Page 26

CHAPTER 26

C allum had barely allowed himself to imagine he might be fortunate enough to hold Laena in his arms. The attraction between them had been clear enough, certainly, but attraction certainly did not always turn to… well, what had just occurred between them.

Now, with Laena nestled against him, her body flush against his and filling his head with the sweet scent of snow and sea salt, her lips curved into a satisfied smile. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, and that much was plain. He stroked the soft tresses of her hair, wishing they’d removed more of their clothing. He wanted to feel her skin against his, warm and alive.

The sounds of the camp, the clanking of pots and murmurs of conversation just outside, reminded him that there was but a thin barrier between them and the soldiers. A guard might enter at any moment—though perhaps they could be trusted to know better—yet he found he was too languid to move. Too comfortable.

“Callum.” Laena’s voice was soft in the fading dusk. The tent was dark, the lanterns not yet lit, though orbs of light flickered through the fabric. “May I ask you a question? ”

He kissed her hair, inhaling that sweet scent of hers. “Anything.”

“Why did Hawk dismiss you as captain?”

Callum stilled, his fingers still grazing her bare shoulder. She looked up at him, her eyes shining in the darkness. He allowed his fingers to trace down her skin. Mages, but she was soft.

“King Magnus’s death was my fault.” Callum had never spoken the words out loud before, nor had Hawk said them. They’d lived in his heart for more than a year now, wedged there like a splinter. He told himself all the drinking dulled the pain of it, but in truth, it only increased the hurt.

Laena propped herself on her elbow, resting her head upon her palm. She would leave him now, Callum realized. He was confessing the truth to her, and it was too awful. Her expression would turn to horror, when she understood. Just like Hawk’s had.

And yet now that he’d begun, he couldn’t stop the story from spilling out.

“Thaddeus wanted to go to Inasvale. He had the right, as a second son, though tradition… usually the second son remains in Vunmore.”

“But they also have a sister.”

Callum inclined his head. “King Magnus changed the rule of inheritance when he took the throne. What used to be father to son became parent to child. Queens. Kings. Anyone.”

“Like Etra.”

“Indeed. And with Emilia there, Thaddeus felt the freedom to follow his heart. Only…” He paused, running his thumb along her arm. She shivered. “Only Magnus left the choice to Hawk, and Hawk refused. He said Thaddeus only wanted to run away.”

“From what?”

Callum shook his head. “He still won’t say. But Thaddeus came to me in the night, his bags packed, already wearing the robes of the poisonkeepers. He begged me to take him to Inasvale.”

“And you agreed.”

Callum wanted to put off this part of the story. He wanted to leap out of the bed, if his injured shoulder would allow it, and insist they seek out something to eat. Someone was frying bacon out there; he could smell it.

But there was no stopping the story now. “I escorted Thaddeus to Inasvale against Hawk’s wishes. While I was gone, a band of assassins crossed the border from Silerith. They used a heart-tithe to enter the palace, murdering one of their own so they could reappear within the walls. It takes a strong tithe to travel through walls or over great distances.”

He didn’t want to bring this story into their midst. The darkness would invade the small bit of safety they’d carved out. And yet, it felt right that she should know. That he should tell it all.

“They killed the king’s personal guards, Silas and Dom. And then they killed him.” He swallowed, picturing the scene as he so often had: the guards dying, their blood running rivulets between the stones. Hawk’s cry—Hawk had been the one to find him—and his mother’s screams.

By the time Callum had returned, the floors had been scrubbed clean. But the smell of the heart-tithe, that had remained. Sometimes it felt as if that night had infused it into the stones of the palace itself.

Laena waited. Her eyebrows raised as if she expected more to the story. “And?” she prompted.

He frowned, confused. “That’s the end of the story.”

She reached a hand to his face, smoothing the wrinkle from between his eyes. “You left out the part where the king’s death was your fault.”

“I wasn’t there,” he said. “I left the castle unprotected.”

“I don’t think Edmun would see it that way,” she said softly. “ Or even Silas and Dom. Were they not trained under your command?”

“Partially, but?—”

“As the king’s personal guards, I would expect they were among his best.”

“I still have no soldiers as fast as Dom, nor as dextrous as Silas.”

Their loss had been devastating. Not only for their skills, but for their place among the guard. Dom’s jokes and Silas’s quiet dedication. The men had marked the anniversary of their deaths with a visit to the gravesite and a night of stories, their grief still fresh.

Laena traced her finger down his cheek, cupping his jaw. “If you had been there, you would be dead, too.”

Callum opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He had never considered the possibility, not once. If he had been there, surely there would have been something he could have done.

But the thought vanished. She was right. If Dom and Silas could not win against the assassins—there was reason to believe, in fact, that the two guards had not even seen the attackers’ approach—then what hope would Callum have had?

“Hawk blames me,” he said. “He blames the drinking for my removal from the King’s Guard, but he wants me gone from Vunmore altogether. He holds me responsible for his father’s death. He cannot forgive it.”

“Then Hawk is a fool.” Laena twined her hands around his neck, drawing him into a kiss that set his head to spinning.

He allowed his hands to travel to the hem of her shift, dragging it up over her knees, caressing the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs. This night would just have to go on, forever.

“Callum,” she breathed, and he dropped his lips to her neck, sucking gently on the patch of skin where her throat curved toward the collarbone .

But when she said his name again, it was with alarm rather than desire. He sat up, alarm bells ringing as the tent flooded with the unmistakable scent of a heart-tithe.