“We can’t take the credit for that one,” Dansa says. “The Trickster stole it himself two hundred years ago, right after the binding ritual. They’ve had a fake the entire time.”
Ronan adds, “The Charaini orders think we still need two more relics, but all we’re actually missing is the Dravansword. We’re going to pretend to go for the flute to draw everyone’s attention while we break into Fort Tarhaeg.”
Karis’s eyes widen, and his clear excitement shivers through Ronan too. Sometimes, in the day-to-day exhaustion, he forgets the sheer scale of their mission. The men and women around him, his friends, who usually spend their time bickering over wine and cradling the cat and cooking disastrous porridge—they’re planning on infiltrating the best-guarded fortress in Charain. They have at least three armies on their heels, and they’re going to break the chains of gods.
Maybe Ronan does need someone like Karis around. A reminder of their purpose. Their inspiration. A reminder of the spark that drove Ronan to accept this mission in the first place, when he rolled the dice and the Trickster answered.
“Anyway, my anonymity is thoroughly burned, as much as I’d love to break into Tarhaeg,” Ronan continues. “I’ll run the feint to Melody, and draw attention there. As for everyone else, that’s what we’re meeting to discuss.”
Some roles are set in stone. Leth needs to go to Fort Tarhaeg. One of the sisters needs to go with him while the other stays at the base, due to the way their transportation magic works; their flames will be the emergency escape route for the Dravansword team. Melanne and Coira’s argument takes a vicious detour into muttered Praian, before resulting in Melanne joining Leth and Coira staying behind.
Everyone else requires some debate.
“I’ll stay here,” Dansa says. “I need too much time and focus to heal. If anyone gets injured, it’s better to get back to base first.”
Ronan nods. “If you’re staying, then Evain needs to go with Leth and Melanne. Leth, spend the next few days running through the layout with them. As for the timing—”
Karis knocks on the table again. Everyone looks over, but he only looks at Ronan. “What about me?”
Ronan almost tells him to stay at the base. He’s untested in action, and his scrying could help Dansa keep track of everything from afar. Going to Fort Tarhaeg is out of the question, since he’s probably just as recognizable as Ronan. As for the feint operation… He could help there too, but Ronan’s used to working alone. He doesn’t need backup.
Staying at base would make the most sense, but something about the thin line of Karis’s lips stops Ronan from giving the order. Instead, he asks, “What do you want to do?”
Karis answers without hesitation: “I want to go with you to Melody.”
He doesn’t need backup. But something deep inside him warms at the answer, like sunlight reaching through the darkest waters.
“Then you’re going to Melody,” Ronan says, and he warms even more with the satisfied glow in Karis’s eyes. He forcibly yanks his thoughts away from distracting impulses, back to the purpose of the meeting. “We’ll coordinate the timing via fire-talk. The Dravansword crew has time to prepare, but it’ll take us a week to get to Melody without a transport spell. We’re leaving first thing in the morning. As far as supplies—Evain and Coira, how are those explosives coming along?”
***
Night has fully fallen by the time Ronan ends the meeting. They ate dinner in the middle of it, so everyone disperses from the kitchen when it’s over. Ronan’s head aches and his veins feel dry, like a hangover without the fun of getting hammered the night before. He’s going to be glad when this is all over; he just needs to be careful not to fuck everything up by rushing to the finish.
The only people left in the kitchen are Ronan and Karis. Ronan rolls the last of the maps and taps it on Karis’s shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”
Karis snaps out of his daze. When he stands, the distance between them vanishes. “I was thinking, tomorrow’s going to be busy.” His fingers drum the back of the chair, then fall away. “Where have you been sleeping?”
“Upstairs.” Ronan sets the map down.
“In the attic?” Karis tilts his head, auburn waves sweeping over his smooth forehead. “You shouldn’t sleep in the attic tonight.”
The invitation is clear. Ronan still asks, “Why’s that?”
Karis’s lips look impossibly soft, his eyes impossibly bright, a vision of innocence entirely at odds with the next words out of his mouth: “Obviously, I want to sleep with you.” His little smirk begs to be kissed away, and his next words are clearly a lie. “Just sleeping, of course.”
Ronan’s hand lifts thoughtlessly, and his fingertips hover a hair’s breadth from Karis’s freckled cheek. So much warmth within reach, if he doesn’t mind getting burned.
It would be reckless to get involved with this brat he barely knows, right before one of the most dangerous missions of his life. He needs to be one hundred percent on his game.
But Ronan has resisted his own desires too many times, and now he’s far too tired to do the right thing. Karis looks up with such sweet expectation, and Ronan wants nothing more than to indulge him.
“Just sleeping,” he echoes the lie. “You go up first.”
He touches Karis’s cheek for just a moment. Desire pulses between them, before Karis laughs and runs upstairs.
Ronan follows a while later, his footsteps light and his heartbeat in chaos. When he reaches the bedroom, the lamps are out. Slivers of moonlight sketch the image he seeks; the Karis looks thinner, lonelier, curled up in the wide empty bed. Blankets twist around his waist, and the shirt he’s wearing is far too big. The neckline gapes down to expose his collarbones and the planes of his chest.
One of Ronan’s shirts.
