“Would I be correct to assume you’ve been asked to follow me?” I ask, the cold making each word more clipped.
The guards exchange a look, then the middle one nods.
“Is there any chance of you telling me who made the request?”
This time there’s no look. They all three shake their heads in unison.
Right. So whoever it was—I have three main suspects—is more frightening to deal with than whatever temper they think I might display.
That doesn’t exactly narrow it down.
“Right, well, if you’re going to be clinging to my shadow, the least you could do is point me in the direction I want to go. Would any of you know where I might find the king?”
If he was the one who sent the guards after me, he might still be nearby.
Two of the guards say nothing, not even giving indication that they heard my question, but the one on the end takes a half-step forward. “I can lead you to him,” they say, earning the disapproval of their comrades.
I’ve no doubt opinions about my presence here are split—the same happened when Lord Amond took his second wife, and she only had the misfortune of being from a distant country, not another world entirely—but finding what allies I can will be important if I want to accomplish anything while I’m here.
Instead of taking me in the direction I was headed, the guard leads me to a staircase made of twisted, winding branches, up to a watchtower of the same design. The other pair of guards brings up the rear of our little procession, their heavy breaths fogging around us. Right now, all the branches around us arebare, dormant for winter, but I have to think the leafy canopy that grows through spring and summer is magnificent.
The whole place is, truly. From the vantage of the watchtower I’m able to see more of the enormous tree that makes up the castle, the many twisting trunks and limbs that have grown into grand ballrooms and balconies, and even still there’s more beyond my view, stretching toward the silver sky. Roots as big around as most houses form the ground I’ve walked on a number of times without realizing what it all was. They form walls and gates before trailing down into bridges and roads in the village below. Frozen fog hangs around the castle walls, so the bridges and roads are more shadows than anything, but seeing how it’s all connected like this, how everything here relies on this tree’s sustaining power, I suddenly understand why the residents are so eager for winter to end.
The cold and gray is difficult enough when it’s only the warmth and sunshine you’re missing, but when the whole of your world pauses for it? It’s no wonder Xandril has had a frosty reception. There’s little room for hope between shivers and thawing one’s fingers.
“This way. Careful, watch your step,” my guard says, leading me across a narrow walkway to the next watchtower, steadying me with their hand when I lose my footing on a patch of ice. Getting to the third watchtower is much the same, and then my guards cluster around me again, each looking off in a different direction.
Confusion hardly has a chance to unfurl before the clash of steel on stone from below pulls my attention.
Xandril. He’s all I notice at first, sparring on the training ground, moving with an efficiency that I wouldn’t expect from someone of his size. The dark gray of his color-shifting skinglows violet where his internal heat surfaces, the bright yellow-orange of fire just below. He plants his feet, ice sizzling around him, and I can’t tear my eyes away. There’s a familiarity in the way he moves, so similar to how he maneuvered me around the dancefloor my first night here.
I’ve done my best not to think about that again. The way his strong hands supported me, keeping my feet hovering just above the floor while the warmth of his otherworldly heat spread along my spine before settling low in my belly. There’s far too much distance between us for me to be able to feel his heat now, but the flush making me lower my hood tells another tale.
I’ve been so focused on my betrothed that it’s not until there’s a dagger at his back that I realize Valenar is his fighting counterpart. His feline eyes focus in on me, his tail twitching before he flings the dagger away, backing up as if to surrender.
Then, they’re both a blur, and the ice cracks when they impact together, Xandril pinning Valenar down, his whole body glowing like his internal flames have been stoked. There’s a tense moment between them when I’m sure Xandril is going to smash the other demon’s skull, but then they’re both standing, Valenar laughing.
And then they’re looking up at me.
Suddenly sheepish, I offer a small wave, attempting to look pleasant. I know our interaction this morning was…awkward, but it seems to have been an honest misunderstanding. At least I thought it was, until Xandril looks right through me, turning back to the training grounds.
Whatever warmth I felt a moment ago is gone now, and I pull up my hood before the cold air can make my eyes sting any more.
I’d let the events of this morning convince me there might be some measure of affection that could grow between Xandril and me, even if it’s only the sort that happens when you work for a common goal. That hollow look through me has me questioning all of that. Will we be adversaries instead of allies?
He isn’t the only one who gets to make that decision, and I would like the chance to at least speak to him about…everything before we resolve to despise one another. Now that I’ve got him in my sight, I only have to wait for him to be free.
Which, it seems, is a conclusion he’s also reached.
Xandril joins one practice bout after another, sure footwork slowly giving way to exhausted mistakes, experienced blocks crumpling under pressure—he’s not fooling anyone, even the line of guards willing to take him on is shrinking as they begin to realize he’s pushing himself beyond his limits.
To avoid me?
I don’t know if that’s the reason, but if so, it’s a useless pursuit; I have the stubborn persistence of a girl who fought desperately to keep a bottle hidden from her parents and a woman whose brother should have already been jailed a dozen times over if not for her intervention.
I can wait.
I only start to waver a bit when I hear my guards chattering around me. I’m sure they have some sort of padding under their uniforms, but without hoods, scarves, gloves, or anything else to protect their heads and extremities, there’s nothing to stop the winter wind from sapping away their heat.
