“Stop,” Sei says.
Panic arcs through Marek. He wrenches away, instantly severing his connection to Sei’s magic. The loss shivers through his magic like soul-deep nausea. Overhead, the column of clouds wavers.
Marek forces himself to unravel it slowly, feeding each strand of the storm into its natural path. Only when the sky is completely gray and light rain rattles down again does Marek turn to Sei.
“Are you all right? Did I hurt you?” Marek can’t see anything wrong. Would the signs be visible?
“You didn’t hurt me.” Sei spreads his arms. “You didn’t take too much. I just wanted to prove you would stop when I said to stop.”
Marek’s mind blanks out. He doesn’t move as Sei crunches through the rain-damp meadow grass to reach him.
Sei looks at Marek like he’s searching Marek’s soul for magic too. “I like how careful you are with me. It makes me feel good. But you can be careful without being scared.”
Nobody has ever accused Marek of being scared.
Of course, Marek has never met anyone quite like Sei before either. He takes Sei in a kiss. Deeper, harder than he’s ever kissed Sei before.
Sei kisses back just as hard.
“Thank you,” Marek breathes against Sei’s lips. “Let’s get back to Loska before you give me any more heart attacks.”
Marek’s worries don’t quite ease as they pick through the watery forest. Now he knows what grail magic feels like. He’s tasted the smallest possibilities of Sei’s power. Yet Marek has no idea what he should do with that knowledge.
He was so prepared for this to go wrong. He isn’t prepared for it to go right.
?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sei
Warlord Navlin conducts the wedding rehearsal more like a battlefield than a social event. Barking orders, she deploys the participants like troops in enemy territory. Not that Sei has been to any weddings for comparison. Perhaps every Draskoran prepares for marriage under the command of a fierce, diminutive warmage.
Thankfully, Sei’s role is simple, for all its importance to the proceedings. At the moment, he just has to wait in Raya Keep’s great hall while Navlin sends a herald to find another herald to figure out…
Sei has no idea.
The great hall is an imposing space. Dark and gloomy, even more oppressive than the Ostomar throne room. Scalestone pillars line the central aisle, flanking a runway of scalestone tiles marking Sei and Marek’s path from entrance to altar.
“I’ve never seen so much scalestone in my life,” Sei whispers. “Do you truly use it for flooring?”
“Hardly. This is just to impress the Pathans and Silaisans. It’ll be dismantled after the wedding.”
Sei hasn’t left Marek’s side since they arrived at Raya Keep, but in between clothes fittings and social calls, they’ve barely had a chance to talk. Marek claims this is a small ceremony, but dozens of Draskoran nobles and their entourages fill the keeps. Each of them wants a private audience to congratulate Marek ahead of the wedding—or curry favor, as Marek puts it.
Raya Keep is composed of three fortresses arrayed north to south. Shaped like arrowheads, the dark stone fortresses point towards the eastern border with Silaise. The aggressive symbolism is ironic, given the Silaisans currently residing in Raya South.
The Silaisans are some of the only wedding guests Sei and Marek haven’t met with yet. That’s the topic Warlord Navlin turns to while they wait for the heralds.
“I still need to arrange a face-to-face for you and Julien Sandry,” Navlin says. “I’m thinking out in the public courtyard. We can schedule it for tomorrow morning before the ceremony. That will give both sides enough time to organize guards.”
“No,” Marek says firmly.
Navlin blinks, clearly just as surprised as Sei. Marek has been extremely cooperative throughout today’s proceedings, and this is the first time he’s resisted.
“No to which part, Your Highness?” Navlin asks.
“No to the public charade. Invite Prince Julien for a drink in our quarters. He can bring a small entourage, but I won’t have guards. Just me and Sei.”
