Page 142 of Queen of War and Ruin

Those assholes really are trying to kill each other.

They’re on the ground by the bedrolls. Petrys is on top of Gerard, bending low against his body with his back to us and his legs on either side of Gerard’s hips. I pull my dagger from its sheath, ready to threaten both of them with whatever it takes to get them to calm the fuck down.

Lilias grabs my arm and pulls me back. I glance at her. She’s watching the two men with wide eyes and a very strange expression. I turn back to my brother.

Oh.

Gerard’s hand is buried in Petrys’s hair, and his shirt is half off. But he doesn’t seem to be fighting back. I can’t see their faces; from the angle of their bodies, they must be way too close for them to be doing anything but⁠—

Oh. Right.

They aren’t trying to kill each other.

They’re kissing each other.

I turn back to Lilias, and the moment our eyes meet, I know with absolute certainty that there’s no way I’m going to be able to hold it together. Laughter bubbles up inside me like steam in a kettle.

And Petrys would be horrified. He’s always been so secretive about his private life. Gods, knowing we’ve seen this would be the last thing he’d want.

I grab my wife’s hand and pull her out of the trees. We make quite a bit of noise as we crash through the underbrush, but I don’t think either Gerard or Petrys is going to notice.

I go as far as I can before laughter bursts out of me like an explosion. I collapse on my knees in the alpine meadow and laugh until my eyes tear up. Lilias falls to her back next to me, giggling and snorting.

“Oh, my gods,” I finally say, wiping my eyes. “Did you know?”

Lilias shakes her head against the grass. “I had no idea. Gerard said a few strange things about Petrys, but I really thought they hated each other. I didn’t think they’d end up⁠—”

Our eyes meet, and we both burst into laughter again. One of the horses wanders over with an expression on his wide face that could only be described as concern. For some reason, this only makes me laugh harder.

I let myself fall back onto the grass, my sides aching, my vision blurred, my heart lighter than it’s felt in years. Above us, a few thin clouds dance high in the cerulean sky. I turn to my beautiful wife and watch two emerald butterflies circle each other above her dark hair.

Laughter is its own kind of magic. Like love.

“Did you know?” Lilias asks, turning to smile at me.

I shake my head. “Petrys never tells me anything,” I admit. “Especially not about his love life.”

For some reason, this makes her giggle, which makes me start laughing again. Lilias moves closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder as I watch the sun begin to trace her fiery path across the sky. The horse grazes next to us and, somewhere in the distance, birds sing to each other, a dozen lilting little melodies woven together by the wind. Something pulls my skin tight and makes me shiver.

I frown. That feeling comes again, like something dancing just on the edge of consciousness. A whispered voice outside a door, perhaps, or someone calling you from a dream. It’s the same feeling that’s been tugging at the edge of my awareness ever since we crossed into Marion.

I sit up in the grass. Lilias rolls off my arm with a sleepy, muttered protest. The meadow is filled with sunlight. A gentle breeze makes the flowers nod and dance. There’s nothing strange here, nothing different. And yet⁠—

My eyes linger on the far side of the meadow, where the stream of melted snow runs down the mountainside in a series of rocky falls. Willow bushes line that ribbon of cold water, their soft green leaves shimmering in the light.

Another shiver moves across my skin as I stare at the stream. There’s nothing there but dancing leaves and sparkling water; still, I come to my feet.

“Zarek?” Lilias says. “What is it?”

I shake my head and glance at the horses. All four of them have their heads down, ripping grass and wildflowers out of the earth with contented snorts. If it was an animal, some sort of predator, the horses would know, right?

My hand drops to the dagger Petrys gave me, and I walk silently toward the river, watching the willows. If they move against the wind, I’ll know something is there. Or someone.

Lilias walks beside me. I glance down and see a blade in her hand, the same dagger I strapped around her thigh before the Planting Festival, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst.

“Oh!” she cries.

She presses her hand to her lips as her eyes go wide. I follow her gaze, across the wildflowers, to the soft green of the willow boughs.