Page 34 of Crowning of the Sword

Ashe motioned impatiently and there came an almost imperceptible shimmer around them, like the iridescent gloss of a bubble.

“No one will hear us or see us for the moment. We’re … occupying a sliver in time.”

She gazed at him, not sure what to say. She hadn’t seen him in weeks, ever since the event of the winged horses, and wondered if he knew what Cole had done to her after that, how he’d shouted at her until she cried, and then kissed her tears away, kissed her and caressed her until she had lost herself in a writhing, heated madness.

Ashe looked weary. His face was drawn, and there were shadows under his eyes. Perhaps he’d been sleeping badly too.

“What are you painting?” He moved to see the canvas and inspected it, one finger tapping his lips, his brow furrowed.

She hastened to explain. “It’s my parents. The car crash. I remember the air was fresh and icy cold when they dragged me out of the car, but I still couldn’t stop coughing.”

“And you weren’t hurt? Even with the fire?”

“I don’t remember. No scars, anyway.”

She rubbed her arms convulsively, as if to rid herself of sparks and smuts, and then blinked, letting the present time and day fill her awareness and anchor her again: the green placid trees, the moss beneath her feet, the birds singing high in the canopy.

He was studying her closely, his dark eyes inscrutable, the sharp slash of his mouth softened in the gentle light. “You look tired. I can only assume why.”

Her hackles rose at that. “You look tired too. Worse than me. At least I put on make-up to cover it.” She fell silent, wondering why it was she always felt the urge to snap at his teasing. She should just let it go. That would probably annoy him more.

“Training has been gruelling,” he admitted.

“Perhaps you just need a rest?”

Cole hadn’t let such a notion cross his mind; she was sure of it. He would never rest; he would work his team until they were dead from exhaustion. The ceremony for the opening of the tournament was the following day; the pressure was intense.

Ashe gave her an innocent look. “Go to bed, you mean?”

She pressed her lips together reprovingly, although there was a stirring of something in her at the expression in his eyes, not the insta-lust Cole wrung from her drop by drop, but something else. Warm.

“A break. An afternoon somewhere nice and quiet, away from the castle, away from all these visitors. Somewhere you can relax.”

“We shouldn’t have to socialise as well as train. And yet, they get so offended when you tell them to fuck off.”

Ember gave a delighted gasp. “You didn’t. Who?”

“The Seeds. Odious creatures. They’re constantly at me. Big Cole supporters.”

Ember hadn’t yet met the rulers of the Seeds, Gered and Samara, but she’d seen them, regal and proud, prowling - for she couldn’t think of a better word for the way they moved - around the castle, inspecting the gold vases and graceful statuary with amusement as though they were above such things as decor.

“Where would you go? If you were to have a break?”

There was a mischievous tone to his voice that should have alerted her, but she wasn’t listening for it, and in truth, she’d never heard it from Ashe before.

“The beach,” she said, promptly. “Where there are no nasties in the water, and everything is sunny and …”

There came a disconcerting jolt, as though someone had grabbed her and shaken her. She gasped. “Ashe! What have you done?”

Chapter 29

Palm trees, swaying in the gentle breeze, white sands curving around out of sight. An aqua blue lagoon, with waters so clear that the tiny fish swimming in the shallows were visible. Further out, a line of white revealing a reef and beyond that the dark blue of the open ocean. Light that was all-encompassing after her days—years, according to Cole—spent in near dark.

The salty air and the crunch of damp sand beneath her toes were enough to convince her this wasn’t a dream. And she wasn’t in the soft clinging gown she habitually wore in the castle. She was wearing a black string bikini, the triangles barely covering her breasts and bottom. The weight of her necklace had vanished, and she lifted a hand to check, her throat feeling strangely exposed.

She glared at Ashe, and he held up his hands in surrender. The military uniform he wore was gone, replaced with a dark, open shirt revealing a smooth brown chest and lean stomach muscles, and something that looked partly like a loincloth, partly like trunks. Whatever they were, they fitted very well, and she dragged her gaze away before he could catch her staring.

“You said you wanted a holiday,” he explained.

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