Fire burned behind me, where the others made camp. I stood with my arms tightly folded, trying to parse through my feelings.
Worry, disappointment, grief . . . they swirled within me, loud as the storm.
Reaching up, I pulled off my circlet. My mother’s circlet. Intertwining twigs, decorated with brilliant purple flowers.
Myrmidon crowns were woven from the great tree’s fallen branches. I ran my thumb across the wood, trying to still the sorrow surging through my heart.
My mother's necklace lay between my collarbones, cold iron against my skin. She and our tree had always been with me, through this necklace she had left behind.
“It’s unusual.” Reese’s voice drew me from my reverie. “For Brighid’s theories to be wrong.”
He stood beside me, hand balanced on his pommel. “I can’t imagine how disappointed you are.”
“At least I’m alive,” I said, returning the circlet to my brow. “Now I have nothing to bring my king, and nothing to win the people’s favor.”
Reese looked down at me, fingers dancing on his pommel. He always seemed to know what to say. How to comfort others.
In this moment, he knew to say nothing. I did not want to hear pointless platitudes about how I’d done enough already.
Because it wasn’t true.
He stepped closer and took my hand. “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”
Falling silent, he watched the distant storm with me. Warmth bloomed on the back of my hand, where his thumb drew comforting circles.
It was wrong to feel grateful for the closeness—to want to lean into him and collapse.
I could not trust him. And he could not trust me.
“Reese.” I lifted my head. “When we return to Aenir—what then?”
“That depends,” he said. “Someone is waging war on Forlaith. If they’ve come to Aenir, we will assist in its defense.”
“And if they haven’t?”
“Then we’ll personally seek them out—and ensure their war ends.”
Nodding, I watched his thumb trace across my skin.
Reese had been softer with me recently. And I was beginning to think my injury had little to do with it.
“You should get some rest,” he urged. "Come on.”
He placed a hand on my back, guiding me toward the campfire. Liam and Bláth stood together by the fire, arms folded, glaring at each other.
Were they flirting or quarreling? I could never tell.
Pausing by the fire, I tried to eavesdrop on them. Reese must have been nosy, too—he loitered with me.
Bláth planted her hands on her hips. "I don't believe you."
"It's all true." Liam folded his arms. "Ask me to bake something for you—you'll see."
"Well, I won't say no to that. But it sounds like so much work for a simple ruse."
"Can a man not have a hobby?"
"According to Mare, scouting wealthy manors for valuablesisyour hobby," Bláth teased.
