Page 29 of Fate Promised

Kyril turned to him, his eyes glinting red. If they were alone, Kyril would have pounced on him and started a sparring session.

Fergal snapped his telescope closed and shoved it in his pocket. “All right, you and you,” Fergal pointed at him and Triska, “you’re coming with me in my boat. We need to see what the isle offers.”

“Hold on, I need a word.” The mayor waved Fergal over, and as they spoke together, Juri lowered his voice and asked Triska, “Are we sure Fergal is the best one to partner with about all this magic stuff?”

“Yes, he’s the one who tutored me in my magic,” she whispered back. “He used to be the dean at Herskala Academy, but he left there after a disagreement. I’m not sure exactly what happened.”

What? Fergal? Juri scratched his head.

The mayor was still talking, but without a word, Fergal turned on his heel and marched down the boardwalk toward the docks. Juri was beginning to like the old goat.

Kyril bumped him with his shoulder and said in Vulk, “You going with the old man or staying here? You really think the necromancers sailed to the island last night?”

Juri turned toward the docks. “I doubt it, the waves were pretty fierce.” He ran his hand over his head. “If they aren’t there yet, they will be soon. Hoyt wants to get on that island. Since he raised the isle, I doubt he wants to attack the town anymore but keep a careful watch.”

Kyril growled low enough for only Juri to hear. “You sure you aren’t simply taking a nice mid-day cruise with your human?”

Juri scanned the choppy waves in the bay. The wind came from the west, hurling the waves onto the beach. It wouldn’t be a pleasurable ride. “I don’t like boats either,” he answered in the common tongue.

Triska poked his arm. “You don’t like boats, or you’re hopeless at sailing? Remember the tiny skiff I had? I have no idea how you capsized it as often as you did.”

“Yeah … well … I was bigger than you. It made the boat tipsy.”

He nodded a goodbye to Kyril, and he and Triska walked toward the dock, her boots scuffing over the spray of sand along the wooden planks and his claws clicking dully. He inhaled deeply, letting the salty air fill his lungs, and catching the tiniest hint of the blackthorn flowers of her scent.

She nudged him, and small sparks of warmth whirled in his chest. “Grown men sail skiffs that size all the time, and they don’t end up in the water.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Clearly, I’m a beast of the land.”

Triska halted, and he stopped too. “You aren’t a beast.” They were only a few inches apart, her arm touching his. “You’re a vulk. The most powerful immortal in Ulterra.”

Her touch was almost as light as the wind, but it seared him. An answering kick of heat flared through his blood. He didn’t want her to stop touching him. “You should stay here in Ryba with Kyril. Let me go out on the boat with Fergal. Just in case Hoyt targets you again.”

Her chin jerked up and her mouth set. Exactly the same way it always had when he’d try to tell her not to follow him up a tall tree or off a high cliff. His arguments never worked, she followed him anyway.

She pointed at her chest. “We’re stuck together, and I need to look out for you.” She waved her hand at the boardwalk. “Besides, Hoyt attacked my people. He doesn’t get away with that. I can help. I got the upper hand last night.”

He pointed at the sky. “But it’s daytime now. Your magic isn’t present.”

“Fergal asked for us both.”

“Fergal isn’t leading this party. I am.”

Her lips tightened. “I’m coming with you. The rune binds us together. If you’re in danger, I’m in danger. And …” she glanced down, her dark lashes brushing her cheeks. “If you kill Hoyt today, you leave tomorrow. I want to spend more time with you.”

How was he supposed to argue with that? He wanted the same thing. But he wasn’t putting her in danger again. It simply wasn’t going to happen.

She shook her head. “You have the same expression you had as a kid. Mule-face. The one when you want to get your own way. Too bad. Even if I have to leap on Fergal’s boat when it leaves the dock, I’m going. Besides, he can’t sail it alone.”

He rubbed his mouth and frowned. “A vulk doesn’t look like a mule.”

But she’d already turned on her heel and continued after Fergal.

Walking toward the boat, he snagged her hand and tucked it in his, the way he’d seen Hans hold Briony’s back at the pack den. Guess she was coming with him. A slight warmth in his chest bloomed even as he considered how he could make sure she remained safe at all times.

They strode up to Fergal. “Make yourselves useful,” He shouted as he swung himself along the deck, untying lines, moving with the speed of a much younger man. They’d reached the berth for Fergal’s sloop—a single-masted sailboat about thirty feet long, with two sails furled while in dock.

Juri studied it dubiously, then rubbed Triska’s fingers with his thumb. “Don’t let me capsize this thing, yeah?”

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