Forest of Firelight

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Rhys is betrothed.

  The thought sits in my stomach like lead.

  “What’s she like?” I blurt out.

  Rhys turns back to me, surprised. “What’s who like?”

  “The woman you’re going to marry. Your betrothed.”

  “I didn’t say I was betrothed.”

  I stare at him. “Yes, you did. You said—”

  “I said my father will choose who I am to marry.”

  “Isn’t it the same thing?”

  He lets out a mirthless laugh and looks back at the bay. “No.”

  “What would he do if you were to…choose someone yourself?”

  The words stretch between us, begging me to take them back.

  Leaning his forearms on the railing, Rhys turns his head to look at me. I bite the inside of my cheek, not daring to breathe.

  “He would be displeased,” he finally says.

  “Well, maybe I’m displeased,” I find myself saying, trying to make the words light but likely failing. “I’m not sure how I feel about my personal guardian being promised to another.”

  I force a laugh, but I clench my hands inside the sleeves.

  I could make you a king. What can she give you?

  The thought is wicked, and I’m ashamed for even thinking it. How could I think of dangling my kingdom in front of Rhys just so he’ll look my way?

  “I’m tired.” I push away from the rail and pull his jacket off, handing it back to him while he watches me with solemn eyes. “I’m going to my cabin.”

  I’m only a few steps away when I hear a familiar laugh that strikes terror in my heart.

  Just down the deck, Lestra walks with the man who accompanied her for dinner. Gage must have escaped because he’s not with them.

  Here I am, a sitting duck. There’s no way to hide, no way she won’t see me. I stand frozen, a rabbit in front of a loud and gaudy wolf.

  Suddenly, Rhys’s hand is on my waist, pulling me to him. He turns me so my back is against the rail, and then he pulls me flush to his chest, blocking me from Lestra’s view.

  His free hand finds the nape of my neck, his fingers brushing under my hair, his palm against my skin. He angles my head until I’m looking up at him.

  My mouth opens with surprise, and my heart races. Rhys’s eyes search mine for several heartbeats, almost as if he’s at war with himself.

  I’m too stunned to react, much less speak.

  “Forgive me,” he breathes.

  And then he kisses me.

  My entire body sparks, my mind too overwhelmed for more than a few fleeting thoughts: Rhys’s lips on my lips, his chin brushing mine. Warm hands, warm skin, cold sea breeze.

  I’m perfectly still. Perfectly stunned. It’s a sweet kiss—gentle and demanding nothing. Simple, new. Everything.

  And then it’s over.

  Rhys pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. Eye contact is difficult now, almost too much to bear. My knees go liquid, and I press my hand to his side to keep my balance.

  His eyebrows jump, and his muscles tense under my touch.

  As we stand here, on the border of something new, Lestra passes without giving me so much as a second glance. Her overly loud voice fades with every step she takes.

  18

  Amalia and I notice the woman at the same time. I know why the princess is keen to avoid the courtier—the last thing either of us needs is the whole of Renove knowing Amalia’s on her Requeamare. It doesn’t serve her purpose, and it most certainly doesn’t serve mine.

  I do the first thing that comes to mind—likely because I’ve been thinking about it since yesterday on the ferry. I leave the rail and pull Amalia back, pressing her close and giving in to the urge I’ve had to touch her.

  Now I’m doomed.

  Her hair is soft against my fingers, and her skin is warm. Her innocent eyes go wide, but she doesn’t pull away.

  I don’t plan to kiss her. I’m just going to hold her, block her from view. We are supposed to appear as lovers in the night—not become lovers in the night.

  But reason disappears like lines drawn on the seashore, common sense forgotten the moment I take Amalia in my arms.

  “Forgive me,” I whisper just before my mouth meets hers.

  It’s selfish—I’m aware of that, but it’s as much a punishment as it is an indulgence. Amalia’s words will haunt me: I’m not sure how I feel about my personal guardian being promised to another.

  The memory of this, however, will weigh heavier on my mind.

  I’m a thief, a charlatan. I, of all people, have no right to kiss Amalia.

  For precious moments, I forget that. Right now, Amalia is not my enemy; she’s not the heir to the Renovian throne. I am not a tool of Draegan, here to end her family’s too-long reign.

  I’m not the man who stole her brother from her.

  When I end the kiss, I feel as though I’ve been ripped in two. I cannot begin to have feelings for this woman.

  What have I done?

  The loud courtier passes, laughing like a donkey braying in the morning.

  Making sure Amalia is steady, I step back, physically separating us before I do something I’ll regret. “I’ll walk you to your cabin.”

  She nods, looking half-dazed and so beautiful it makes my chest hurt. I begin to walk, hoping she’ll follow, knowing if she doesn’t, I’ll end up taking her hand.

  “You forgot your jacket,” she says suddenly, making me turn back.

  It lies on the deck where I dropped it, forgotten. She bends down to pick it up, but when she looks up, she lets out a soft gasp.

  I follow her eyes and then take a step back.

  The sky is alive with ribbons of color—vibrant swirls of green, blue, and fuchsia dance against a backdrop of indigo velvet and stars.

  “Magic,” Amalia whispers, her eyes bright with wonder as she clasps her hands on the railing and stares into the sky.

  “Magic,” I agree, an uneasy feeling settling in my stomach.

  Where I’m from, it’s not a welcome word.

  19

  Bayshore is larger than Grib—a proper port village. It’s our last stop before we begin our two-day journey over the Saulette Mountains.

  We arrive late in the afternoon, and the ship drops anchor in deep water away from the shore. Two tiny boats transport passengers, eight at a time, to the long, wide dock. A fishing vessel just arrived as well, and the seamen are bringing the day’s catch ashore.

  I watch the commotion from the ship’s railing. Wind whips at my hair, blowing it in my eyes. I would like to think I make a romantic figure, standing near the helm, looking into the distance…but in truth, I’m probably just a mess. I don’t even want to think about the knots I’ll have to brush through when we arrive at our inn.

  I’m eager to reach Saulette, and I hope we don’t linger here for long. I want to see the tall statue Braeton described in his letter, taste the ribbon candies from the shop, and stand by the shore of Lake Saulette and watch the red herons. It feels as though some part of him will be there, waiting for me.

  “They’re ready for us,” Gage says, joining me.

  I look over my shoulder. “Have you seen Rhys?”

  “Not this morning.”

  “Has Rupert left yet?”

  Gage nods. “He was on one of the first dinghies.”

  The pawnbroker tired of his games quickly, likely because Rhys kept so close. Hopefully, we’ve seen the last of him.

  But that means I’ll see less of Rhys too, I suppose.

  He’s been avoiding me this morning—I haven’t seen him once. He barely spoke as he walked me back to my cabin last night, and I was too busy dancing on moonbeams to notice his brooding silence.

  No, it wasn’t until this morning that I realized that something dark lurked under his usual solemn expression.

  I’ve replayed the kiss a dozen times, terrified that time and distance will steal the precious details from me. In the middle of the night, I almos
t convinced myself it was nothing more than an elaborate dream. Even now, it seems surreal, especially when Rhys has up and vanished.

  I ask Gage to wait a little longer, hoping Rhys will appear.

  He doesn’t.

  “We need to go,” Gage finally says. “The crew wants to go ashore too—we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  I reluctantly agree, though I’m worried about Rhys. What if he’s sick? What if something happened?

  But Rhys is the kind of man capable of taking care of himself. It’s more likely he saw Rupert leaving earlier, and he went as well, slipping back into his shadow-like ways.

  I had hoped we were past that. He could have at least said goodbye.

  Gage holds Ember’s lead as one of the crewmen assists me into the small dinghy. The rowboat hangs rather precariously on the side of the ship. It shifts on its ropes as a crewman takes my hand to assist me, swaying in the wind. I glance down at the ocean below, feeling uneasy. If the boat were to fall…

  But no. I won’t even think about it.

  Just after I step inside, the dinghy lurches to the side. I scream, along with half a dozen other people who are already aboard the little boat, and fall forward, unable to keep my footing.

  Before the rowboat can tip over and drop us fifty feet down into the cold bay, someone catches the rope…and only moments before it ran through its pulley.

  “What happened?” an angry someone yells from above. It’s followed by much cursing and general pandemonium.

  “Are you all right?” a man asks from my side, helping me up. When I fell, I crashed over one of the hard wooden benches, belly first, landing sprawled across it like a high-centered turtle.

  I half-expect to find Rhys, as this is about the time he usually chooses to arrive, but the voice is wrong. I find myself next to a young man with chestnut-colored hair and warm brown eyes. He reminds me of someone, but for the life of me, I can’t place whom.

  “Yes, thank you,” I say, sitting on the seat and taking a deep breath. My heart is still racing, and my hands tremble.

  I don’t know how to swim. A fall into the bay would have likely ended in my death.

  Once I’ve caught my breath, I realize Gage is making half the racket. Ember howls, joining him in his fussing. Moments later, he leaps into the dinghy, looking like an angry bull. “Are you all right?” he demands.

  I manage to nod. “Just a bit jostled.”

  I’m fortunate. Another female passenger has a long gash on her arm, and an elderly man seems to have hit his head. Once he confirms that I’m in one piece, Gage hurries to assist them.

  The captain and ship’s doctor are summoned, and after much discussion, they decide it’s best to take the wounded passengers to the ship’s infirmary.

  “You seem to be bleeding as well,” the man by my side says, motioning to my hand.

  I look down, surprised to find blood running from my palm. Just the sight of it makes me a little woozy.

  The man pulls out a handkerchief. “May I?”

  He takes my hand when I nod, adding gentle pressure to the wound. “It doesn’t look too deep, but it will need to be stitched. If you’d like, I can do it for you when we reach the inn.”

  “Are you a doctor?” I ask, surprised.

  “Much to my father’s chagrin,” he says with a smile. “I’m Kent.”

  “Emilia,” I offer, giving him a fake name, just as I should have with Rhys on the first night we met.

  He smiles, still examining my hand, and quietly says, “I know who you are, princess.”

  I go perfectly still.

  “It’s all right. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Have we met?” I ask, dropping my voice to match his.

  He nods. “One time years ago, only briefly. I’m Lord Ternan Debain’s son.”

  But that would make him…

  “KENT!” a female someone with a loud voice hollers from the deck of the ship. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  Lestra.

  The woman then whips back to the crew without noticing me, her whole attention on her younger brother. “If my Kent has lost even a hair in this incident—even a hair—you will sorely regret the day you first set foot on this ship. I have never in my life seen such blatant negligence! He could have died, do you understand? DIED!”

  Kent groans under his breath.

  I grasp the doctor’s arm with my free hand. “Your sister cannot know that I’m—”

  “Understood.” With a knowing smile, he flicks my cloak’s hood over my hair. “Keep your head down.”

  He then stands, wordlessly instructing me to trade him seats. Once we’ve swapped, I’m at the edge of the dinghy, able to look out at the ocean while Kent deals with his sister.

  “I’m fine, Lestra,” he insists. “No harm done.”

  She continues to crow at the crew for the next fifteen minutes, giving me a right fine headache.

  “Do not think I won’t report this incident,” she says, now talking to the captain himself. “You likely have no idea who I am, but let me assure you, I have friends in extremely high places.”

  “That’s enough, Lestra,” Kent says. “Get in the dinghy.”

  “I don’t trust it,” she says with a sniff, making me roll my eyes.

  How this woman is related to sweet Kess, I will never understand.

  “I won’t set foot aboard that death trap until it’s been thoroughly inspected.”

  At the end of his patience, Kent says, “Do as you please. I’m going now.”

  “But you—”

  “Your choice, Lestra.”

  She makes an indignant huff, but it’s obvious she’s not going to give in—and thank goodness for that.

  Gage still isn’t back, however. Should I go without him? Should I wait?

  “Does anyone else want to get off?” the captain asks, sounding thoroughly vexed.

  If I get out now, Lestra will surely spot me.

  I stay silent, and soon we’re being lowered. I clench the edge of the bench and grit my teeth, telling myself the boat’s ropes won’t slip again and send us careening into the bay.

  “Are you all right?” Kent asks from my side.

  I give him a tight nod, breathing only once the boat reaches the water. It’s a strange feeling when the bay embraces us, sucking us into its watery grasp. The swing of the ropes becomes the movement of the waves.

  Kent laughs like he might have been holding his breath as well.

  “Were you nervous?” I push down my hood and turn to him.

  “Not nervous, exactly. But let’s just say I wasn’t putting a lot of faith in the pulleys.” He eyes me, frowning. “Do you swim?”

  “No.”

  He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Those fools have no idea how close they were to drowning their queen.”

  Thankfully, his words are spoken quietly, and the rest of the passengers carry on conversations of their own—most remarking on how thankful they are to be on the water.

  “Princess,” I quietly correct.

  He smiles. “For now.”

  The conversation should make me uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. I realize now that it’s Kess he reminds me of. Their coloring is similar, but it’s his gentle manner that most reminds me of the friend I was forced to leave behind.

  “Why are you traveling to Saulette?” I ask.

  “My family home is just outside the city, on the shore of the lake. Lestra wanted to visit, and Mother doesn’t like her traveling alone, so I was sent to fetch her.”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Lestra doesn’t strike me as the sort of woman who welcomes a chaperone.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m twenty-seven years old, and though she is only two years my elder, she has insisted on mothering me this entire trip. You would think I was the one in need of a chaperone.”

  Kent is easy to talk to, and I’m almost disappointed when we reach the dock. Several men wait to assist us, many having witnesse
d our near plummet.

  I stand, with the handkerchief still pressed to my hand, hoping to keep my balance on the shifting boat. A wave rolls in, lifting the boat unexpectedly.

  One of the men on the dock grasps my arm, keeping me from falling back to my seat.

  “Thank you—” I begin, and then I look up and breathe, “Rhys.”

  The huntsman stares back at me, his face as stormy as I’ve ever seen it. “You’re hurt,” he says, nodding to my hand.

  I shrug. “There was a bit of a mishap.”

  He glances at the boat, and then at Kent, and his frown deepens. “I saw.”

  20

  I stand on the shore, watching the approaching dinghy. The day is clear, but the wind is strong, making the sea angry. It slaps the rocks down the beach, leaving white foam in its wake.

  “I’d like to ride back to the ship,” I tell one of the crewmen after he assists the last passenger onto the dock.

  “I’m not going back yet,” he says absently, grabbing a pack from the boat. “There’s only a handful of passengers left, and they’ll be comin’ on the next boat.”

  When I left the ship with Tryndon early this morning, I fully intended to meet my men. They didn’t sail with us, but took the road along the coast. They should arrive in Bayshore in a day or two.

  When I told my brother my plan, he claimed I was running away from Amalia and insisted he go ahead in my stead.

  It’s a tangled mess I’ve made of things. The plan was good; it was solid. Now my conscience is getting the best of me, even though I still believe in the cause.

  Does the end justify the means?

  I should be happy things are going this well with the princess—she trusts me, doesn’t she?—but I have nothing but guilt churning in my stomach.

  Several startled gasps draw my attention back to the ship. I look up just in time to see one of the ropes holding the last dinghy come loose. Only seconds pass before the crew manages to catch the rope and pull the boat back to level, but it feels like a lifetime.

  Was Amalia on the boat? Of course she was, I think bitterly. She has the worst luck. The rope likely gave way simply because she was present.