“Incredible,” I mutter, fighting back a surprising prickle of tears. The tree looks like it was placed by the gods themselves, its branches reaching for the sky, its roots spread out across the land. From here, it’s hardly more than a hazy blue shape in the distance—the most beautiful shape I’ve ever seen.
“That’s what we’re fighting for,” Xandril says.
I thought I got it before. I thought I understood that he cares about the reach like I care about my brother, but this is…
More. This is so much bigger. This is…
Home.
That single word is enough to make me forget everything else, guilt clawing at the back of my throat.
How could I think something like that? My home is with my brother. With my own kind. How can I turn my back on them?
Hot tears stinging in my eyes, I scramble back over the boulder, ignoring Xandril calling after me. It takes everything in me to not break into a run back to the carriage, but that would only make people curious. Projecting calm will keep them from talking, at least.
I maintain that false calm until I get to the carriage, and then, door shut and isolated again, there’s no holding it back. I’ve tried so hard to do what seems right at every step. I never wanted to let anyone down. I thought if I was clever enough, I could help everyone.
What a fool I’ve been. I can’t devote myself to Emerald Reach without betraying Phillip. But I can’t save Phillip without abandoning the reach and everyone I’ve come to know. How can I be the queen Xandril needs without failing as a sister?
No matter how many times I turn it over in my mind, there seems to be no answer. No end to the tears and heartbreak, either. I know what must be done. I know when spring comes, I’ll have to turn my back on these demons and their world.
I just hope we can stop the rot before then.
When we arrive at the estate of Lord and Lady Harravel, it’s well past suppertime and much of the food has gone cold. The itinerary called for a trip around Harvestmarch, visiting the local temple and speaking with the trades guild. With our late arrival, we’ll have time for little more than dining, bathing, and sleeping.
Which suits me just fine, if I’m honest. I’m not feeling very social. Or royal.
“Your Highness,” Lady Harrevel says, dropping into a sign of respect as she greets Xandril. “Harvestmarch welcomes you and your Bride-Ascendent. In such times, we are relieved to see you both.”
“You honor us with your welcome,” Xandril says in a flat tone I’ve never heard from him. “We regret our tardiness.”
“Roads have been more unpredictable lately,” Lord Harrevel tuts, eyeing Xandril like he’s the one who personally threw wateron the roads to make them mud. “Makes trade difficult. Routes always changing. Roads closing. Merchants prefer certainty.”
“Tareth, let them change into dry things and fill their bellies before airing your grievances,” Lady Harrevel says with an affectionate look to her husband.
Lord Harrevel’s list of grievances, it turns out, is quite extensive. To his credit, despite the long day of travel and the fraught tension between us, Xandril gives the lord his undivided attention. He takes care to be sure he understands the problems of the region and is generous with his support, promising councils and reviews to address each issue. He’s doing the exact thing I asked of him, and fighting for the reach with everything he has.
What right do I have to be the one who gives up now?
I’ve hardly said a word throughout the dinner, letting my gracious hosts assume I’m weary from travel—though for all I know, they might consider consorting with a human beneath them—and it’s not until the meal is finished and we’re being led away from the dining hall that I realize I’ve overlooked a very important detail about this trip. Mainly, the sleeping arrangements.
In the castle, it makes no difference that we sleep in separate chambers, but will that raise questions on the road?
Would it be so terrible to share a bed with Xandril? He’s no longer a stranger, both his body and heart more familiar to me after our time together. For the sake of the reach and the Unveiling I think I might be willing to alter our typical arrangement.
“Your chamber, Your Highness,” the housekeeper says, opening the door for Xandril. “And adjoining chambers for yourBride-Ascendent, as requested,” he adds, opening another door inside the room. “A bath has been drawn for you here,” he finishes with a gesture through a third and final door.
“Your hospitality is most appreciated,” Xandril says, still with that flat tone that’s so unlike him. Where’s the low rumble that sends goosebumps down my spine? The rough growl that makes me feel like I’m the one with a fire burning inside me?
It’s not right.
He’s gone into the bathing chamber before the housekeeper leaves, clearly sending the signal he doesn’t want to talk to me. And after my strange behavior earlier, I can’t say I blame him. But we’re betrothed, and we both want to save this land. We don’t have the luxury of avoiding one another.
Venturing into my chamber long enough to rummage through my bags, I find what I’m looking for and head back to sit in front of his fireplace, my latest knitting project in my lap. There’s one thing about me that my husband-to-be seems to keep forgetting: I’m just as stubborn as he is.
I can wait.
In the morning, Xandril’s gone before dawn, slipped out while I slept in front of the dying embers. He never woke me last night, and the stiff pain in my neck makes me regret being so determined to wait him out.
