That’s not unusual. He rises earlier than I do most days. He’s probably out drawing water from the well to make our morning tea or meeting with Taran to discuss the training schedule for the next few days.
Except that I can’t feel him.
Which also isn’t concerning on its own. My version of his magic, even after months strengthening it, doesn’t afford me unlimited access to his emotions. I lose my ability to sense him once he makes it far enough away. Even a trip to Kira’s meadow can put him out of my range.
Knowing him, he’s probably planning a surprise of some kind for our first morning as husband and wife. I sink back into the pillow, closing my eyes and preparing to go back to sleep when I hear shouting outside.
“Sylvie!”
It’s Seth. I roll over and put my hands over my ears. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night—for obvious reasons—and I’m reallynot in the mood to deal with his hysterics before I’ve even had my breakfast.
“Sylvie!”
My ears perk up at this second call. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it sounded like true panic in his voice. But knowing Seth, it’s more likely that Taran washed his dark tunics with his light ones again.
I drag myself out of bed slowly, pulling on my robe. My body is still pleasantly sore from last night. My pulse flutters as I remember the events of yesterday—I’m Ronan’s wife now. I tilt my head back, savoring the memory of his kiss at the altar. His body in mine in our bed.
The way my husband feels—myhusband—when he finds his release, when he shudders inside me and tells me he loves me.
It makes me kick my feet in joy. I never dared to dream of a life like this, but if I had, I couldn’t have dreamt of anything better.
“SYLVIE! We’re under attack!”
Oh,fuck.
I leap across the room, reaching under the bed for my sword and dagger. I stumble into the living room barefoot, tripping over my discarded wedding dress. The fire is out, but the torch flickers dimly. When I pass it, it flashes red.
It wants me to take it.
I have no time to think or argue with magical objects I don’t understand. I toss the dagger aside and grab it, then I throw open the cottage door.
Nothing could have prepared me for what’s outside.
There are a dozen bodies in the grass between the two cottages. They’re dressed in dark clothes in a Nithyrian style, and most of them are dead or dying, falling to fire, light, ice, or blade. Around them on the ground are broken bottles of elixirs of some kind, some of them steaming on the ground.
Assassins.
“Ronan!” I scream. Where is he? I can’t feel him. I don’t see him out here among the bodies. But there are so many of them. He can’t be…no, I can’t even think it.
I kick a dagger away from a woman trying to get up, finishing her with my sword.
“Get down!” yells Seth.
I duck to the ground. The heat of his flame passes over my head. I turn back to see a man with an open vial in one hand collapse to the ground behind me, his eye burned out.
“Ronan! Seth, where is he?”
“Come here, Sylvie. Quick. And don’t touch the elixirs—they’re poison.”
I cut a path through the yard, climbing over fallen assassins and dodging puddles of blood and poison. Seth is standing near the well, his sword drawn, turning in circles looking for more attackers.
“Down there,” he says, pointing behind the well. “I called you, but you didn’t come. I had to heal them myself.”
My heart stops when I see them. Ronan and Taran, both unconscious, both covered in wounds.
I drop to the ground between them, my hands going to Ronan’s body first. I lift his tunic, finding the gashes the blades left in his chest and stomach.
Oh gods, he’s still bleeding. I see the burn marks Seth made, but he must not have gone deep enough with his flame.
