Page 59 of Swords of Soul and Shadow
She smiled as she slipped her fingers from his. “It’ll probably open up again, but at least you’re not in too much pain.”
He stared at her hard. She was still the same Hallie he’d known. Same stubborn hair refusing to be tamed even though she’d rebraided it before hiking the mountain. Same dusting of freckles across her nose. Same perfect lips.
But her eyes.
She’d always been spirited and unafraid to berate you for misquoting part of her favorite passages fromThe Odyssey. The fire that burned in her eyes now wasn’t spirited. Those eyes could have incinerated with one glare, shaded by her brow with her back to the dimly lit corridor.
He didn’t know what had changed that. It made her even more the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He would help her heal from whatever had made her eyes that way. She would always be his Hallie.
And he thought he’d figure out a way to get over her. Stupid.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him, catching her lips with his.
No matter how hard he tried not to, he’d imagined this moment for nearly three years. Whether the daydream was about her returning home to him or him going to the capital, it ended the same way every single time—him kissing her like she’d never left him standing there in middle of a dust-ridden mountain road.
Like she’d never wanted to leave.
Her lips were slightly chapped and stiff. She didn’t move or respond until a second later, when—
When she pulled back, she pushed herself to her feet and grabbed her pack.
“Hallie…”
She didn’t say anything, nothing at all, only walked down the corridor and around the corner.
The joy and relief evaporated as quickly as they had come upon him. He tried to get up, but his leg was still weak. She’d only reset it to where it had been a few hours ago.
Why had she left? Why was she always leaving?
A coldness seeped into his chest as he stared at the corner she’d disappeared around. He’d pushed it. He’d acted on instinct, not by any scientific measure or calculated move. He followed his heart instead of his mind, and now, he might have ruined any good grace he’d gained.
“I’m such a stars-idiot,” he muttered as he hit his head repeatedly on the metal wall behind him.
Chapter 12
CHOCOLATES
32 Years Ago
THE CAPITAL HADN’T CHANGED IN the year since Harlan’s last extended leave. Since then, he’d only been given the odd day or two off. That alone should have indicated to anyone paying attention that the fighting in the mountains was more than mere skirmishes. However, no one important listened to Harlan, and no one seemed to be paying attention.
Having received another promotion, Carleton Shackley had taken over the security and well-being of those in Kyvena. Some naysayers scoffed that it wasn’t a promotion at all, that the Commander was losing his touch and had been quietly sent home where he only had to deal with minor inconveniences like petty theft or the like.
Harlan knew differently. The ones keeping your family safe should be the people you trusted implicitly. The fact that the Lord Kapitan saw fit to move Carleton to the capital only showedthat he might be seeing what Harlan was seeing on the ground. He could foresee the storm coming and wanted to make sure those at home were prepared for the worst of it.
Carleton was the best man for that job.
Despite the grim horizon, his adopted father’s promotion gave him a little hope, which was why he had set up appointments with both Carleton and the Lord Kapitan for Thursday morning. It was the only time he could get both in a meeting together. Of course, he was only able to do so with the help of his family name.
Funny that something like a surname could take you far in a world such as this. The name ‘Hale’ had done nothing but force him into the mines at too young an age. ‘Shackley’ could change the world.
Regardless, he would make his case about needing someone else to lead the battalion at Fort Achilles to stop this needless game of cat and mouse with the Cerls. It was a decent idea. More than decent. He was certain a new direction was what they needed. Going on the offensive was the only way to keep the enemy at bay—striking them where it hurt was the only effective strategy.
He just hoped that the supposed gift of being adopted into one of the most prodigious families in all of Jayde, perhaps even Yalvara, would pay off.
The carriage bumped along the cobblestone streets, worsening Harlan’s headache with every bob and dip on the short trip to the Fairchild Townhome. He should’ve just walked. He should’ve done many a thing, and yet, here he was back in Kyvena, dressed in dinner tails in the back of what most would consider a nice carriage with only the best horse pulling it. His adoptive mother, Aurelia, had forced him into it. He didn’t care for the extra plush cushions on the seats nor the painted ceilingmeant to inspire awe in the less fortunate, but she’d insisted he make an impression.
No matter how far he climbed in Jaydian society, he would always be a boy born in the mountains forced to make choices no twelve-year-old should have made. He believed Michael would’ve enjoyed living in the capital. For one, he would’ve liked all the sweet shoppes and bakeries boasting the best chocolate delicacies in all the world.
