But he didn’t. He just stared at her with those dark eyes.
She had thought they were building something together. She didn’t know what exactly, but something. Something promising. But all he’d wanted was a quick screw with someone he thought was leaving.
Bard. This was exactly the problem with needing someone. With starting to think you could rely on them. When you discovered the truth—that you were on your own—the pain was devastating.
She turned away from him, not prepared to stand there in the silence as he stared at her for even one more second, and started walking back down the path toward the Temple at Eshcol. Leaving him behind.
She didn’t know what she would find. Whether the king’s soldiers still roamed the woods or perhaps the famous Nephilim Clibanarii warriors. And she didn’t care. Alanna needed her, and she couldn’t bear to stay with Tor.
Keely scrubbed her hands across her burning eyes and forced her chin up. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t cry. She. Would. Not. Cry.
She kept the tears in all the way through the dark, cold woods until they were found in the early hours before dawn by a group of kindly Nephilim soldiers who brought them back to the temple.
She kept the tears in during Val’s battle with Ballanor and the king’s death. Even when Val fell to his knees in front of Alanna and asked her to marry him, Keely held on to the joy she felt for her friend, clung to the proof that there was right in the world, that there was love, even if it wasn’t for her.
Keely did her best to carry on as usual. To ignore the way Tor now skirted around her and never spoke to her. To pretend she couldn’t see the grief in his face when he looked at her. The dark rings under his eyes that suggested he was sleeping as little as she was. The way he continued to care for her. Apple pies that suddenly appeared on the menu. Ramiel arriving to offer the use of their shooting range if she wanted to borrow a crossbow. A new shirt and breeches that the Nephilim acolyte swore had been requested for her specifically. And she still didn’t cry.
On the day Tor and Mathos rode away to look for Princess Lucilla, she waited for him all day. Waited for him to come to her and say something. Anything. She waited for him right up until Haniel told her that Tor and Mathos had taken their leave after lunch and were already miles away.
That was the first day she cried. Helpless, aching sobs that burned her throat and rattled through her chest until her face was swollen and her nose red and raw. That was the first day she chose to skip the meal she didn’t really want anyway and stay in her room alone.
Nim came to see her, telling her more about how badly Tor’s family had hurt him. Alanna dragged her outside, promising to help her hide the body when she finally decided to kill him. But she didn’t want to kill him. It had been abundantly clear he was suffering as much as she was.
She spent the long weeks alone. As much as she loved Alanna and was coming to care for Nim, two happy couples were more than she could bear.
And she didn’t feel like herself. That first catastrophic flood of tears had opened the gates, and now she wanted to cry all the time. Worry for Tor left her feeling constantly unsettled. Her lack of appetite and the lonely meals she snatched by herself meant she was increasingly queasy, and the sleepless nights were leaving her more and more exhausted.
Then Tor came back. He and Mathos had found Lucilla but they’d been ambushed by Dornar.
He was exhausted, hungry, and dirty from his flight across the kingdom, but alive at least. Within hours of his return, they were leaving for Glevum where they would meet theStar of the Seaand sail down the River Habren to look for Mathos and the new queen.
Within seconds of stepping onto the gleaming, orderly deck, she knew that the past weeks hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface of suffering.
The ship rolled and heaved, assaulting her with motion, with the flickering of sunlight on the water, the pungent aroma of soldiers and weapons, salted meat, and freshly caught fish. Her simmering nausea churned up in an uncontrollable, acidic wave, and she only just made it to the rail before she vomited up everything she’d eaten that day. And then she kept vomiting until there was nothing left but bile.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, dropped her forehead to the rail, and let the bitter, lonely tears flow down her cheeks, dripping onto the polished wood and into the dark waters below.
Chapter Eight
Tor took a step back,and another, not sure where he could stand that would allow him to avoid the celebration happening in Queen Lucilla’s reception room without being rude.
A mere three weeks had passed since theStarhad sailed down the Habren River and rescued Mathos and Lucilla, and now the queen was safely on the throne—crowned the day before in a glittering ceremony—with Mathos beside her.
Almost the first thing Lucilla had done on taking back her palace was to reinstate the Hawks and give them all promotions. The entire Royal Council, Tor’s parents included, had been disbanded and sent away, and Lucilla was creating a new council to govern the kingdom. Mathos was a baron—a fucking baron—and consort to the queen, while Alanna and Val were married and about to travel north to finally ratify the treaty that would end the war.
The palace itself felt different, this room especially. The dark paintings and heavy drapes were gone, replaced with cream and cobalt-blue in a room designed to be comforting and warm. It was bright, even, despite the rain lashing at the windows, the wind rattling across the walls, and the darkness of encroaching winter.
But that warm comfort didn’t reach Tor. He would have been more comfortable outside, where the cold and dark were the perfect accompaniment to the black frost that gripped his soul. The frost that surrounded everything he did, infected everything he said, and showed no sign of thawing. His duty to the Hawks was the only thing keeping him moving, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh or smile. Not even for them.
A massive fire gave off a gentle golden light, and the myriad of lamps and candles flickered warmly on the Hawks as they bantered with each other, drinking red wine from silver goblets and helping themselves to food from the huge trays left for them on the polished central table. Meat pies, rich with spice and buttery pastry. A whole salmon roasted in honey. Autumn berries drenched in cream. Gods. It was almost impossible to believe.
A few short weeks ago, they’d been mercenaries, living in exile, with no homes, no future, and very little hope. And now, here they were. Back in Kaerlud. In the palace with the new queen.
It was like a dream. Surreal and strange and hard to get a grip on. Or it would have been if it weren’t for Keely. Keely, who would soon be traveling north with Val and Alanna. Keely, who haunted him like a living, breathing nightmare entirely of his own making.
They hadn’t had a single real conversation since the disaster in the woods. She was icily polite, but nothing more. And he couldn’t blame her. Honestly, he hadn’t given her the chance to say anything more. Not since she’d turned around and walked away from him, facing the dark woods and Ballanor’s soldiers rather than spend one more moment with him.
She had been so warm and soft and perfect in his arms as he sank against the tree. His breeches still unbuttoned, her shirt open, her bare legs resting on his. All he’d wanted was to hold her on his lap. To feel her breathing. See her pulse fluttering in her neck.
