“No Sealed Master would accept me until my father Sealed me. I’m sorry for lying to you.”
Another low growl. “You’re my king—it’s forgiven. Don’t worry, I won’t leave the forest without you.”
His loyalty didn’t surprise me. Thorne was always too noble for his own good. If I told him to march into Nyxva’s Domain armed with a spoon, he’d probably ask if I wanted the wooden or metal kind. “Thank you,” I said softly.
“Stay here for now. I’ll find you in a few days with a plan for escape. Also, you stink of vuk—wash that off while you’re in the water.”
I winced, swallowing a chuckle. “There’s been a complication I can’t explain. In the meantime, I need a few favors.”
“Anything.”
“Steal Dalric’s body. Drag him to the forest and bury him. Please.”
Thorne let out another grunt. “And?”
“Find out what you can about the massacre of my family.”
“Yes, Your—” He caught himself. “I will.”
I slipped away from the boulder without a goodbye, moving quietly, like a man who might want to put some distance between himself and a wild beast—and one who needed to get out of the godsdamned water.
I can’t leave tonight, damn the gods.
But at least I had one ally. One I could trust.
Thorne might be my only hope to get out of this mess. But hope, in a forest of bloodthirsty enemies, was a fragile thing—and one wrong move could shatter it.
Chapter 15
Seren
The heady flush of wine settled my queasy stomach and quieted the noise in my head, and I leaned back on the blanket, resting against Ciaran as I took in the sparkle of the stars. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of woodsmoke and the promise of frost.
“I used to love feasts so much,” I murmured, catching Amahle’s watchful glance across from me.
Ciaran set a steadying hand at my waist. “You’ll love them again someday. The last month has been a lot for your family.”
Yeah, that’s putting it mildly. Another day had passed with no word from Madoc or my father—one of the reasons I’d gratefully accepted wine tonight.
“You two are looking awfully cozy,” Amahle noted, sipping her wine. “Considering one of you is a newlywed … to someone else.” She arched a brow.
I rolled my eyes and scooted a smidge away from Ciaran, taking another swig from the bottle we’d been sharing. “So now I can’t have friends, either?”
“Calm down. You’re not offending me. I’m just saying you might want to tone it down.”
The redness in Ciaran’s face was visible in the yellow glow from the oil lamps set in the center of our blankets. “You don’t really consider that Lirien your husband, do you?” He rubbed the back of his neck stiffly.
“He has a name, you know.” Then I lowered my voice. “But no, I don’t. I didn’t know how else to save him, that’s all.”
Some of the tension in Ciaran’s shoulders eased.
I chewed on my lower lip. Rykr had mentioned that Ciaran had feelings for me. If I was honest, I’d noticed it over the years, but always brushed those thoughts away. Ciaran was a good friend, but I’d never seen him as anything more, even if I enjoyed the closeness of our friendship. He filled most of the need I had for male companionship—though maybe not the one that made me the crankiest.
“You Pendarans have some interesting beliefs,” Amahle said. “Like that whole life debt thing.”
I sighed, taking another sip of wine. “It’s not just a belief, it’s a curse—a real one. A life debt is always paid with a life. That’s why I didn’t have a choice with Rykr.”
At Ciaran and Amahle’s questioning gazes, I continued, “It’s based on an old legend. A man prayed to the goddess of war, Morrga, to save him when he was about to be killed. She granted his wish by sending a soldier to slay his enemy. But when the soldier asked for the man’s most beloved daughter as a reward, the man, furious, killed the soldier. So Morrga cursed humankind, saying, the debt of a life is always paid with a life. She struck the man dead and condemned his soul to be damned in Nyxva’s deepest pit for eternity.”
