“Later, after I’ve had time to consider.” He stood. “You may stay within the walls of my castle. I will provide protection and my table, but that is all that I can promise.”
I shot a sidelong glance at Thyra, saw the question of the rebels’ safety climbing her throat. I shook my head. Now was not the time for that question. Only after we called House Balik a banner house could we seek sanctuary for the rebels.
I just hoped I was reading the signs right, and we truly had a chance to sway him to our side.
Chapter 10
VALE
Horn of ale in hand, I leaned back in the armchair and rolled my neck to the side to gaze out the window.
A thousand faelights illuminated the streets of Myrr, and though there was no sea nearby, the Jewel of the Southlands reminded me of Avaldenn. Always bustling, always alive.
Many hours had passed since we’d spoken to the Warden of the South. Hours in which Lord Balik’s household had shown us to our rooms and fed us. Hours of peace, familiarity, and a sense of safety. For the first time since leaving Riis Tower, those I loved were truly protected, and I could relax. A little, at least.
My mate, Thyra, Lord Riis, and the Fellhelm siblings were in a meeting with Lord Balik, so I would not be completely relaxed until I saw them again. Heard what Tadgh Balik had to say.
What was more, a part of me wrestled with the idea that claiming my parentage today had been the right thing. Once word spread, and it would spread, my mother would be in danger.
But Isolde and I had discussed that at length with Saga. My sister insisted that Mother had known she’d be in danger soon enough—that maybe she’d even anticipated this. And Lord Riishad not appeared surprised or angry at my proclamation, so I had to believe I’d done the right thing. That the truth had finally come out for the better and my words might destabilize my father and Rhistel.
“I have to ask, Vale. Is it odd to call Neve by her birth name?” Sian drawled lazily. He was on his third horn of ale, while I remained on my first. Sipping. Waiting.
“No.” The fire in the hearth crackled and popped, and the scent of burning wood seemed to intensify. “She spoke the name out loud today, but I’ve been seeing her as Isolde, as a Falk princess, for some time now.”
I’d known that my wife would come out to the world as Isolde, just as I’d come out as Vale Riis.
“I’ve been practicing in my head,” Luccan admitted. “For when the day came.”
A grin split my face, as others shared a laugh, happy and easy. Of our traveling party, only Bac, Aleksander, Anna, and Clemencia had retired for the night. The vampire assassins had split, two guarding the Hallows that had been stored in sleeping chambers, and the third waiting outside the door where the princesses and the Warden of the South met.
Saga, Marit, and the Balik sisters lounged in front of the fire, gossiping. Though separated for little more than three weeks, they talked as if they had a lifetime to catch up on.
“You don’t want to go around calling a queen the wrong name.” Luccan crossed his arms over his barrel chest, not finding the matter of his practice as funny as the rest of us.
“Queenis assuming Isolde takes the throne. Andthat’sassuming we win.” Caelo said.
“It’s strange that the sisters haven’t settled on who will sit the throne yet, no?” Sian asked.
“They only found one another a couple of weeks ago and had a lot to work through,” Thantrel spoke up. His wings remainedlightly bound with gauze, though to hear Rynni tell it before we left Valrun, Than’s wings should heal very well. If not perfectly.
I sipped an ale tasting faintly of mountain berries. I wondered what Thantrel thought about Thyra taking the Crown of Winter. Or what he thought about his mate in general. She still had not claimed him.
“Ha!” Caelo shouted, startling me and a few others. His finger thrust toward Qildor. “I caught you staring at her again. Time to fess up. What’s going on with you and Marit?”
“You two were holding hands in the grand hall,” Duran pressed. “Are you together now?”
Qildor shared a long history with House Armenil—the direwolves of the far north. Before Qildor journeyed to the capitol and took his Clawsguard vows, he lived in Morial and was best friends with Connan Armenil, heir to the House of the Direwolf.
Or perhaps their lord now.I swallowed. We’d recently learned that Lord Sten Armenil died in service to King Magnus, which meant that Connan had likely already been elevated to his new title.
“She’s married but not to me.” Qildor stole another glance at the lady with the long red hair. She caught him this time and smiled back in a way that had me smirking.
“Doubt she cares much, friend.” Caelo let out a low whistle. “From Marit, that sort of smile is as good as an invitation to climb into her bed.”
Thantrel sniggered. “He’s not wrong.”
“You two would know best,” Qildor teased.
