“Le’ru vey’loh hai vathai,”Eon’s mate says, and I’m struck by the gravel in the male’s voice as it sweeps across my ears like a churning brook, chilled by the clarity he brings with his words.
The fea language still puzzles me at times, and I’m often confused by the words that can subtly shift in meaning by what was said before or what comes after. But there is no question in my mind as to his meaning right now.
You are what was left by the fea.
“And the Vatruke,” I begin and Tig growls at the word before I even finish my question, “what are they?”
“Deij,” the male says flatly.Evil.
“Shivaria.” I’m startled by the sound of Xeyvian’s voice and spin around to find him behind me. His eyes are glued to the bushes at my back. I don’t have to look to know that the sprites are gone. I begin to wonder if he had seen them when his head tips to the side and he seems to strain his ears, listening to the gentle breeze that rushes down from the northern ranges.
There is a tick in his jaw when his gaze finally flicks up to meet my own. I can see a tide of unasked questions rise and fall behind the deep sea of his eyes and my feet shift beneath me. It’s a defensive stance, one I learned long ago. A position to be taken against a larger opponent that is charging you, if you happen to find yourself unarmed. It is a stance I did not intend totake with the male—one that he visibly notes.
The general looks wounded when he takes a slow step toward me, hands splayed out disarmingly. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t demand answers. He simply runs his hand up the back of my arm and leans in to press his lips against my temple when he asks, “Are you ready to go in,mi’ajna?”
I was too absorbed with the sisters to note the foreboding rainclouds coming from the east. The sky quickly darkens and already the general’s war table is being removed from the grounds. The military company he’d been keeping disperses into the early hours of the evening.
I nod. “I’d like to see Awri.”
It’s a simple request, though I’m not entirely sure why I ask. Now that the general has accepted me so completely, I have little need for the female. If I strive to keep her close, it is likely she will only complicate things further.
I tell myself that it’s best to stay in her good graces, even if I don’t need her anymore. Even if I won’t be here long enough to smooth the ripple in the fabric of whatever we had become to each other. Not that I’m even sure what that is.
The general leads me down the corridors toward Awri’s chamber, a torrent of spring rain obscuring every large window we pass. He raps his knuckles against the heavily grained wooden door, surprising me when he leans against the wall across the hall.
“I’ll wait for you here,” he says.
When she answers the door, taking me in without the smile I’m accustomed to seeing on her face, I find that I might prefer if he didn’t leave me alone with the female.
She offers the general a forced smile from within her room. “Any word on the Vatruke?”
He shakes his head. “No, but we suspect that Arda must be among them.”
She nods her head knowingly, pushing out a deep sigh. She looks tired. Not merely the tiredness that comes from long nights of little sleep. Her eyes hold the bone-weary exhaustion of events beyond her control.
Throughout my life, I have seen the same look on countless La’tarifaces. On villagers who choose to surrender their lives to the king and attempt the long journey back to the keep. Even when they made the choice, some knew they would never live to see their destination.
With a wide sweep of her arm, she offers me entry into her room. The cause of such heavy weariness is laid bare to me the moment I see Kishek asleep in her bed. His eyes are sunken deep, a sickly dark welling beneath the long lashes laying against his cheeks. His breathing is deep and even. The only sign that the male is perhaps better than he appears.
“He will be all right,” Awri assures me, and I shrug off a small bit of tension winding in the fine sinew of my shoulders.
“I thought Caden healed him?” I ask, troubled.
She shakes her head regretfully. “Kishek nearly extended his gift beyond his ability, and Caden cannot heal that. The healers have done what little they can.”
I’ve never asked about their gifts. Never danced around my curiosity in our many conversations. I know next to nothing about their world as it pertains to their power, and I grasp at the tiny thread of knowledge.
I follow as she makes her way deeper into her room. It is decorated much like her cottage. Chairs carved from gnarled roots sit in front of the fire. Rugs woven to mimic the mossy carpet of the forest floor flow between every bit of furniture. A detailed portrait of two extravagantly adorned feyn hangs on the wall between two large windows, a small table of carved creatures below it.
“My parents,” she says, “The day they celebrated their mating bond.”
I nod and smile politely, as if this isn’t the first time in my life I’ve ever heard of a mating bond. I was taught that the feyn took mates but that is the extent of my knowledge on the topic. While my mind continues to sift the lies from the truths of the stories I was raised on, Awri extends her arm, offering me a comfortable seat on a plush, green velvet cushion by a crackling fire.
“You hide it well,” she says as she takes a seat across from me, looking out the window.
“What?” I ask.
“Your curiosity,” she replies.
