Amarande drew in a steadying breath, buoyed by the certainty that Luca’s shoulder felt like solid ground.
“You’re right, though, Luca. It doesn’t matterhowRenard still breathes, it only matters that he’s alive and brimming with enough spite to make our lives hell.”
With Renard, there was always more. He may have been the deciding vote for the status quo of the Sand and Sky at the conclave, but he wouldn’t stop there.
Amarande knew it.
Luca knew it, too. “We won’t let him do that.”
His words were a comfort and a promise—salve and suture in one.
Luca shifted to plant a kiss to her temple—and that was when Amarande’s shock and anger gave way to the cool suffocation of a certain sadness. An insurmountable wall of it, surrounding her. Locking away her hopes for creating a new Sand and Sky. Now those hopes withered in the darkness of others’ orders—no light, stale air, certain death.
“I don’t understand how it has all gone so wrong.”
To Amarande’s own ears, her voice sounded small. Miniscule. Weak. It seemed to be happening more and more of late, this loss of volume and space, even as her power supposedly grew. It would be beyond embarrassing if this weren’t Luca. Someone who had lived alongside her fits and rages and still found ways to love her. He could love this version, too.
“We were right, weren’t we? Right to fight back, right to fight for what is ours, right to fight for—”
“It all,” Luca finished. “Yes, we were right. And what we asked for today—both your right to rule on your own and the chance to marry—were not inappropriate.”
The words marched into the firelit air, and somehow, even after everything, that familiar flush of wild embarrassment came over Amarande, the same as it was when she first kissed him after she’d rescued him from the pirates.
They’d talked about this.
And yet even putting it into the negative space between them felt raw and mortifying. Her heart’s desire. Right there.
Her words came out in a rush, the panic as undeniable as the hot flush creeping up her cheeks.
“I’m sorry I brought up the suggestion of marriage without first warning—”
“No, no, Ama, no.”
Luca shifted so that she might see his whole expression. Kind. Sweet. Perhaps a little flushed, too.
“I want it as much as you do.”
The breath stilled upon Amarande’s lips, the blood in her veins paused. His dimples flashed. His forehead met hers until she saw nothing but his golden eyes.
“No matter the difficulties, we’ll be together, hand in hand, until we’ve made it through it all to the stars. I promise you this always, Ama.”
His lips found hers. The queen’s eyes closed. And in that moment, though Amarande believed Luca with her whole heart, she could not deny the fear creeping through her belly that the stars might come for them first.
“Your Highnesses?”
Ferdinand’s voice came from the entrance, formal and stiff. Though he wasn’t one to panic, the stilted delivery as well as his choice of words spiked a new twinge of fear in Amarande’s blood.
Because utmost formality was what Koldo would do in light of bad news. Like mother, like son.
Amarande steeled herself for another blow. “Please come in.”
Among all the terrible sadness he held for Koldo’s loss, Ferdinand’s green eyes were indeed lit with a new concern as he stepped into the brazier light. The news was delivered without preamble. “The medikua didn’t come with the Ardenian caravan. No one has seen her in several days.”
Amarande blinked at her brother, her fear not fading nor spiking, simply changing into something anew: certainty.
Something between the ancient medicine woman and Renardhad occurred. Amarande’s imagination hadn’t run wild. The healer’s absence was an answer, even if it invited more questions.
Though, Ferdinand was prepared for that, too. He stepped aside, allowing entry of Naiara. Someone who could provide answers.
