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“Leave,” I order her. I’ve always appreciated Lorna’s ability to read my mood, and right now, I’m not mucking about. She makes herself scarce without another word.
I jab an accusing finger in Eldon’s direction. “Explain.”
“Well,” he starts, still with the obnoxious cheer. “Your intended can’t be a fragile little flower, can she? And that kind of spirit usually spills over into other . . . areas.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Bed sport, Luka,” he says dryly. “You’ve got yourself a hell-cat.”
Am I hearing this correctly?I have to unclench my jaw to speak as he shovels a bite of food into his mouth. “Are you out of your mind? You still expect me to wed her?”
He surveys me as he chews, considering. “You expect not to? With the First Deve breathing down your neck?”
Something cold turns over in my gut. It’s true that this marriage is a done deal in the eyes of the Realms and D’heilar. But surely they can’t expect me to tie myself to a snake-tongued killer. Things have changed.
I shove my plate away.
Eldon leans in, lowering his voice. “You know you’ll have to go through with it. You took the title for better or worse,my deve.”
The title.Deve.I loathe it. And I hardlytookit. My father’s actions forced it on me. What he did to Gray – the twins’ oldest brother – pushed me over the edge, and at twenty-two, from behind a haze of rage, I’d challenged my sire for leadership.
The next day, in realm tradition, we met on the training ground and I did what needed to be done; I sank my sword into his heart. No regrets. Only lingering bewilderment as to why it had to be me to do it.Why had Dunthor Djothar’s cruelty been allowed to run amok for so long?He was in power for longer than I’ve been alive. I mean, I understand the power of tradition. My grandfather was deve before my father, but surely someone could have found the courage to stand up to him. Of course, itisa lifetime commitment. The only way to rid oneself of the title is to lose it to a challenger . . . in a fight to the death.
I shoot Eldon a hard look. “You think I don’t know that I’m bound to this title until the end?”
“You make it sound like a fate worse than death, Luka. It’s not. Not even close. Now quit your moaning and tell me what this princess of D’heilar looks like.”
Noé’s face pinches. “She’s actually very puny.”
What an ass. The both of them. I push to my feet, almost knocking the bench over behind me.
“Deve,” Noé says quickly. “I have much to tell you and a letter that must be dealt with.”
“It can wait. I have pyre rights to prepare for.”
Stalking from the room, I ignore the weight of everyone’s stares. Leadership has always chafed. It fits ill against my skin and I’m eternally expecting to be seen for the imposter I am. I never wanted any of this; not the pressure, not the responsibility, and certainly never a Mother-forsaken, murderous bride. I consider storming down to the holding cells and confronting her, letting her feel my wrath. But unfortunately, I spoke the truth when I said I have pyre rights to prepare for. As a Range warrior, Carson is entitled to be lifted to the Eternal with words from my mouth, as well as the priest’s. And those words must honor him.
Because Eldon is right. I need to stop moaning and get on with doing.
I make sure the men in the barracks know their attendance is mandatory, I send out runners to the furthest village farms, and, along with our cantankerous old priest, I inspect the burial pyre being built in the sacred clearing. And in between, I rehearse what I’ll say about a man I spent much of my childhood with. Though we drifted apart during adolescence, he was a solid warrior. His loss will befeltin our community and on the battlefield.
During the ceremony, my tribute is . . . adequate. At least no one raises any objections, and when I lead the chants heralding Carson’s arrival in the Eternal, the whole village joins me. It isn’t until after the pyre is lit and Zola’s sobs rip through the dawn that my simmering rage finally boils over. What an absolute waste of life. That foreign bitch’s title isn’t going to save her. She’s going to pay for what she’s done.
With purposeful strides, I head for the holding cells.
“Deve.” I don’t slow my pace for Bron. There are five brothers in the Cyrun family, four of whom became Range warriors, but Bron is the odd one out. He does enjoy some status as my personal aide though. “May I speak with you?”
“I’m busy.”
“This shouldn’t wait,” he says, his breath pluming in the cold morning air. “It’s about Rina.”
“Who?”
“Your, err, intended?”
My steps stall out and he recoils at my glower. “Unless you want my dagger embedded in your heart, Bron, I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself. I’m in no mood to discussmy intended.”
Worry flickers across his features as I start walking again.I thought her name was Amarinata.
