Page 86 of A Reign of Roses
And I thought, if we only had a day or so before Mari and Briar received the raven we sent last night and arrived at the keep, a day or so before we continued on our journey, which would inevitably lead to the war that would ensure my death or the death of the man I loved, I was going to enjoy the ever-lovingStonesout of this run, in case it was my last.
It was right in the middle of that solid, strengthening thought, about ten yards from the North Gate of Shadowhold—I’d run an impressive half circumference of the keep and was feeling a little too pleased with myself—that I heard the unmistakable sound of Leigh’s high-pitched yell.
23
Kane
I’d only panicked for aminute.
No, not even a minute. A second.
It hadn’t helped that I’d awoken, breathless, from another dream in which I was chained in lilium, forced to watch Arwen purge widow venom from her thigh, writhing and screeching in excruciating pain. If Killoran wasn’t already dead, I would have flown to Hemlock Isle and skewered him myself this morning.
Fresh from that nightmare, I’d rolled over, still bare from the night before, and grasped for Arwen, only to find empty, rumpled sheets. Had the worst-case scenario torn through my mind? That Lazarus had stolen her away somehow, or murdered her for her deceit, and I’d find her cold, lifeless body in my bathtub? Had I bypassed Acorn’s squawking and hurtled into the hallway with nothing but a decorative pillow to cover myself, dark-winged lighte surging from my bare shoulders and arms, and roared at the guard on duty to tell methat instantwhere thefuck my wifewas—even thoughArwen was not my wife and I’d never seen the shaking kid before? Yes, yes, and…yes.
To the quivering guard’s credit, he had told me in one sentence strung together with no breaths that she’d woken early and gone for a run, that the sentries were watching her make a tight perimeter around the castle, and that she was actually keeping a pretty inspiring pace.
And I had calmed. A little sheepish, sure, but I fixed the kid’s collar—I’d roughed him up a bit more than I’d meant to when I’d seized him, still acclimating to my full-Fae strength—courteously pretended I hadn’t noticed that he’d wet himself, and strolled back into my quarters to take a long, hot, introspective bath.
I’d hoped when Griffin and I met not fifteen minutes later that he wouldn’t have heard anything of the outburst, but of course, he had.
“Not even pants?” Griffin asked, incredulous, as we stalked through the training annex and toward the war tent.
“I’d like to see you manage to intimidate anyone wearing a velvet cushion. It was impressive.”
His grin was worse than shit-eating. “Somehow I doubt that.”
But we were both laughing now. Perhaps with the loose delight of a sunny, winter’s day spent knowing all the people we cared about were safe and alive in the very walls of this keep. That would put a smile on anyone’s face.
Griffin and I were on our way to be briefed on our position with Queen Ethera. We had sent word for Sir Phylip and Lady Kleio late last night. If there was any information out there that could help convince the Scarlet Queen to fight beside us—anything other than offering to crush the southerners who wanted her crown—my dignitaries would know about it.
Griffin’s eyes took in the snow-veiled training annex. “Check it out.”
I cut my gaze sidelong across the training field and found Leigh driving her sword into Barney’s while Beth and Ryder sat in the snowy grass a few feet away. Given the collection of white flakes atop their heads, Ryder and the little seer had been sitting there for some time.
“She’s decent.” My eyes glued to the push and pull of Leigh’s sword. She shouted with each blow, as surely Dagan had taught her to. Her bouncy blonde curls had been pinned back, and she was wearing dark training leathers. I’d only ever seen her in frilly Amber dresses. She looked just like her sister—bold, resolute, focused.
I couldn’t conceal my pride. The little one had been through enough trauma to break a brutal thug, let alone a sheltered small-town ten-year-old. And there she was, making Barney work for his wins.
But her form was lacking. Defending without stepping, forcing her to lean over her too-planted feet. Overcommitting to her swings from far away and leaving herself defenseless. Barney was a great soldier—brute strength of a bison and more sword skill than most men his size—but he wasn’t half the teacher Dagan was.
“Hey,” I called to them, jogging over. “Less arms, more feet. You have to—”
Arwen’s shrill voice cut through my words “Leigh!”
I turned, and found her sprinting toward us as if a rabid beast were on her tail, feet slowing to a walk as she took in our confused faces.
“What are you doing?” she asked her sister, breathless.
Leigh shrugged. “Not using my feet properly, I guess.”
Barney wiped his brow and offered her a dismissive shake of his head as if to say,You’re doing just fine.
Arwen’s dark hair was tied in a loose braid peppered with fresh snow. Her nose and lips were blushing red either from the brisk run, cold weather, or embarrassment, which made my heart stir fondly in my chest. Already her skin had regained some of its pigment and her eyes some of their brightness since we’d left Lumera.
“What did you think?” Griffin asked, sympathy in his usually cold eyes.
She shook her head, puzzled. “The worst. I heard her yell.”
