His fingers tighten around mine and he brings my knuckles to his lips. “Then you shall have me.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.” He seems so resolute it squashes all doubt in me. My heart pounds and my core heats with anticipation, with what this means.
How long has it been since I last knew the touch of a man? Years, I believe, even with the holes in my memory. Judging from the readiness of my body…years.
“But there’s something I should tell you, before we continue to progress things between us,” I continue. “I saw Lucia this morning. She came to continue my anointing.”
“I had hoped her presence might make you a bit more comfortable than a stranger’s.”
“It did, thank you. But she noticed this.” I touch the faint bruise on my shoulder. It’s hardly visible between all the markings.
“I see. Did she say anything about it?” Ilryth’s tone is hard to read.
“She asked how I got it. I told her that it was an accident from swimming. But I don’t think she believed me.” I rub the marking before lowering my hand. “She didn’t press the matter, however.”
“Lucia has good sense, and is more loyal to me than to Ventris—much to his annoyance. She won’t tell anyone of her suspicions.”
I now suspect there was more to Ilryth having Lucia come to me than purely for my own comfort.
“Can she prove those suspicions if she wanted?”
“She wouldn’t. Lucia might have been raised and trained as an acolyte in the Duchy of Faith. But she’s my sister, foremost, not one of Ventris’s zealots,” he continues to insist.
“If she was forced, then?” I refuse to let the matter drop. I need to know how much danger I am allowing him to be in.
“She could extrapolate on her theories…” Ilryth strokes his chin. “But Lucia wouldn’t.”
“Ventris is ready to believe the worst.”
“And his belief would mean little without solid proof.”
Pressing my eyes closed, I try and push my cowardice away. “Are you sure being with me is a risk you want to take?”
“Are you worried for me?” Ilryth pauses, leaning against one of the oversized roots that dwarfs us. The pathway we’ve been strolling along leads under a natural archway, away from the beach we first walked up on. He has a slightly smug grin.
“I am,” I answer honestly. “I’m worried that others will find out about us and it’ll make problems for you that you shouldn’t have to face.”
“Is that all?”
“I’m worried you’re being careless with your heart,” I admit.
He turns it right back on me. “If I can trust you to handle this, can you trust me?”
I have no retort. We both know, don’t, under any circumstances, ever call it love. Because that will be the moment that it all comes tumbling down around us.Let’s just pretend, that’s what I think we’re both saying.Even if we know there’s more to this, lie, say there’s not. This is all going to end soon, and nothing between us will matter when it does…so we can pretend and enjoy ourselves for just a little bit longer.
We emerge from underneath the archway the root creates and onto a swath of beach that’s familiar from Ilryth’s memories. A nest of roots completely encircles the area. If not for the sound of the waves breaking in the distance and small glimpses between the roots, it’d be impossible to know we were right at the sea’s edge. The sand is sugar-white, finer than any I’ve seen in the Natural World. The waters and beaches of the Eversea would put to shame even the finest southern shores.
Directly across from us, at the highest point of the island, is the base of the Lifetree. All the roots part like a lady’s hair down the middle, revealing a doorway barred by woody vines. The beach is spiked with spears bleaching in the sun, basking underneath the boughs above. Axes, of all shapes and sizes, with worn handles and chips in their blades, are lined up against the roots, perfectly spaced.
The air is filled with invisible effervescence. It makes my skin tingle with a thousand unseen bubbles. It is tangible enough that I feel as though I can breathe again—that I am briefly more flesh and blood than magic. Much like the strange waters of the Eversea itself, this land is anything but normal. Even Ilryth seems to walk easier as he steps ahead, leading me by intertwined fingers toward the base of the tree.
“Every spear has been cut from the tree,” he explains. “The Duchy of Faith oversees it. Ventris’s father, Duke Renfal, was the first to do so and none have made finer weapons since him. He made a great many spears from the Lifetree. But five were stronger than the rest, each containing a scrap of wood from Lellia’s door. Each given to a duke.”
“Dawnpoint was one,” I surmise.
Ilryth nods and motions to the spears skewering the beach before us. “These are not nearly as good as those early cuttings, back when Renfal was aggressive in taking from the tree what we needed—though Ventris would vehemently object to my saying so.”
