“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Honovi said.
He leaned against the doorframe that separated their bedroom from the living area, the suite of rooms in the four-story clan home having belonged to them since their wedding day. Three generations lived inside the large building, typical of E’ridian families, but few were home at the moment.
“You know I have to,” Blaine said from where he stood before the large bedroom closet, sifting through storage boxes on one of the shelves.
“You always said Ashion had no claim to you. Not anymore.”
Blaine sighed softly but kept on with his search. “It doesn’t.”
“Then why are you choosing to leave?”
“Because the star gods ordered me to.”
His voice was quiet amidst the mess he’d made. Clothes were strewn on the floor, and bits of mechanical parts were scattered around his boots, boxes upended, as if he were searching for something.
Porters had delivered their travel trunks from the airship while they’d been in the meeting all afternoon. Blaine had emptied his onto the bed and was steadily filling it up again. Honovi had to stop himself from tipping everything back out.
“The winter messenger came from the Ashion spymaster herself. They can’t be trusted,” Honovi said.
“The Ashion spymaster is against all that Daijal stands for. The clans’ own spies have said as much. Your father and the othercinn-chinnidhconfirmed that winter messenger did not hail from Daijal, and Mainspring confirmed she represents Ashion.”
“And that makes all the difference, does it?”
Honovi couldn’t help the sharpness of his voice. When Blaine glanced over his shoulder at Honovi, there was a tiredness to his gaze that was new. “It does.”
Honovi frowned, staring at Blaine, the thick blond braid having fallen over one shoulder. Honovi’s gaze traced the line of his jaw, the freckles across his cheeks that were coming up darker now that the sun was out more. Blaine had always drawn Honovi’s eye, always caught his attention, ever since he walked off that airship captained by the Dusk Star. He’d never questioned that pull, though a traitorous thought slipped through his mind as he wondered if Blaine ever had, if he did now.
“They are not your clan.”
Blaine dropped his gaze, turning to face the closet again. “They are not, but they are where I came from. I can’t ignore that.”
“You have for every day you’ve lived here.”
Blaine hunched his shoulders. “I know. But there’s a truth I’ve ignored for too long. I can’t keep ignoring it when it stands in front of me asking for help.”
Because they both remembered the night he’d arrived in E’ridia and the halting hints of his past he’d shared over the years. Not enough for Honovi to ever paint a full picture, but enough to know Blaine would always keep some secrets. And Honovi had let him, because a star god had told them to.
Honovi stayed where he was, watching in silence as Blaine dug through items they’d accumulated together and separately over the years. It was a few minutes later when he found whatever it was he’d been looking for. The tin box he came away with was small and fit in the palm of his hand.
Blaine approached Honovi, opening the box as he did so, tipping out a tarnished ring into the palm of his hand. Blaine held it with care, a distant look in his hazel eyes that Honovi desperately wanted to ease.
“What is that?” Honovi asked.
“The only thing I brought with me to Glencoe.”
He handed the ring to Honovi without a word. Honovi held it between his thumb and forefinger, staring at the flat top of it and the crest skillfully etched into the metal.
“She called you Westergard.”
Blaine hooked a finger through one of Honovi’s belt loops. “The Westergard bloodline was stricken from the nobility genealogies.”
“Was it?”
Honovi couldn’t help the sharpness to his voice, fingers curling around a ring no clan member would ever wear. Their bloodlines were not so rigid as some of the other countries. The clans did not try to kill each other like the Solarians did in pursuit of a throne, nor did they cleave themselves apart as Ashion and Daijal had done. The clans worked together because there was no survival to be found alone.
It was why they had aComhairle nan Cinnidhean, not a king or queen. It was why starfire was not an indicator of singular rulership but dedication to their people was. Honovi had no magic, no starfire running through his veins, but that did not make him any less ajarl.
But he was ajarl, not aceann-cinnidh, and he could not order Blaine to stay, despite how very badly he wanted to. And he knew, with a certainty that made his bones ache, that their vows would not be enough to keep Blaine in E’ridia.
