Page 10 of The Flame and the Forsaken

Shehadsigned the contract, and shedidneed this marriage, but it wasn’t so simple.

It had started with Destin... her beautiful, broken older brother. He had good days, and he had bad days, but the bad days were far more memorable, filled with drunken blunders and far too many messes for her and the other Obsidian Sky outlaws to tidy up. She couldn’t remember the full set of circumstances that had led to him accepting a significant coffer from the Rutlands and Warwicks in exchange for Mariel’s hand—becausehecouldn’t even recount it reliably—but she’d never forget the moment he’d told her.

I just need to know why, Desi. Why you would do such a thing? Withthem. Tome.

It seemed... I don’t know, Mare. I thought if you could get close to them... It seemed like the right thing... Oh, Guardians... Guardians, I’m so sorry. I’m so cursed, feckin’ sorry...

All right, all right. It’s going to be all right. We’ll figure it out. Shh, get some rest now.

His tears were the most devastating thing, and she could never hold onto her anger for long when he cried. Every single time, it was like he was shedding the full weight of his lifelong grief, only for it to build itself back up again, readying for the next violent spill. And she, the younger of the two by five years, had assumed the imperfect role of protector of his light.

Once he’d passed out from exhaustion, Mariel had worked her mind around what he’d done and how to move forward. A pre-contract wasn’t a contract, and shedidhave rights as an independent adult, no longer under the care of parents. She could refuse to sign, and had fully intended to, until she considered the rare opportunity it provided.I thought if you could get close to them.To beinthe nest of vipers itself. Obsidian Sky had Augustine on the inside, as one of the stewardess’s seamstresses, but it wasn’t enough. A seamstress could only get so close, hear so much. If Mariel agreed to marry the princeling, she would be seated at the same table astheman they needed to take down. If she worked the son just right, she could mold him into her perfect, unwitting informant.

She’d had three months to work herself up to the task. But as soon as Erran returned, she’d led with anger, not with the cunning that had kept her and her friends safe for so many years. It was baffling, inconvenient, and counterproductive, but she somehow couldn’t stop herself.

If Augustine were there, she’d tell Mariel yesterday didn’t decide tomorrow. It wasn’t too late to reset, begin anew.

Mariel had stolen more gold and jewels than she could ever account for. She’d bested men at swordcraft and was quicker with her bow than others were with words. She’d lied and schemed and evaded capture for over a decade and protected her brother and friends from the same. But somehow, sleeping with the enemy seemed a step too close to cliff’s edge?

There was another… slight complication, if she could even call it that. The rumors about Erran Rutland’s handsomeness had been understated, if anything. He was exasperatingly gorgeous, words he’d never hear her say aloud and she preferred not to think either, but fortunately, when she looked at him, she saw only the dust and ashes of the land the Rutlands had stolen and sold to their friends. His charming dimples became the disrupted earth of landmines used to drive people from their own homes, his curved smile reminiscent of a surreptitious path of an unexpected blade entering through the back.

She had never lain with any man, or woman. All those nights curled up in the arms of Augustine—the other woman’s hand draped over her waist, fingers spread across the cave of her belly—Mariel had certainlythoughtabout it. Any desire she’d felt had come hand in hand with safety and respect. Both of the Perevil siblings, Remy and Augustine, had lighted something electrifying in her, but the unpredictable nature of their work kept her from ultimately surrendering to what felt right. Love was merely another weapon for the enemy to wield against her.

Mariel’s hand shifted to her abdomen as her thoughts returned to such nights. She traced it down her wet skin, half wondering if even momentary pleasurewas too great a distraction. But she was drained, body and soul. She craved the safe return of her tranquil evenings in Augustine’s arms, when she could almost forget that her life wouldn’t allow for anything more.

She bit down on her lip when her hand breached the water and traveled between her legs. Her eyes closed as she slipped lower in the bath, getting comfortable.

Mariel shot up in the water when violent, booming thunder shook the keep. The brass mirror crashed to the stone floor, shattering.

Erran had the door open so fast, she was almost impressed. His wide eyes met hers, then slid downward, to where she still had one arm under the water. The hand on his sword hilt slowly fell away, while hers splashed to the side in the bath like a fish caught on a hook.

It seemed he was on the verge of speaking but backed out, closing the door gently without a word.

Breathless, she darted her eyes around the room, as if there were anything to ease her absolute mortification. But he couldn’t knowwhathe’d seen. She hadn’t even had the chance to do anything interesting. Erran discovering she knew her way around her own body was inconsequential and not the worst thing that could happen. He could have overheard the conversation with Remy.

She pushed to her feet, sending water splashing onto the stones, and climbed out, stepping gingerly around the shattered glass. After wrapping herself in a robe, she stormed from the bathing room back into the bedchamber.

“You always walk in uninvited on a woman having a bath?” Her whole body was hot, head to toe, from the discomfiture, from the water, from...

Erran faced away, looking out one of the windows at the rain with both hands wrapped around the back of his neck. His shirt was rolled to the elbows, revealing his tense, muscled forearms. “I heard the crash after the thunder hit. I came to see if you were all right, and...” He turned his head over his shoulder, his stare on the wall. “You aren’t just any woman, you know. You’re my wife.”

Mariel tightened the belt on her robe and stepped closer. Shecoulddo this. She had to. Continuing to be contrary only further compromised her goals. “You’re right,” she said quietly.

He spun all the way around. “What’s that?”

“I said you’re right, but I’ll take it back if you don’t... wipe that...” She waved a hand. “That look off your face.”

“What look?”

“That self-satisfied smug—” She fisted her hands, then released them. “I cannot refute the points you made earlier. Ididsign the contract, aye. It wasn’t... not because I wanted to, but because... It was the prudent choice.”

Erran crossed his arms and leaned against the frame, listening.

“But I signed it,” she said, moving close enough that she could safely reduce her voice to a whisper, mindful of how others were always listening. Her calm gradually returned, and she remembered she didn’t have to surrender her control to anything. To anyone. “I’m not ready for what your mother expects of me, but we’ve got to earn ourselves a reprieve from everyone’s meddling ears. We both need that reprieve. You ken?”

He offered a light frown. “Would help if you laid it out.”

“You’re still in love with Yesenia.” She posed it as a statement, but he nodded weakly in answer. “I was not in love before we married, never have been. Never wish to be. But my old life still matters to me. And I will not give it up. I couldn’t care less who you love. If she’d take you back, I’d turn the other cheek—mind my own business—as long as it doesn’t get back to your meddling parents.” Her breath was shaky and uneven, her hands traveling to the belt of her robe. She drew from every bit of resolve within her as she opened it and let the silk fabric slip to the stones in a soft whoosh.

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