She knew whose blood ran in her veins. She had seen, firsthand, the madness that had befallen Verdan Coruscate when he lost what he had loved so dearly, so deeply.
Dilys claimed that Sirens could not survive without their mates—but what if he was wrong? She wasn’t just a Siren, if indeed that was one of her gifts. She was a weathermage of Mystral, a descendent of Helos the Sun God. What if the rules and limitations that had governed the Sirens of old did not apply to her?
What if she gave herself to him, let herself love him, only to discover that their bond didnotdestroy her upon his death?
Summer knew her father’s madness was but a dim shadow of what would come if ever grief roused the monster that lived in her soul.
She tried to free herself from the arcane magic of Dilys Merimydion’s voice. It was impossible with him so close, looking so seductively solemn and strong. The best she could manage was a weak, flimsy challenge.
“And you think a Calbernan’s desire for a wife justifies taking a child from his mother’s arms at so young an age?”
“Not the desire, no. But the bond? Yes. That is worth everything.” His words rang with unwavering certainty. “Our women—our wives—are the heart of Calberna. Without them, Calbernan males could not function. We would die. Just as you would die without the heart that beats in your chest.”
He reached out slowly, laid three fingers lightly on the thin fabric that covered her left breast. Her breath caught in her throat. She stared at him in shocked silence. She made no attempt to move or to remove his hand. There was nothing sexual or teasing about his touch this time. It stunned her all the same.
“But for all its strength, the heart is a vulnerable thing,” he continued. “It needs must be surrounded by a cage of bone to protect it. At all cost, at all times, the heart must be protected.” His hand turned over. Now it was the back of his fingers that caressed her skin just above the neckline of her gown, the touch featherlight, impossibly gentle. “Calberna’s sons are those bones. We are the spear, the sword, the unbreakable shield that protects Calberna’s vulnerable heart. It’s why we are born. It’s what we live for.”
Her body started trembling. Did he sense the battle waging inside herself? Did he have any clue how close she was to throwing herself into his arms and begging him to be her unbreakable shield?
“I still couldn’t bear to surrender my child to someone else’s keeping,” she told him. Her voice came out a rasping whisper. “I would never let anyone take my baby away from me.” The fire locked deep down inside her flared at the mere thought of it.
At last she found the strength to lean back and put a little much-needed distance between them.
He frowned down at his hand, still outstretched in the now empty, his loosely curled fingers moving ever so slightly, as if still caressing her skin. His hand closed in a fist, which he drew back to his side.
Then, as quickly as it had come, his odd solemnity disappeared, replaced once more with the charming, easy smile she’d come to expect from him. And she could breathe again. Think again. She pressed a shaking hand to her lips.
“My mother felt much the same as you.” He took a small forkful of the second fish, this one a flounder stuffed with sautéed mushrooms, green onions, and herbed breadcrumbs. “But I was betrothed at a young age to animlanidaughter of royal blood. It was imperative that my training begin as early as possible. Still, my mother had her way.” His smile grew affectionate, the love in his eyes clear to see. “Most sons are trained at the academy in Cali Va’Lua. My mother would not permit it. She allowed me to move to the training villa on the family estate, but forced the instructors to come to me. It was her way of keeping me close, long past the time when other boys would leave their family.”
Summer barely heard anything beyond the word “betrothed.” Her breathless yearning evaporated. A violent flare of something that felt suspiciously like possessiveness welled up in its place.
“You were betrothed?” There’d been no mention of a betrothal in the reports she’d read about him.
“Tey,when I was four. It was a long-standing betrothal contract, forged decades before I was even born.”
There was a story there. Not a good one, judging by his fading smile. The savagery in her soul calmed slightly. Rationality resurfaced. He would not be here, courting her now, if he had a wife waiting for him back in Calberna. Unlike the Vermese, Calbernans did not practice polygamy. And considering the way Calbernans felt about the inviolability of their contracts, a betrothal between two of the queendom’s greatest Houses would not have been broken by choice. “What happened?”
“She died in the same accident that killed our crown princess, Sianna. Our queen followed her daughter in death a few days later. That was how my mother came to beMyerial.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” He traced a finger across the snowy white linen tablecloth. “But the wound is not as painful as it once was. Nyamialine and I were only children when she was taken from me, and our bond wasn’t fully formed.”
Nyamialine. His childhood betrothed’s name was Nyamialine.
He gave the long ropes of his hair a quick shake that sent them dancing across his back, and blasted her with a soft, warm smile that stole her breath. He leaned over in his chair, reaching down to pluck a single, creamy flower from a nearby bed, and offered it to her. “Enough sad talk. Let us speak of happier things as we enjoy the rest of our meal.”
“All right.” She took the flower and lifted the blossom to her nose, inhaling the lovely fragrance. The sadness, the awkwardness, the inexplicable flare of jealousy, all faded in the face of his encouraging smile and the warm glow in his golden eyes.
“Excellent. You can tell me about your work at Queen Khamsin’s school. I have seen how the students adore you.”
They stuck to safer, less emotion-laden topics for the rest of their meal. To her surprise, Summer found Dilys a genuinely entertaining companion: smart, witty, observant, full of both amusing and poignant anecdotes from his many travels. He was also a skillful interrogator. He coaxed more information out of her about herself than she would ever have intentionally offered up.
When the meal was done and Ingarra’s splendid dessert—a small, iced cake covered with exquisitely rendered sugar flowers—was naught but crumbs, Dilys escorted Summer back to her rooms and bid her good night.
He did not try to kiss her. Not on the lips, not even on the hand. He merely stood before her, so tall and strong, and offered her one last gift: a single, perfect rose. Only the rose he gave her this time wasn’t one of the local cold-hardy blooms that grew in Wintercraig. It was one of her mother’s most fragile and most exquisite hybrid blooms. A rose created and cultivated exclusively in the carefully-tended greenhouses of Vera Sola in Summerlea. A tender pink bloom with edges of soft rose and a surprising golden center, named Queen Rosalind’s Radiant Beauty.
Tears rose to her eyes as she accepted the flower. Even had she still been in the mood to return every one of his courtship gifts, she wouldn’t have returned this rose. It was like holding a little piece of home—a treasured memory of her mother—in her hands.
