The Declaration

Ashel jerked awake. Firelight painted Kelmair out of the darkness, her hand on his shoulder. “Go in with her,” she whispered. “I’ll watch for you.”

Vic hadn’t woken since raining boulders on the Caleisbahnin, and despite those deaths, Kelmair and the other pirates had hovered around, doing all they could to help him care for her. Kelmair was as solicitous now as she’d been spiteful before. “Why?” he asked.

“We pledged our swords—”

“She doesn’t want pledges from you.”

“It’s true, isn’t it? She was a mistress?” Awe thickened her voice.

“She was my mistress.” Lornk emerged from his tent. Crawling out after him, Wineyll hugged her knees.

“You will not touch her.” Flicking open Vic’s tent, Ashel nodded at Kelmair. “He doesn’t set one foot closer.”

With a slow, vicious smile, she drew her blade. “Not a foot.”

Inside, he lit the lamp and watched Vic’s chest rise and fall in the flickering light. “Wineyll?” he whispered, hoping she Listened for him.

Leave me alone, Ashel. I won’t go with you. Her reply drifted into his mind, almost like one of Geram’s thoughts.

“When she wakes—”

There’s nothing for me in Latha. There’s nothing for me anywhere.

“What the Guild did to you was wrong. We can still fix it.”

He Heard nothing more from her.

Beating back anger, he used his lone thumb to hook Vic’s hair and tuck it behind her ear. “You left them with me.” Lornk’s taunt had rung all too true. In Olmlablaire, she could have saved him. He pressed the palm of his hand to her cheek, half-expecting her to recoil. Instead she sighed, the skin around her eyes relaxing.

The ceiling groans dust into their eyes, choking the room like mist. She stands in the doorway, her hair fanned out in a halo of static, his avenging angel. But he swallows her name, because she’s staring at Lornk, not him. She saunters closer, casually slapping a jeweled dagger against her palm. He whispers her name. She looks at him, seems to see him for the first time. The dagger falls into his blood—pooling under the chair—and horror clouds her emerald eyes into jade.

She couldn’t have known Lornk’s fury and desire stretched past her, measuring the length of Ashel’s life. He brushed the lone thumb across her cheek. She couldn’t have known.

Her eyes flicked open, and a tear leaked across the bridge of her nose. She laid her hand over his. “Can you ever forgive me?”

He withdrew the maimed hand. “I don’t know.”

“Where are we? How long was I out?”

“Two days. We’re close to the eastern edge of the Kiareinoll.”

Grimacing, she pushed herself upright. “Shrine, I’ve pissed myself, haven’t I?”

Irritation tightened his throat, but he poked his head outside, asked Kelmair to help her clean up. As they walked off, the outlaw warned Lornk to stay away. With a satisfied grunt, Ashel reclined on a mat spread over the dirt. More than a thousand years ago, the Caleisbahn First had pledged the Archipelago to the service of wizards, but Lornk had made a mistake thinking he could bond Vic to these modern-day brigands. “By your laws as well as Betheljin’s, an escaped mistress is still the property of a Citizen,” Lornk had argued. But Thiellin had replied, “A wizard cannot be a mistress. Clearly she is a wizard.” The pirates believed they could convince Vic to help put Lornk in the Commissar’s seat, but the way they hovered around her with eyes full of hope and worry, it seemed half-likely she could order them to return him to Lathan custody. If only it were so easy.

The flap rustled and she ducked in. They sat with shoulders pressed into the canvas, away from each other.

“I’ll be right outside,” Ashel said.

She touched his arm. “Wait. I’ve been looking for you. Geram must have told you. I’m sorry I didn’t find you before they did.” Her voice full of self-recrimination, she told him how she’d set off for Mora but let herself be blown off course. Rubbing her temples, she added, “Every time I’ve used wizardry since the storm, it’s made me so sick I can hardly breathe.”

Chuckling softly, he squeezed her fingers. “I’ve heard I can help with that.”

Her shoulders cringed to her ears. “I know. But it’s wrong for me to ask.”

Humor twisted into anger. “Then what was the point of coming out here? Shrine, Vic. I gave up—” He swallowed the rest and pulled in a breath, looking for a steady current in his own roiling emotions. Her small figure pulled at his blood like a magnet, the scent of her—sweat and woodsmoke and forest detritus and that essence of her—filled his nose and went to his head like a drug. He could see, hear, and smell her—he wanted to taste and feel and know her too. But threaded through his desire was a fury he couldn’t deny and didn’t know how to expunge.

“You gave up everything for me.” Wet streaks glimmered on her cheeks. She sandwiched his maimed hands between her palms. “You let him do this to you to save me, and I let him do it, to save myself. Elekia ordered me to come find you, and I came out here hoping we could . . . we could start over, but it’s not that simple, not with this pack of Caleisbahnin—”

“Shrine, Vic. The Caleisbahnin are just your latest excuse.”

“I’m sick, Ashel. I want nothing more than to rescue you from these brigands, but I’m too sick—”

“I’m talking about us! You dangle hope like a lure and jerk it away every time. I wish you’d make up your bloody mind.”

“I just can’t.”

“Why not?”

“No—”

He put his palm under her chin and forced her head up. “Why not, Vic?”

She jerked free of him. “Because I love you!” Eyes wide, she laid her fingers over her mouth, breathing heavily.

She’d said it. She’d admitted it like confessing a crime, but she’d finally said it. A silly grin pulled at the corners of his mouth; sunshine and the scent of wildberry blossoms colored the air.

“I can’t, but I do,” she mumbled, her breath jagged. “I shouldn’t, but I do. And I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That you can’t possibly love me. Or if you do, you’ll come to hate me. I cost you this hand and everything you ever wanted. Sooner or later I’ll be exiled for being a wizard, and . . .” She sucked in a sob. “You’ll have to choose between me and the country and the family you love. Or maybe you’ll just meet someone else who is, is normal—”

He grabbed her neck and kissed her, cutting off the vile forecasts. Trembling, she parted her lips; her tongue tagged his, drew back, and darted forward in invitation. His lips roved down her throat, and she gasped and clasped his head. Her hands grazed tender bruises and scrapes, but the pain melted in the rising heat of a need finally fulfilled. At last he tasted her, a salty tingle on his tongue like spicetarts at Winterfest. At last his fingers twined through hair like spun amber. His palms stroked hard muscles under silky pale skin. His heart pumped yearning to his pores, and the air grew hot and damp. He yanked his shirt off and dove after another kiss. His hands crept beneath her tunic, delighting in the warm, smooth curves—

She shuddered and dropped her arms to her sides. Smoothing her hair aside, he studied her eyes. In the dim light, he couldn’t see their color, but he could see her earnestness. Her fingers crept around his wrists, and he felt the pulse in her thumb echo his own. He kissed her knuckles. “I can forgive, if you can.”

Nodding, she wrapped her arms round his neck and pressed her mouth to his.

* * *

Each kiss restored her. The hammering above her eye ebbed, the churning in her belly eased. Aches melted away. Each caress brought bliss as his tongue explored her clavicle, his fingers brushed a shoulder, slid down a flank. Yet when his hands crept under her tunic, tracked up her ribs, doubt froze her limbs. Military life allowed no space for modesty, and killing sometimes called for a lover’s intimacy, but the last person to know her like this was Lornk. She trembled at how much she had craved the Relmlord, even while she hated him. She’d longed for Ashel too—there was that pull, like iron to a magnet, she’d resisted every time they were together. Her desire for Lornk had felt like a parasite, but the need for Ashel really was an infection—

“I can forgive, if you can,” he said.

Elesendar, had he Heard her? Did it matter? Whether it was the Woern’s need or hers, she wanted him. Her arms flew round him, her lips tasted his, and life passed into her, washing away doubt. She shrugged out of her tunic, shivered and hugged his head as his tongue danced across her breast. An electric charge sparked from skin to skin, and they shimmied out of trousers and nested together, arms and legs wrapped round torsos. Fingers migrated below her navel; he murmured something, a bass rumble she couldn’t discern over the rush of blood to her head. He found the point where heat roiled, stoked it into a blossoming fire that enveloped her loins and surged past her heart and lungs to explode in waves behind her eyes.

“How does a chaste Lathan prince know how to do that?” she gasped.

Kissing her neck, he chuckled. “A few tricks a courtesan taught a soldier from Alna.”

“Shrine, is Geram with you now?” She drew back.

Laughing, he tugged her close. “He’s asleep.”

She grinned and straddled his lap, heart pounding, loins tight and dripping need. His breath gushed down her throat as she guided him inside her, but hers caught at the lancing pain.

“Did I hurt you?” He stilled, dark eyes shedding concern.

“No.” She kissed him deeply. How that piece of her could be intact after years of jumping out of trees, dodging blows and taking them, she didn’t know, but as their tongues darted and twined, the virgin sting faded. Her body wrapped him, contained him, shivers passing between them as they forged a bond through shared heat, tempering it in the sweat slicking their skin. Another pierce jabbed inside her, not pain but a burst of dark energy that shuddered up her spine, and as he swelled inside her, the love she felt for him, which had been withered and stunted, began to grow like a parched seedling exposed to light and water. Warm and green, it spread through her blood, cycled through her heart, blossomed and ripened in her mind. Beneath her, Ashel pressed his hips up, pulling hers down, his teeth bared. Then they collapsed into a heap, their arms tight as salvation around each other.

* * *

Dawn seeped through the canvas, sculpting Ashel’s neck and shoulder like an artist carving life from polished wood. “I love you,” Vic whispered, looping an arm over his chest, awed at the potency of the feeling now that she’d finally admitted to it. Admitted it, let it in, into her heart and her head. It wasn’t just the Woern, she promised herself. She’d longed for him long before taking the Elixir, but her preoccupation with Lornk—her shame over the remnants of desire she’d felt for the Relmlord, and her need to purge those sensations through blood and vengeance—hadn’t left any room for love. She swallowed a devilish giggle and hoped Lornk had heard them. In his tower in Traine, he had starved her, terrified her, manipulated, intimidated, abused, and pleasured her. He’d demanded every form of intimacy, except he’d never stuck his cock in her cunt. Why he had left that part of her untouched was a mystery, but she was glad to have shared it first with Ashel. “My love,” she whispered.

And now, her husband. Among the Oreseekers, marriage was celebrated in public with feasting and dancing, and most people had sampled multiple partners before they matched to one. For Lathans, or inlanders at least, a first bedding was a wedding—a thing meant to last a lifetime. “I love you, and I can forgive, if you can,” she promised, thinking of all the people, like more than one of the pirates outside, who cast him admiring glances like fishhooks. Jealousy spiked, as strong as affection.

Ashel jerked and uttered a clipped shout. She rose on an elbow, pressed a palm against his thudding heart. “It’s only a dream, my love.” Shrine, it felt good to say that, to mean it and know the truth of it.

Eyes blinking open, he threaded fingers through hers. “Am I still dreaming?”

She kissed his cheek and pulled him round to face her. “I’m here. Me and two score pirates and the former Relmlord.” She knuckled the black fuzz framing his jaw. “You’re not quite as pretty with this beard.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper shave.”

“I like it, and you’re still the loveliest person I’ve ever met. You ready to leave?”

“Are you? Let’s have another go to be sure.” Eyes sparkling, he opened her knees and buried his tongue in the cleft between her thighs. Breath gushed from her lungs as he explored, lingering here and dancing there according to each moan and purr. It was as if they wove a symphony together, his tongue her conductor, she his muse. Heat waved up her nerves. Her fingers balled into fists. Her hips rose toward him, followed by her feet and shoulders. When her back arched and body trembled in bursting ecstasy, his kisses climbed her torso and he pushed inside her. She wrapped her legs around him, pulled herself tighter onto him, while his thrusts sent starbursts through her blood. A final squeeze, and a gush from two throats melded into a single cry.

He settled them on the mat, where they lay with matched grins, skin pressed to skin as he slowly twirled her hair round his fingers. “You know,” he said, “in Alna there are shops where you can buy a woman-shaped balloon. For lovemaking.”

Her jaw dropped as she wondered just how much bawdy knowledge he’d acquired from Geram. “Your Highness, my ability to float does not make me a balloon.”

“But the lovemaking does make you my wife, marshal.”

“Just marshal? I don’t get to be a Highness too?”

“Only Beth’s husband will get that title, if she marries before she’s Ruler.” His humor faded. “When she’s queen, he’ll be called Your Majesty, same as my mother was while Sashal was alive.”

“I miss your father.” She kissed the yellowed skin under his eye. “Why do you look like you’ve been beaten with a stick?”

“Many sticks, not to mention steed tentacles and a rock.” He told her about the flight with Melba and a friendly outlaw. “It was the Kragnashian chasing us. Then Thiellin sent it to harry any cavalry that might be in pursuit. I hope Beth is all right—she’s at the outpost, isn’t she?”

“She should be, and I’m sure she’s fine. I want to know what you were doing when I found you.”

A corner of his mouth slid sideways. “I suppose you heard about the mess I got into with the Caleisbahnin.”

“What mess?”

“It was in all the papers—a year ago last autumn.”

“When I was at the front, preoccupied with blood and vengeance.” She stroked his beard. “Just tell me, my love. Shrine, I like saying that: my love.”

“Well, I lost a lot of money to some Caleisbahn gamers. Since I’m not Heir, I have no right to the royal coffers, so I asked the Guild for a loan. Instead the Harmony got the Senate to banish the gamblers.”

“And how did you end up here?”

“Lornk paid the debt, and he paid the Herders to bring me here. Joslyrn—he’s the one with the clay-molded hair—he tricked Melba into introducing us, and then he lured me out on the plains by offering me a chance to ride a steed. They’re beautiful and unimaginably fast, and I’ve wanted to ride one all my life. It was supposed to be an afternoon lark, but here I am.”

“What does Lornk want with you now?”

“He told me something in Olmlablaire, which I haven’t shared with you.” A long sigh blew from his lips, and a tear rolled across his nose. “Lornk never married Earnk’s mother—my Aunt Richelle.”

She touched her lips to his. “I know. Your mother told me he seduced Richelle into living as a mistress rather than his wife.”

“Well, the reason he never married Aunt Richelle, it wasn’t . . .” He swallowed. “It wasn’t just because he’s depraved but because he was already married to my mother, by Lathan custom. They never declared, but . . . they wed, and there’s a good chance he’s my father.”

Her love and the urge to protect him surged as she studied the shame writ across his face. “Sashal loved you, Ashel, and he bore as much pride in you as any father could for his child.”

His eyes narrowed. “My mother wed Lornk. That makes Sashal a cad and Bethniel a bastard. If the Senate found out, they’d force Mother off the throne and wouldn’t let Bethniel succeed.”

She sighed at Latha’s strange and strict moral customs, wincing at the pain they’d caused her, when every promotion and honor she’d received had been questioned because she’d once been Lornk’s slave. Her fingers combed through his curls. “Lornk bewitches people. Look how deeply he has his hooks into Wineyll. Whatever happened with your mother, it was a long time ago, and she despises him now. Is this why you challenged Lornk to a duel?”

Darkness flooded his eyes. “He owns my debt now, and he threatened Bethniel. Challenging him was the only way I could see to shed the hooks he still has in my family. After you arrived, and fainted, the Caleisbahnin decided to postpone the challenge until they obtained your approval. They’ve decided I belong to you.” He laughed again, the sound sharp as an obsidian blade. “But Lornk still owns the debt, so by Betheljin law, he owns me.”

“What if I buy it?” Helara’s guildbond was still in her pack. “The debt, what if I pay it off?”

“Do you have thirty thousand mullas tucked away somewhere?”

Her mouth fell open. “How much?” A season’s provisions for the entire Lathan army cost less. “How did—” Her questions fell away in a bed of shock.

Grimacing, he slipped into his trousers. “It was a wild night in Alna, with too much drink and too many temptations. I thought I was wise, choosing a gaming house instead of a brothel.”

A grin spread into a laugh, and she pressed her forehead to his. “My storybook prince is not perfect? Praise Elesendar!”

His echoing smile melted into a gentle kiss. “Last night, I wasn’t thinking about how this affects you . . . Lornk might demand you work the debt off as a mercenary.”

She tugged her tunic over her head. “And it will be a wet day in Kragnash when that happens. Thanks to you, I feel completely restored. We’ll grab Wineyll and go, now.”

Ashel cupped her face, draining the tension from the bridge of her nose. “How do you feel?”

Not a whiff of migraine lurked behind her eyes. “As if I’d never been sick—it’s miraculous.”

“We can’t leave Lornk free. Could you carry me, him, and Wineyll without getting sick?”

“I brought down a mountain, my love.”

“Could you take us all the way to the outpost,” he pressed, “in one go, so there was no chance Lornk could escape? Could you keep Wineyll out of your head, keep her from doing what she did to you in Olmlablaire, when we almost lost you?”

She bit her lip. “You think she’d try again?”

“I love Wineyll; she’s a little sister to me, but I don’t trust her where Lornk is concerned.”

She considered that Wineyll might be Hearing everything they said. Do not betray us, she begged, in case the girl was Listening. “I could take you out of here, then come back for them. I’ll bring them out separately, so she can’t try anything.”

“Distance doesn’t matter to me and Geram.”

“Wineyll and I aren’t linked, Ashel.”

He sighed. “If you took us separately, there’s the risk they could be gone by the time you returned to fetch Lornk. I think there may be a Device in this area. It’s too risky to come east, otherwise.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Would the Blade be up for some reconnaissance?”

“You want to stay?”

“If Febbin and Melba made it to the outpost, there might be a cavalry unit on its way here, and they could surely use your help. You should pretend you’re still too sick to use your powers.”

She chuckled. “My husband, Prince of Latha. Your mother and sister would be proud.”

A sad smile bloomed and faded. “Let’s say I’m doing this for my father.”

When they ducked out of the tent, the breakfasting pirates stood and bowed, but guffaws and sniggers whisked around the fire too. They’d doubtless heard every gasp and moan. Mortification and annoyance twisted together, and Vic let that sourness show on her face, rubbing her temples in a mime-show of powerlessness.

Ashel grasped her hand and cleared his throat. Making a Lathan marriage official was beyond simple; they said the words together, speaking aloud: “We declare ourselves wed.”

Openly laughing, the Caleisbahnin and outlaws gathered round, offering congratulations. Drawing Ashel to the fire, they slapped his back like comrades, not enemies. Blood heated Vic’s cheeks, but satisfaction warmed her gut when she saw Lornk’s eyes glowing blue as a flame’s heart. She had seen him this angry, but never this impotent. “Never yours,” she mouthed at him, feeling her vengeance was complete at last.

“Madam,” Kelmair bowed and offered her a sliced citrus. “Would you like tea?”

At a nod, the woman darted to the fire. Vic stared at her scars, recalling the Herders’ betrayal. Bastards, every one of them. She settled on a log and chewed a wedge while Ashel sat with the outlaws. The fruit caught in Vic’s throat as she recalled the steeds crushed by boulders in the clearing where she’d found Ashel and the pirates. She hadn’t meant to kill their mounts. Damn! So much she’d done that needed forgiveness.

“Vic?” Hand shaking, Wineyll held out a corona of wildflowers, another at her side. “In the southern Kiareinoll, where my father is from, a bride and groom wear these their first day as newlyweds.”

“Thank you, but—”

“You don’t have to. I know these aren’t people you’d like to celebrate with. I just wanted you to know that I’m happy for you.”

Taking the wreath, Vic squeezed the girl’s fingers. So much that needed forgiving. “I thank you. And I’m sorry. I’m going to get us away from here, but”—she rubbed her temples—“I need a little more time.”

Blinking quickly, the minstrel ducked her head. “Take this one for Ashel. Tell him I’m happy for him too. Be happy together.” I won’t betray you, she added in Vic’s mind, but I won’t go with you or let you take him. With short, quick steps, she returned to Lornk, climbed into his lap, and rested her head on his shoulder. The fruit sour on her tongue, Vic looked away.

“Anything else?” Kelmair laid a cup of tea and some dry cheese on the log.

“No, thanks.” Vic fingered the flower petals.

“I’ve never met a mistress like you before.” The pirate settled herself cross-legged on the log. “I mean, the ones I knew are sniveling maens and shemens, too google-eyed to look sideways at their masters, much less escape and go to Direiellene.” She nodded toward Lornk and Wineyll. “Like that one.”

“Wineyll has more courage than you,” Vic growled.

Blinking, Kelmair slid off the log. “Yes, madam.” With a bow, she fled.

Plopping a wreath on her head, Vic glared at Lornk, vowing to free Wineyll if it was the last thing she did.