Page 94 of A Dagger in the Ivy

The air crackles with tension, the space between us charged with the promise of something more. He pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and I have to force myself to breathe. Our lips hover mere inches apart, temptation dancing at the edges of my mind. But just as our breaths mingle, a sudden gust of wind rattles the cabin’s shutters, breaking the spell.

With a rueful smile, Dante pulls away, the moment slipping through our fingers like grains of sand. Yet despite the interruption, the warmth of the fire and the closeness between us lingers.

“We should rest while we can,” he suggests. “I’ll make a spot for us near the fire. Hopefully, the storm passes by morning.”

As Dante moves the small couch back to make space, the wind beats at the windows, and rain pelts the roof. A small spark of frustrationignites inside me, as if the elements themselves are keeping me at bay, holding me back from completing my mission. I hope it’s just a temporary setback and not a sign that I’m not meant to find Torbin.

Once Dante and I arrange blankets on the floor—with a clear separation of at least two feet away from each other—I feel the pull of exhaustion. Yet somehow, I’m still wound up tight. I feel like a bow whose string has been drawn back to its limit. The tension has been building and building, begging for release.

If I’m not careful, I’m going to snap.

CHapter

Thirty-Four

The morning breaks with a soft, golden hue filtering through the small cabin windows. I squint against the light, listening for the remnants of the storm. Relief fills me at the absence of rain and wind.

I turn my head to the space on the floor where Dante slept, but he isn’t there. The fire in the fireplace is out. Dante’s clothes are gone from the hearth, and mine are folded in a tidy pile near my feet.

He folded my clothes?

I sit up, holding the blanket to my chest. I’d almost forgotten that I’d slept in the nude, and for a minute, I wonder if, during my tossing and turning in the night, Dante might have seen more of my skin than I’d intended to reveal. The thought sends a flush of warmth up my neck.

Did he see anything? Would he say anything if he had?

I suddenly remember the display I performed on my balcony. That seems so many moons ago. It’s so strange when I compare the foolish games of revenge Dante and I played to the seriousness of the situation we’re in now.

Grabbing my clothes, I scan the room to find him, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I doubt he would simply leave me here to search for his brother himself. Maybe he’s checking on the horses.

As I dress, I listen. I haven’t heard from my uncle in a while, and I can’t tell if the lack of word from him is a good thing or a bad one. Though I suppose if there had been an issue, my squad would have brought it up when we met.

The door creaks open just as I tug my second boot into place. Dante steps inside, his tall frame blocking out the light for a moment. He’s holding something in his hands: a cooked rabbit, skewered on a stick, its skin already stripped away. The smoky scent of roasted meat fills the cabin, making my stomach growl.

“I wondered if you had abandoned me.” I make sure to keep a playful tone to my voice.

“It crossed my mind.” He brings the rabbit to the table, where I find two plates he must have set out earlier. Was he so confident he’d return with a meal? Or did he arrange the flatware while the rabbit was roasting? Did I really sleep through all of that?

As he cuts pieces of meat off the skewer, I slip into one of the chairs. “You’ve been busy.”

“I figured full bellies would be more practical than empty ones.” He places a slab of meat onto the plate in front of me. “We should head out soon before any sign of Torbin’s whereabouts disappear. We’ve already got our work cut out for us because of the storm.”

His words bring a heaviness with them, the weight of our mission settling upon my shoulders. He sits across from me, and we eat in silence. I’m certain his determination to find Torbin matches mine. There’s a quiet strength in his presence, a resilience forged amidst the trials of the night.

Once we’ve cleared up any mess we’ve made and gathered our things, we head out to begin the next leg of our journey. Dante sheathes his falchion, and I make sure my sword and dagger are in place. Outside, dew-kissed grass glistens like scattered diamonds beneath the tentative rays of sunlight. The air carries a crisp freshness, cleansing the earth of the tempest’s fury and leaving behind a sense of renewal.

Together, we mount our horses and head north into the dawn-lit horizon, the rhythm of hoofbeats a steady cadence that propels usforward into the unknown. With each passing mile, a renewed sense of purpose courses through me. The landscape unfolds before us in a tapestry of breathtaking beauty. The scent of pine mingles with the faint aroma of damp earth, while birdsong fills the air with a melody that rings of hope and possibility.

We ride in silence for a long time, the rhythmic thud of hooves on the dirt road the only sound between us. The morning mist is still thick in the air, clinging to the trees and making everything feel heavy, like the world is holding its breath. I steal a glance at Dante. His eyes are focused ahead, but there’s a tension in his posture that hasn’t eased since we left the cabin.

I steel myself to speak, anxious about speaking with the man who fights with me at every turn, but also too curious to remain silent. “You’re going to great lengths to find Torbin. I’m sure he’d do the same for you, but… I didn’t realize you two were so close.”

He doesn’t respond at first, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped. But then he sighs, a low sound, like it’s coming from somewhere hidden deep inside of him.

“He’s my brother.” His voice is low, almost lost to the sound of our horses. “More than that, he’s the reason I have a place in this world.”

I frown, turning my head to face him more fully. “What do you mean?”

Dante’s eyes flick to mine, then back to the road ahead. He grips the reins tighter, as if bracing himself. “You were friends with him when he was young, so you know I didn’t always live in the castle. My mother—she was a commoner, a widow with little more than a name to her. I grew up in a small village in Messanya, far from all of this. But when I turned fifteen, she brought me to Ivystone.” He pauses, and I see the way his jaw tightens. “She marched right up to the citadel and demanded an audience. Told them that I was King Silas’s son.”

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