For her.
And damn if he wasn’t comforted by the peaceful silence of Xenia’s nightmare-free slumber.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Seated on a sea-worn wooden bench and wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket, Cassandra marveled at the peach sunrise kissing the southern colonies’ turquoise waters. She was only half aware of the flurry of activity around her on Meridon’s concrete dock.
As soon as they’d arrived, Tristan and Hella had sprung into action. They’d summoned the Meridon branch of the Vestians to assist the survivors and search the off-shore wreckage for any unlucky souls who hadn’t escaped.
Tristan had slipped into command mode, delivering orders to the sleep-weary Windriders who’d been torn from their beds, unaccustomed to early morning emergencies.
Cassandra watched him work and wondered how she’d never guessed at his lineage. He wore his authority like an invisible crown. Not a single Vestian on that dock, not even the captain of the Meridon branch, questioned his directives.
A few of them had even expressed sympathy for his exile, intimated that they’d have preferred it ifhehad become Emperor instead of Eamon. Tristan had shrugged them off, humble to a fault.
How much of his influence was due to his size and power and how much was due to his delivery? Gentle and compassionate, yet firm and unyielding.
Her heart swelled at the sight of her friend in his element. Sipping at cool water from a paper cup, she scanned the sun-warmed city.
Thalenn, that cramped metropolis of crooked rooftops, crumbling brick buildings, and twisty, narrow streets, couldn’t have seemed more removed from this seaside paradise.
Meridon’s breezy collection of candy-colored buildings meandered down palm-tree-lined avenues, through slate squares, and around burbling fountains. Steps from the dock in what Cassandra assumed was the city’s main square, a statue of Faurana the Mother, High Goddess of Land and Life, perched atop a multi-tiered fountain, gloriously naked with water droplets misting her decadent curves and outstretched arms. Offering the full bounty of the land and sea to her worshipers.
The city roused slowly, yawning and stretching like a cat luxuriating in a beam of sunshine. Though she hadn’t yet met one, Cassandra suspected the citizens of Meridon were a languid bunch. The relentless productivity that gripped Thalenn’s citizenry would be difficult to sustain in these hot, humid conditions. Meridon was made for long afternoon naps and cold, slushy cocktails. No wonder the Artisan and her lover had decided to make their home here.
A broad shadow crept over Cassandra, and she shielded her gaze with her palm, squinting into a pair of concerned burnt-honey eyes.
She sighed, smiling up into Tristan’s pinched face. “I’mfine. You’re looking at me like I’m some kind of fragile, broken doll.”
He offered her a hand, which she took not because she needed to, but because she wanted to touch him. Hoped his strength and calm would rub off on her.
Her pride would make it hard to admit, but she was still shaken by the incident on the ship. And was surprised Tristan hadn’t yet scolded her for ditching him and rushing after the Fae arsonist.
“I’d feel a lot better if we could find someone to bandage your wounds before we head to see the Artisan.” He pulled her closer.
Her pulse instantly quickened at their proximity. Would the electric energy between them ever run dry? And how much harder would it be to let him go if it didn’t?
He inspected the burn on her forearm, beginning to peel at the edges but still bubbly and blistered in the center. The one on her thigh looked the same and she couldn’t help limping as she stepped away from him.
She made it all of two paces before Tristan swept her into his arms. She yelped in protest, but not too forcefully.
Leaving Hella behind to assist the Meridon Vestians, Tristan carried Cassandra through the slowly waking streets. The smells of cinnamon, citrus, coffee and baking bread sent ravenous hunger clawing through her stomach. Though the simple dinner they’d shared on the ship had been satisfying, the exertions of the fight, not to mention the fire and subsequent rescue efforts, had burned through any lingering fuel in her system.
“We’ll get breakfastafteryou’re patched up,” Tristan stated, in tune with her needs as always. Was it a Fae thing? A special ability bestowed upon him by his royal heritage? Though he didn’t behave this way towards anyone else, and certainly no other humans. She tucked the information away, let it feed the foolish spark of hope she kept burning in her chest despite the obstacles between them.
Tristan turned down a wide avenue just beyond Faurana’s square and they came upon a squat, whitewashed building with weathered wooden doors. The structure occupied an entire block.
Tristan answered her unasked question. “Meridon’s Vestian outpost. They’ll fix you up and give me a new uniform.” He remained barefoot, and in his sleep pants.
She didn’t need to ask about the rest of their belongings—an offering to the High Goddess behind them.
Thirty minutes later, the pair exited the utilitarian building, Tristan in a brand new leather uniform and Cassandra with two gauzy bandages wrapped around her forearm and thigh.
The Vestians had also offered her a pair of black boots in a size typically reserved for the Windrider children who participated in the Guards’ summer training program. Tristan snickered when they’d handed her the tiny boots, and she nearly whacked him with them.
Despite her newly dressed wounds, she couldn’t help a slight limp. She refused to let Tristan carry her, though. She might be wearing a child’s boots, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be toted around like one. He grumbled in protest, but respected her wishes.
She regretted the decision as they journeyed deeper into town. The streets sloped gently upwards the further they traveled from the water’s edge.
