My concern grows deeper, and I look to Wren. His look is stony but concerned.
“Hey,” I whisper to Chiron, “it’s okay. Speak to us.” He looks at me through his long lashes. He is anguished, and I fear whatever it is he will say now, but I resolve not to show it. He takes one final deep breath in and begins again.
“I cannot make this oath while I keep things from you both. So I need to tell you something now, something I’ve kept with me a long time. It’s not really my secret; it’s my parents. But it weighs me all the same, so I suppose it is mine? The lost Queen, Adira? She didn’t die. I don’t know why or even exactly when, but she left. She chose to leave the Trinity. My parents let her leave.”
We stand in silence for a time. I feel frozen through from the ice around me and from Chiron’s ashamed confession. Someone who was a sister in Naedra gave up her call? That this is possible creates far more questions than answers in my mind. Only one thing is certain to me. This is not Chiron’s shame to bear, nor is it mine.
Wren speaks now, his question echoes into the air and settles deeply into my body, cold as it is. “Why…why did the Land not withdraw its bounty from us then?”
There is no answer; none of us could say. If anyone knows the foundations of our land, it is Wren. “I will consult the libraries and my brothers when we arrive in Ilyora.” He says quietly. I nod my affirmation. This is a wise choice. Chiron is quietly devastated; it is written in every line of him. I wrap my arm around his, giving him a gentle squeeze that I hope is reassuring.We are here. We are here with you.
I keep his arm the whole way back through the tunnels. He walks behind me, and I keep his pace for him. Wren leads us forward, whispering a few quiet directives. When we pass back under the falls with our bags and cloaks under our arms, the temperament of the land is starkly different. The wind is all but gone. The rain must have ceased some time ago, because the waters of the lake are once again serene and gently rippling.
Chiron regains enough composure to help us all back into our small craft. I sit in the middle this time, Wren in my place to row. I reach back out to Chiron, though, and keep a hand on him the entire quiet glide back to the other shore. I am grateful that the carriage remained for us when we finally approach it. And we ride in silence back to the inn on the cool, dark night. The city remains slumbering, unaware that the storm has finally passed from us. We sit close together, Wren, me, and then Chiron. His quiet ache is devastating in ways I could have never expected. The way he reacted that first night to the name. It never occurred to me that it was anything other than grief for a lost family member. But I see it all now so clearly.
His fear of not understanding how to be a Trinity, his moments of morose contemplation, all of it. The burden he has carried his entire life is raw and exposed to us now.
We walk back up the flights of stairs to our rooms. A guard unlocks the door and bids us to enter. The heat of the space is a welcome respite from the night we endured. Wren takes the washroom first, changing into a fresh, dry tunic and breeches, then taking to his nightly chair. I imagine he is chronicling our experience at the lake, the recorder of all we have endured and will tomorrow.
I choose my garment carefully now, a dressing gown that is simple and slightly sheer, a tie cinching it at the waist. I remove my pin and unbind the length of my hair. It is surprisingly dry where it was bound, but the wetness of the stormy air has left it kinked and waved. I do not brush it; it doesn’t matter.
When I enter our room, it is quiet, and the room is lit only by the coals that burn in our fireplace. Chiron sits on the bed, facing the door and away from us both. When I move to stand in front of him, his head is in his hands. His elbows rest on his spread knees, and he does not look up at me. My concern for him is great, but my resolve is clearer than it has ever been. I kneel between the space of his legs. I wait. I wait for him to come back to this place, because I can feel how far away he is right now. I reach out my hand, slowly. I press it to his chest. I can feel the steady thump of his heart there.
For a long time, we stay this way, grounding myself in the space of Chiron’s heartbeats. When he breathes himself back to me, he meets my gaze, weary but present. I weigh the cost of my words carefully before I speak them, but they bid themselves be said, “Chiron, this burden is not yours. But it can be ours, if you let it.”
His eyes on me feel heavy. He whispers into the space between us, “I will share everything with you. I meant it, my vow. You have me. You both do.”
This beautiful, complicated person…I have grown so fond of these men in such a short time. I wonder if this should rattle me, his confessions. But they do not. I am steady. I am clear.
“You have me. You have all of me.”
Chiron’s lips meet mine as soon as the words have left them. The kiss is not claiming so much as it is accepting. Accepting that this was always waiting for us, should we seek to take it.
So I seek, I am taken.
His tongue seeks entrance to my mouth, and I open it freely for his exploration. My hands roam free of my direction, to Chiron’s broad shoulders, and back down his chest. He is a blend of hard muscle and warm, supple skin. The urgency of his kisses steadily builds. I move my fingers deftly over the clasps at the neck of his tunic, and he breaks the kiss only to reach back and pull it over his head. Soft dark curls are formed at the center of his chest, coarse and strong but silken under my fingertips.
He grazes kisses down my jaw, and I lean my head back to allow him access. His teeth scrape their way fervently up my neck where my ear connects, and it sends fire through to my core. His hands seek me out, from my shoulders to my waist. To the belt loosely tied there. His hands still momentarily, a question forms between us. So I move mine to the tie and pull the loose ties apart with ease. The panels fall to the side, but I do not feel exposed to the air; I feel seen. Held here in place with want. With need.
Chiron deftly slides the robe down my shoulders, and I let it fall to the floor around me. His hands find my own, and he lifts them, so I stand. When I do, my eyes lock with Wren’s. He is overcome. My heat, my body—they are for him too, if he will have me. So I nod to Wren, and I fix my eyes back on Chiron.
Chiron’s gaze roams my body with avid interest. My shoulders remain defined with quiet strength, my breasts full and heavy under his appraisal. His hand trails up my arm and slides to cup my breast, his thumb gently swiping across the nipple there. The sensation of his hot and callused fingers is divine. I close my eyes to his touch. He does this again, on the other side, watching, and then tasting the peaks there for himself. The wet kisses and licks he leaves on each send waves of sensation through me. I am ice melting beneath a warm body.
I feel Wren as he moves to stand behind me. A weight I didn’t even know I carried lifts when he presses himself against my back. He trails light kisses across my neck, curious and open. I hear the rustle of cloth, but I feel what has occurred when Chiron steps into me. His hot skin on mine is almost otherworldly, like stepping into flames but not being burned.
Chiron turns us to the bed, and I follow. Wren tentatively removes his own tunic, folding it over the table nearby, and joins us there, remaining behind me, close. He trails his kisses around my shoulders, moving my hair away gently and to the side. We all lie on our sides now. And Chiron positions himself in front of me and fills my mouth with his tongue once again.
The feel of being between them is exquisite, pressed between two solid walls of body. I reach my hand back to Wren, holding his head to my neck as he sucks lightly, such a strong contrast to the bites and licks from Chiron. His hair is soft, so incredibly soft in my hand.
Chiron’s hands find my breasts again, and his fingers skillfully rub and flick at my nipples, eliciting a breathy whimper from me.
“You like the feel of my fingers on your breasts, Netta? You enjoy being played with…teased.” His voice is soft but full of need.
I whisper, “Yes.” And “More” against his lips. He meets my urgency with his own, grinding his hips against me, and the ache builds between my thighs, bidding them enter. I can feel the hardness of them both, Wren at the globes of my bottom and Chiron at my belly.
The length of him in front of me is breathtaking. Veined and crowned, shiny at the head with wetness, with seed. When his hand moves to stroke the length, my need grows hotter, wetter. I raise my leg and rest it over his waist, opening myself to him. His eyes are so dark now, shining only with the movement down my body.
Wren’s hands reach around my waist, sliding from my soft tummy and lower still. His long fingers part me as his tongue swipes and sucks at the lobe of my ear. Everything is building inside of me. His fingers swipe across my clit with gentle probes, and I whimper at the ministration. He circles the swollen bud there, gently and rhythmically. Chiron’s eyes are locked on the space between my thighs, on Wren’s fingers, and my exposed sex.
