"Battle leaves its marks on all of us."
"Indeed." She traces one finger along my forearm where an old blade wound shows pale against my skin. "I find myself curious about the stories behind them. We'll have plenty of time to share tales once we're properly bonded."
My eyes drift past her shoulder to where the human woman stands motionless among the Vaskyr retinue. She's studying her hands like they hold the secrets of the universe, shoulders rigid with tension.
"Your reputation precedes you as well." I force my attention back to Rytha. "Vaskyr has prospered under your guidance."
"Flattery?" She laughs, a sound like silver bells that somehow manages to feel calculated. "How refreshing. Most warriors lack the wit for proper courtship."
Behind her, the human shifts slightly—a barely perceptible movement that draws my gaze like iron to lodestone. The morning light catches the curve of her neck where it emerges from her simple brown dress. The same neck I glimpsedin lamplight while she worked over my wounds with steady concentration.
"I prefer honesty to empty words."
"Better and better." Rytha steps closer, close enough that her ceremonial perfume mingles with the woodsmoke. "Honesty will serve us well in marriage. I despise games and half-truths."
"Your father speaks highly of your strategic mind," I manage.
"Strategy wins wars. Passion wins everything else." Her fingers find the leather ties of my ceremonial vest, toying with them. "I suspect you understand both."
The human woman's head tilts slightly, like she's listening to something only she can hear. For one heart-stopping moment, I think she might look up again. Instead, she takes a half-step backward, melting further into the shadows cast by the Vaskyr banners.
"The alliance benefits both our peoples."
"How wonderfully diplomatic." Rytha's smile doesn't reach her eyes.
And I suspect that once she finds out I'm not nearly as excited about this union as she is, this will be more frequent than not.
5
THALIA
The elders beam like they've orchestrated something profound rather than a political transaction dressed in ceremonial robes. They gesture expansively toward the feast preparations sprawling across the valley floor.
"Walk among your people," the Thorran chieftain declares. "Let them see their future leaders together."
Rytha's fingers curl possessively around Galthan's arm. "What a delightful suggestion. Come, my warrior. Show me how Thorran celebrates."
I fall into step three paces behind them, close enough to respond if summoned, far enough to pretend I don't exist. The familiar position of a shadow—seen only when needed, ignored otherwise.
"The alliance will reshape the entire region." Rytha's voice carries the confidence of someone who's never doubted her own importance. "Together, our territories could stretch from the mountain passes to the southern rivers."
"Ambitious."
"Practical. Small tribes scatter like leaves in winter. United clans endure." She tosses her elaborately braided hair over oneshoulder, the bone ornaments clicking together. "I assume you agree?"
"Unity has its merits."
They pause beside a cooking pit where Thorran women turn spitted meat over glowing coals. The scent of roasted venison mingles with woodsmoke and the sharper tang of fermented ale. Rytha examines the preparations with the calculating gaze of someone evaluating assets.
"Your people know their craft. Though I suspect Vaskyr cooks could teach them a few refinements."
"Perhaps."
His responses grow shorter with each exchange. I study the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his eyes drift toward the treeline rather than focusing on his betrothed. The same restless energy I glimpsed last night when he collapsed in my tent—like a caged animal testing the bars.
"The feast tonight will be magnificent." Rytha spins in a graceful circle, arms outstretched. "Our first celebration as intended mates. I've planned every detail."
"Have you."
