My heart stutters.
A smile curves her lips as I blink away the haziness of sleep, her nails raking through the hair on my chest.
“You’re covered in goosebumps,” she whispers, smile growing wider. “I told you to put your shirt back on last night.”
I yank her down, and she laughs, the throaty sound vibrating against my skin. “I didn’t need it then. Someone was keeping me warm. This is better.” I maneuver her so she’s splayed across my chest, her warmth heating my cold skin. My wife tucks her head under my chin, a contented sigh caressing my neck.
She shifts against me, palms rubbing the chilled skin of my shoulders and biceps. My hands find her hips, searching for the hem of her thick nightshirt. Mayah groans against my collarbones, then rises up onto her elbow. She presses an apologetic kiss to the tip of my nose.
“No time this morning, my love,” she murmurs. “Don’t pout. I need to look at the new policies Sorka drafted. I told him I’d be there first thing.” A gust of frigid air chills my skin as my wiferises from the bed, the furred blanket sliding off as she squirms free. “Andyouneed to discipline those wielders, remember? The brawl yesterday was out of control.”
“What Ineed,” I growl, “is for my wife to come back to bed.” Mayah laughs, bright and unguarded, affection threading every heart-stuttering sound.
“You’re insatiable,” she chides, snatching my shirt off the thick carpet and tossing it at me.
“I told you as much,” I grumble, bracing against the frigid air as I tug it over my head. “You knew what you agreed to.”
Her smile turns wistful, affection brightening her blue eyes. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
I leave my wife with Sorka in the council chambers. The older man waits patiently, eyes averted, as Mayah kisses me goodbye, promising to find me at lunchtime. He dips his chin toward me in a brief greeting before gesturing for Mayah to sit.
A twinge of guilt plucks at my heart as I head down the hallway. Sorka is a good man.
He has no ideaIwas the one that killed his son. And he never will. This fragile peace, Tundrayn’s reluctant acceptance of the bloody Dark Commander as their skiesdamedking, would crack like too-thin ice.
It’s a burden that Mayah and I share, though it weighs heavier on her. I see it in the shadow that dims her eyes when Sorka runs an affectionate hand over her head and in the near-invisiblequiver in her chin when she holds Daekah, Sorka and Vykiss’s infant daughter with the painfully familiar dark blue eyes.
“What’s on your mind?” Sura’s lilting voice pulls me from my thoughts. “You look guilty.”
She falls into step beside me, our boots thudding softly against the ice floor.
“Nothing.”
Sura shoots me a look that screamsbullshit, but doesn’t press me on it. I’m certain that Mayah has told her the truth of that night in the tunnels, but if Sura’s content to leave the subject unbroached, then so am I.
Sunlight cascades into the hallway as two warriors open the main palace doors for us. “Who am I disciplining again?”
Shetsks. “Getting forgetful in your old age? I told Mayah not to settle for a man a decade older than her.”
“I’m not a dec—”
“A waterwielder and earthwielder,” she cuts me off, her lopsided grin stretching wider. “Had some sort of argument yesterday. It escalated into a full-on brawl. Other warriors got involved. It was messy. This is their third infraction.”
“Do they have problems with anyone else? Or just each other?”
Her lips twist in contemplation. “Just each other.”
Interesting.
I arch a brow at her. “Do you want to discipline the waterwielder?”
“Nope. Nothing I tried the first two times has worked. C’mon, they’re sulking by the training grounds.”
My feet sink into ankle-deep snow as she leads me through the snowground to a small training area wedged between the palace and the warriors’ barracks. Frigid air gusts my face—one more month, and we’ll return to Arbinj’s milder climate.
In the center of the training grounds, a waterwielder and nonwielder practice sparring while the other warriors form acircle around them, cheering and heckling in equal measure. Tumaas oversees them, shouting instructions as the men circle one another, the nonwielder armed with two swords, the waterwielder brandishing a water whip.
He salutes us as we walk past. I dip my chin, while Sura sticks out her tongue.
