Page 92 of Kissed By the Gods
I stepinto the copse of trees just before the path that leads toward the galehold, my boots crunching softly over the frost-stiffened grass. These trees are slim and silver-barked, their limbs swaying gently in the wind.
It’s quiet here, and even better, I’m alone. I’m never alone anymore.
There’s always someone. Ryot, training me. Leif or Kiernan, watching out for me in the barracks. Thalric monitoring me in training, Nyrica following me around when Leif is on watchtower duty. In the infirmary, there’s Elowen. In the Reckoning Hall, there’s the Elder.
I can’t breathe without someone waiting to see if I’ll explode into something divine or dangerous, or guarding my back against the vague threats and outright animosity that still simmers from some of the men. But here, tucked out of sight of the Synod, I get a single breath of peace.
I close my eyes. Inhale. The sea wind carries salt and cold and something faintly foreign, the winds blowingin a strange scent from the islands located to the west—some fruit or flower.It smells nothing like home, but it’s still better than the smell of unwashed boys from the barracks.
I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.
I honestly thought I would never kiss again, not since we received the news that Alden died in the mines. And Alden’s kisses … they’d been something altogether different. We were little more than children, Alden and I, and our kisses had been sweet, soft, and innocent. Sweet like the boy who used to sit on the banks of the river with me when I was too scared to swim. Soft like the boy who would hold my hand as we traipsed from my house to his house and back. Innocent like the boy who would bring me wildflowers to braid into my hair and then blush when he said I looked like a princess.
Kissing Ryot was none of those things, becauseheis none of those things. There was no gentleness; no whispers, hesitant touches, or sharing of smiles. Kissing Ryot was hard, rough, and fast.
And, worst of all, Ilikedit. I’ve spent the last two days wavering between anticipation of it happening again and guilt that it happened at all. Ryot’s avoiding me. Again. Maybe that should make it easier, but all it does is leave me with questions I don’t know how to ask. There’s a hollow space beneath my ribs that only he fills.
A branch snaps behind me.
I stiffen and turn—expecting to find Ryot, expecting him to scold me for slipping away without a word. Ready to snap back at him for his distance.
But it’s not him.
Tyrston steps into view. “I’ve been wondering when I’d find you alone,” he says.
“I won’t be for long,” I lie. “My cast is meeting me here.”
He grins, malicious and dark, the same way Maxim smiled down at me in the sand. “What a pretty little liar you are.” Hisfingers tighten around the haft of the hammer, and he lifts it off the ground.
“I’m not looking for trouble,” I tell him, but I still reach for my scythe, unsheathing it in a smooth motion.
“That’s not what I hear,” Tyrston says. “In fact, I hear you’ve made some powerful enemies in Faraengard.”
“Enemies? You must be mistaken.” I’m only ever with my cast, training, or with the Elder, studying.
Tyrston tilts his head. “No?” His eyes gleam. “Thrones are built on graves. And the last thing a king wants is one of the dead knocking at his door.”
My blood runs cold. My body reacts before my mind catches up. My stance tightens. My pulse thrums hard in my throat.
“What did you say?” I whisper.
Tyrston smiles, a cruel thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. We both hear the crunch of boots on gravel as someone runs toward us.
“I’d keep that scythe close,” Tyrston says. Tyrston lifts the hammer, slinging it over his shoulder with a lazy ease.
“Leina!” Ryot storms into the clearing, his expression thunderous. For one breath—just one—there’s real fear in Tyrston’s eyes before he masks it behind a smirk.
“Well,” Tyrston drawls, stepping back. He winks at me. “Looks like your leash is here, pet.”
Ryot doesn’t speak. He stalks forward, putting himself directly between us—his body a wall of fury. One hand rests on the hilt of his sword, and the other is clenched in a fist so tight his knuckles are white.
“Leave,” he demands, his voice low and lethal.
Tyrston’s gaze lands on me, standing behind Ryot, before he smiles and turns away. Ryot waits until long after Tyrston has vanished into the trees, until we can’t hear his steps at all anymore.
He turns to me, and gods, he’s furious.
“I told you not to be alone!” he shouts at me, gripping my shoulders in a way that hurts.
