KANE
I’D ONLY PANICKED FOR A minute.
No, not even a minute. A second.
It hadn’t helped that I’d awoken, breathless, from another dream in which I was chained in lilium, forced to watch Arwen purge widow venom from her thigh, writhing and screeching in excruciating pain. If Killoran wasn’t already dead, I would have flown to Hemlock Isle and skewered him myself this morning.
Fresh from that nightmare, I’d rolled over, still bare from the night before, and grasped for Arwen, only to find empty, rumpled sheets. Had the worst-case scenario torn through my mind? That Lazarus had stolen her away somehow, or murdered her for her deceit, and I’d find her cold, lifeless body in my bathtub? Had I bypassed Acorn’s squawking and hurtled into the hallway with nothing but a decorative pillow to cover myself, dark- winged lighte surging from my bare shoulders and arms, and roared at the guard on duty to tell me that instant where the fuck my wife was—even though Arwen was not my wife and I’d never seen the shaking kid before? Yes, yes, and…yes.
To the quivering guard’s credit, he had told me in one sentence strung together with no breaths that she’d woken early and gone for a run, that the sentries were watching her make a tight perimeter around the castle, and that she was actually keeping a pretty inspiring pace.
And I had calmed. A little sheepish, sure, but I fixed the kid’s collar— I’d roughed him up a bit more than I’d meant to when I’d seized him, still acclimating to my full-Fae strength—courteously pretended I hadn’t noticed that he’d wet himself, and strolled back into my quarters to take a long, hot, introspective bath.
I’d hoped when Griffin and I met not fifteen minutes later that he wouldn’t have heard anything of the outburst, but of course, he had.
“Not even pants?” Griffin asked, incredulous, as we stalked through the training annex and toward the war tent.
“I’d like to see you manage to intimidate anyone wearing a velvet cushion. It was impressive.”
His grin was worse than shit-eating. “Somehow I doubt that.”
But we were both laughing now. Perhaps with the loose delight of a sunny, winter’s day spent knowing all the people we cared about were safe and alive in the very walls of this keep. That would put a smile on anyone’s face.
Griffin and I were on our way to be briefed on our position with Queen Ethera. We had sent word for Sir Phylip and Lady Kleio late last night. If there was any information out there that could help convince the Scarlet Queen to fight beside us—anything other than offering to crush the southerners who wanted her crown—my dignitaries would know about it.
Griffin’s eyes took in the snow-veiled training annex. “Check it out.”
I cut my gaze sidelong across the training field and found Leigh driving her sword into Barney’s while Beth and Ryder sat in the snowy grass a few feet away. Given the collection of white flakes atop their heads, Ryder and the little seer had been sitting there for some time.
“She’s decent.” My eyes glued to the push and pull of Leigh’s sword. She shouted with each blow, as surely Dagan had taught her to. Her bouncy blonde curls had been pinned back, and she was wearing dark training leathers. I’d only ever seen her in frilly Amber dresses. She looked just like her sister—bold, resolute, focused.
I couldn’t conceal my pride. The little one had been through enough trauma to break a brutal thug, let alone a sheltered small-town ten-year-old.
And there she was, making Barney work for his wins.
But her form was lacking. Defending without stepping, forcing her to lean over her too-planted feet. Overcommitting to her swings from far away and leaving herself defenseless. Barney was a great soldier—brute strength of a bison and more sword skill than most men his size—but he wasn’t half the teacher Dagan was.
“Hey,” I called to them, jogging over. “Less arms, more feet. You have to—”
Arwen’s shrill voice cut through my words “Leigh!”
I turned, and found her sprinting toward us as if a rabid beast were on her tail, feet slowing to a walk as she took in our confused faces.
“What are you doing?” she asked her sister, breathless. Leigh shrugged. “Not using my feet properly, I guess.”
Barney wiped his brow and offered her a dismissive shake of his head as if to say, You’re doing just fine.
Arwen’s dark hair was tied in a loose braid peppered with fresh snow. Her nose and lips were blushing red either from the brisk run, cold weather, or embarrassment, which made my heart stir fondly in my chest. Already her skin had regained some of its pigment and her eyes some of their brightness since we’d left Lumera.
“What did you think?” Griffin asked, sympathy in his usually cold eyes. She shook her head, puzzled. “The worst. I heard her yell.”
“Nothing of the sort.” I pulled Arwen’s warm body into mine and pressed a kiss into her hair. “Your sister’s become quite the swordswoman.”
“I know you wanted to teach me, but…” Leigh’s face dropped. Griffin coughed. Ryder studied the blades of grass at his fingers.
“I know,” Arwen said quietly. “But I’m back now. Swordsmanship is wonderful, isn’t it?”
Leigh beamed. “Better than drawing. Better than riding a horse. I feel like a mighty beast.”
“For a tiny thing, you swing like one, too,” Barney huffed, hands on his knees. “I’m exhausted.”
I offered Barney a half grin. “In that case, may I?”
Barney nodded, handing me his blade and plopping to sit beside Beth and Ryder, snow puffing up in his wake. Ryder gave him a good-natured pat on the back, while Beth said nothing. Then she offered him her jug of water, which Barney accepted with a wide-eyed nod, patting sweat from his shiny bald head.
Leigh gaped as she beheld me with Barney’s sword. “You’re going to teach me?”
“Just a few tips.”
Arwen beamed beside Griffin, who only raised a brow. “We have to meet Kleio and Phylip soon.”
“Let them have their fun,” Arwen teased, nudging my commander in the arm. “I’m sure she’ll make quick work of him, won’t you, Leigh?”
Griffin hardly concealed his grin at the little blonde’s vigorous nod.
Arwen was right. We couldn’t live like this—both of us, in constant fear that at any moment something horrific could befall the other. Or someone else we loved. We had to chase the joy when it presented itself to us.
“All right, Leigh,” I began. “You’ve got a good foundation, but your assessment was correct. It all begins with your feet. Not your arms, like so.” I feigned a few blows.
“Got it,” she said, still breathing hard. “Come on.” She lifted her sword at the ready. “Unless you’re chicken?”
I couldn’t see their faces, but I would have paid a hefty fee to know whose smile grew wider, Arwen’s or my commander’s. “Shall we make it a bit more interesting?”
Leigh’s eyes lit up as they so often did when I enticed her with a wager.
We’d made a fair few back on the ship to Citrine.
“I’ll use my left hand. And I won’t move my feet.” I fixed them firmly in the snow beneath us. “And,” I added, “I’ll close my eyes.”
Leigh grinned. “And all I have to do is strike you once?” “Indeed.”
Leigh didn’t even wait to hear what was in it for her, if anything. She steeled her jaw and charged, leaving mere seconds for me to shut my eyes, toss my blade into my other hand, and plant my feet.
Her sword met mine in a pleasant crash over and over again. Her little huffs of frustration and exertion told me where she was at all times, which felt a bit unfair, but it wasn’t as if I could avoid them. Even if she’d been silent, Leigh’s blows were consistent, and I knew where each one was headed long before it drew near.
Despite Barney’s shouts for her to “Aim lower!” and Griffin’s low, mumbled, “A gut punch would help,” Leigh had only succeeded in deflecting blow after blow and not so much as slicing a fiber on my pant leg.
After parrying an offense which sent Leigh far enough away that I could no longer hear her panting, I stilled. She was good, the little one. Sly and cunning. I briefly wondered if I should let her steal a win, or if affection was clouding my judgment.
When the next blow sang through the air and my blade shot up just in time to spare my chin, fire heated my blood.
That was not the little one.
Another blow slashed, and this time the sharp tip dragged smoothly across my middle, nearly ripping my shirt, followed by a melodic half laugh.
I opened my eyes.
Arwen, blade pointed at the ready, gasped. “That’s cheating!”
Leigh had taken a seat next to Beth, Barney, and Ryder, leaning back on her hands in the snow. Griffin had rested against the bare sycamore behind them, and at some point Dagan had come to join him, too.
“I’m the cheater?” I asked Arwen, incredulous. “You two pulled a bait and switch.”
Leigh snorted from the sidelines but Arwen’s eyes only gleamed.
I resisted the animal growl that spurred in my chest as the breath funneled in and out of her. She was ravishing like this. Determined, a little flushed, playful.
Shaking my head, I lifted my feet from their hold and prowled toward her.
Arwen darted back, feet sliding through the snow, as I advanced on her.
Steel slammed against steel.
Griffin and Dagan were still supported against that broad sycamore tree as we weaved around it. They leaned into each other like furtive conspirators as they commented on our every strike and step. Griffin shot me an entertained look as we rounded, while Dagan’s face revealed nothing as he watched, keeping a careful, concentrated eye on both our movements. Always a teacher.
When I lunged to sweep Arwen’s leg and she deftly shot over me and nearly struck my spine, a sound I’d never heard rang through the bright snow-laden annex: the flutter of Beth’s laughter.
Arwen and I both spun with the noise. A smile splitting the serious seer’s face was almost uncanny. But Arwen offered no warning as she attacked anew, grinning herself as she feinted and swung. We clashed, drawing close, and Arwen pressed an unexpected hand against my ribs and murmured through ragged breaths, “You’re lucky I don’t have a dagger on me.”
“That I am.” I grunted in agreement. Arwen’s eyes flickered with heat. I hated to disappoint her, but I was nothing if not competitive. When I transferred the blade back to my dominant hand it was hard to fight the smirk that threatened at my lips.
Arwen’s gaze colored with surprise. From the ground, Leigh released a low whistle and Beth laughed once more until Ryder shushed them both.
Our near-evenly-matched sparring dissolved once I made the switch. My blade flew from me like another limb over and over, and Arwen could barely blink in time to keep up. Breathing rough and parrying sloppier, Arwen offered me the first real opening, which I ignored.
The second, though, I lunged for.
She had to learn, and time was not on our side—
I only understood the move for the trap that it was once my sword was too far from my body. Arwen slashed upward. My blade would never reach back in time, and I wasn’t nimble enough to hop away. She had me beat.
Black, spindly shadows—thin and virtually harmless—split from my rib cage to guide her steel behind me. Arwen stumbled with the unearthly force
and guilt tickled the base of my neck. “You all right?” I breathed.
Arwen righted herself and tucked a freed strand of hair back into her braid. “New rules?”
Her twitching lips and rosy cheeks expanded something in my chest. My lips ached for hers. I managed to say, “It would make Dagan very happy, wouldn’t it?”
“For Dagan, then,” Arwen agreed, panting.
To our left the old man grumbled something that sounded like, “Leave me out of it.”
Arwen closed her eyes, sucked in a thorough inhale, and when she flicked them open once more, they gleamed.
The bubble of lighte that she bloomed around her body was as delicate as glass and as glittering as fresh water in the midday sun. It reflected the daylight and blinding snow around us in sparkling arcs. When I slammed my blade against its face, the blows reverberated into the calluses of my palm.
I allowed my darkness to advance, flirting with the bubble’s surface, lashing at it playfully. But Arwen had moved onto the offensive, taking my tentativeness as an opening. She panted hard, sweeping her sword through her own shield with ease as if it were mere fog. Lustrous, glittering fog.
Arwen parried each of my blows, angled low, and ducked expertly, and with an expression that belied her own surprise, sent out a ribbon of white flame toward me that nearly singed the hair of my forearms.
“Woah,” Leigh uttered.
Dagan grunted in approval behind us.
But my eyes pulled from our clashing silver up to her face. Her expression—so poised, so confident. So focused. I had been a wreck this morning over this woman, and here she was ducking and retreating and driving her blade with utter sureness. I had been going far too easy on her— she wasn’t a finch, but a falcon.
I let my lighte loose, her whips of that strange, delicate firelighte sailing amid cords of my ultraviolent ebony.
Until one tendril of my darkness grasped her sword, and I wrenched her toward me, her feet skidding through the snow-covered grass until she landed against my chest. She was weakening, I could see it in the fading glimmers of her power.
Our rushed breaths mingled as I held her close, twin puffs of steam in the cold air.
And just like that, a flash of potent heat—not unpleasant, but not comfortable, either—bloomed against my chest. I peered down to find Arwen’s hand pressed against my heart. Dainty rays of lighte tickling my tunic. Singing the fibers.
“Interesting.” I hummed.
Arwen had a deeper well of power than even another full-blooded like myself could access. I’d sworn she’d been losing steam, but being cornered only allowed her to unleash a buried strength perhaps even she hadn’t known she had.
Arwen wrenched her sword free and I released her, throwing out twin ropes of obsidian, satisfaction and adrenaline thrumming in my blood, until they met Arwen’s raised blade and the air itself rippled. Our energy was a near-blinding clash of shadow and sunlight.
“Holy Stones.”
Arwen’s blade, twined in that vibrant, sunny fire, halted an inch from my cords of shadowed thorn. I yanked the shadowed tendrils back into my hands just in time and stumbled to a halt.
The crisp, winter wind scented of cinnamon and cloves, and I whirled in the direction of Arwen’s eyeline, following the sound of Leigh’s exclamations and my commander’s hurried footsteps.
Mari stood there, draped in a warm green cloak with a fur hood. Her eyes locked onto Arwen’s in shock as Leigh scrambled up from the ground to wrap the witch tightly around the middle. Griffin appraised Mari with a hesitant nod, which she barely acknowledged. But Mari, even with her arms wrapped around Leigh, couldn’t stop staring at the sweat-drenched, red- cheeked vision across from me.
Leigh’s sword—the one Arwen had been using—landed softly in the snow as Arwen crossed the training annex for her friend.
“I didn’t believe it,” she murmured. “You cannot imagine the noise I made when I got the letter,” Mari said, arms still gripped around Leigh’s back, eyes still glued to Arwen.
Arwen’s smile was soft. “I probably can; I was there when you found that squirrel in the apothecary.”
Mari laughed around her awe, and somewhere behind us Dagan chuckled at the memory, too.
Leigh finally released Mari just as Arwen swallowed the witch into a hug, her face diving into a mess of snowy red curls.
Moments passed as the women held each other, shaking silently with the onslaught of emotion.
I was pretty sure Barney was crying. Griffin had found his scabbard very compelling, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. It had been too long since any of us had experienced so many instances of joy, and in such quick succession.
Eventually Arwen released her friend with a sniffle. “How have you been?”
“Better.” Mari grinned. “Much better. All better actually, now that you’re alive.”
I exhaled into the brisk morning air. Griffin found my gaze and nodded in similar relief.
“Welcome home,” I said to the witch.
“It’s been too long, Red.” Ryder waved at her from the grass. “This is Beth,” Barney said to her. “She has visions.”
Beth didn’t smile and Mari’s brows knit inward. “All right, great. Hello, Beth,” she said warmly. “It’s so good to be home.”
Dagan huffed. “The library’s a mess.”
“Of course it is,” Arwen said, taking her friend’s hand. “Nobody can run that place like Mari.”
The witch only faced Arwen again, eyes warm and a little tired. “Forget how I am. How are you? How’s…not being dead?”
Leigh frowned up at her, and Mari shrugged.
But Arwen only released a wet laugh, gaze painting over the wintry annex—Dagan and his begrudging smile, Griffin with his folded arms, her brother, her sister…the bluebells, the fresh snow, Barney and Beth, and my steadfast eyes upon hers.
“You know, Mari, I can’t complain.”
