but what did it matter when they were so completely incompatible?

If it wasn’t their traditions that made the case, it was their lifestyles.

Taevas wasn’t Adon. He did not belong safely in her imagination. If he was telling the truth, then he had responsibilities that were so much bigger than she could imagine. He couldn’t stay with her, serve her, or help her rebuild that which had been broken beyond repair.

He wasn’t safe.

“You need to rest,” she told him, cutting her gaze away. “Eat and go back to sleep. You need your strength.”

The hand that so gently brushed her curls back behind her ear skimmed her shoulder before it fell away. “My Shiya—”

Setting his breakfast down, she climbed to her feet once more and turned to leave.

It was unnatural to abandon her work, but the idea of sitting in the room with him for a moment longer, doing that sacred act of care for a man who did and did not exist, made her stomach curdle.

It was too intimate. Too close to all the things she longed for.

She was at the door when his voice stopped her. It wasn’t just the sound, but the tone which froze her steps. Speaking in a low, dark voice, he told her, “This is the last day, Alashiya.”

Her heart lurched. Last day?

Was he leaving already? A hot wave of panic washed over her. Of course he wanted to leave. He had to, and really, she wanted him to go, too, didn’t she? But in an instant, she realized how awful the prospect was.

To lose Adon and Taevas in the span of a day— She braced one hand on the door jamb, trying to anchor herself so she wouldn’t fall into that dark hole beneath her feet again.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, risking a wide-eyed look over her shoulder.

Taevas sat in her bed like it was a throne. It didn’t matter that his hair was disheveled, nor that his skin still hadn’t regained the flush of good health. His spine was straight, his brow lowered, and his jaw firm. He balanced one wrist on a raised knee and fixed her with a dark look.

“You have today, metsalill, to run. To hide from me in your garden, or wherever else you choose. When it’s done, it’s done forever.”

Relief made her momentarily dizzy. He’s not leaving. Yet.

Taevas reached for his coffee and raised his cup to her, promising, “After today, I will chase you. No matter how broken my body is, no matter where you go — I will follow. You are queen here, but I am a dragon, and we do not let treasure escape us.”

Something whispered along the paths carved into her flesh. It was the hum of thousands of minds, her ancestors, her grove, as individual and collective as the trees in the forest. It was rare that they stirred all at once, and she wondered fleetingly what had roused them so.

Was it the way her heart jackhammered against her ribs? The flush of her skin? Or was it how easily, how unknowingly Taevas had stepped into the path trodden by so many of her kin before her?

I will follow.

It was what a nymph would say. So why did it feel so much like a threat?

She suspected he was judging her, but Alashiya spent most of her day doing exactly as he seemed to know she would: avoiding him.

Oh, she checked on him, of course. She brought him lunch when she made it and forced more medicine down his throat.

Occasionally she popped her head in to find he’d gone back to sleep, or to find that he’d filched books from her collection and buried his nose in them.

But for as often as she saw him, they didn’t truly speak, and he made no further overtures or grand declarations.

He appeared content to wait her out, though she suspected a lot of his blasé attitude was an act. Alashiya couldn’t claim to know him well — though it felt like she did — but she saw something in the tightness of his jaw and the tension around his eyes that spoke volumes.

To avoid that, she spent most of the day doing chores around the land that she’d been putting off in favor of getting her work done as quickly as possible.

After all, what was the point of that work now?

If he’d been commissioning her just to feel close to her, perhaps he didn’t even want the robe.

Or worse, she’d put him off her and her work entirely.

Alashiya didn’t want to think about what the future held, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

One seemingly unrelated thought after another tumbled ass-over-tea-kettle into Taevas.

Even thinking about work, normally a safe zone for her mind to wander, led her to questioning what things would be like going forward — whether Taevas would still order from her when he returned to his life, if she even wanted him to, and what she would do if he didn’t.

For a decade, his commissions had been nearly her sole source of income. What if all that had been said and done in her home made him feel uncomfortable in continuing? Her stomach bottomed out at the thought.

Mrs. Thompson had once offered to help her set up an online store for her work, but she’d shied away, intimidated by the barrier technology posed.

She’d never had cause to use it before, and she’d left school before they did little more than learn to type on mechanical typewriters.

Trying to navigate the internet, of all things, in order to make a livelihood sounded as attainable a goal as flying to the moon.

But she might have to try, once Taevas left. Because he had to leave. He wanted to leave. He needed to.

By the time the sun began its descent into the fiery horizon, Alashiya was dirty and sweaty from a day outside mending fences, checking on the trees, and shoring up her wards, which were now more important than ever.

Anticipation curled in her belly as she pried the broken door from its place and stepped into the kitchen. It was probably her imagination, but she could smell a hint of him in the air as soon as she walked in. A flush warmed her from her toes to the tips of her ears.

Suddenly nervous, Alashiya ducked her head and made a beeline for the bathroom, avoiding any glances in the direction of the living room.

“Oh,” she breathed, stopped in her tracks as soon as she pulled open the bathroom door. Steam billowed out in gauzy waves. That was where the scent was coming from. The bathroom was positively redolent with it and the water vapor smell of a recent hot shower.