by Wagner, Raye
I snorted. “Understatement of the year.” I sat down next to him and leaned into the familiar warmth of his thick body. “Is this where you’re going to give me sage advice that will solve all my problems?”
I’d meant the words as a joke, but in truth, I did want him to tell me what I should do. My mind felt cloudy and thick with the churning in my head. How had I ever craved adventure? Adventure sucked big time. I wanted to go to the girl I’d been and have a serious talking-to with her, maybe smack her around a bit. Dwelling on what-ifs wasn’t really in my nature, but right now, I couldn’t help thinking that if I could change one decision in my past, I would do it in a heartbeat.
“I’ve never pretended to have the answers for you. You’ll have to live with whatever decisions you make, not me. There are plenty of decisions that still haunt me, most especially when I’m worn out. But, my girl, in the morning, things won’t look quite so bad.”
“That’s all you’ve got?” I chuckled darkly. “Get a good night’s sleep? I feel like my life’s being decided for me, but I should just have a kip?” My eyes were heavy as was my heart. I knew it was too much to demand advice, especially on something he couldn’t truly understand. But he was Dyter.
He took a breath, and my body was moved by his inhalation and then again as he exhaled.
Dyter cleared his throat, and I peeled my eyelids open to give him my attention.
“I’m not going to tell you how to sort this out with Lord Tyrrik; that’s between the two of you. But I want you to have an honest think about this mate business from all angles. I know,” he said, holding up his hand to stop my interruption, “I don’t understand all of it. I don’t even want to. But have a think. You didn’t get to choose your mum either, right? You didn’t get to choose who she was, but you did choose to love her though you didn’t have a choice initially because you knew she was yours and she knew you were hers.”
I bristled. “You’re over—”
“Oversimplifying, I know,” he said with a wave. “I’m not saying you should be okay with deceit. That breeds distrust, and distrust will destroy any partnership or alliance: mated pairs, businesses, or kingdoms.”
I frowned as I thought through his words. “So you think I should—”
Dyter shook his head. “I’m not telling you what you should do. I want you to think, Ryn. You need to have realistic expectations of what might happen between the pair of you, and be clear on what you want.” He turned and looked at me. “I’m going to oversimplify again, okay?” When I nodded, he continued, “Think of how many times in a single day you told your mum you were sorry.”
I grimaced. Not nearly enough.
“Love doesn’t mean you’re perfect. Loving someone doesn’t mean you don’t screw up. In fact, I’d say the more you love someone, the more time you spend with that someone, the more you’re going to have to say you’re sorry. Love means you say sorry sooner because when you realize you’ve hurt someone you truly love, you want to do whatever you can to make it right.”
I shifted on the rock, tucking a few of the wispy dress panels under my butt and legs while I digested Dyter’s wisdom. I felt I wasn’t fully understanding his words. They made sense on a surface level. He was saying that when you were in love, you wanted the other person to be happy. “You think I owe Tyrrik an apology?”
Like that would happen.
Dyter grinned. “I think you owe me an apology.”
“You’re still hanging onto the burned soup incident, aren’t you?” I asked. Then seriously, I said, “I’m so grateful you’re in my life, Dyter, and I’m sorry for all of the times I might’ve been a brat.”
Dyter wrapped his arm around me and pulled me to him. He planted a loud kiss on top of my head and then rested his cheek on my hair. “Thank you, my girl. And I apologize if I’m grumpy sometimes.”
“Just sometimes?” I asked. At his scowl, I mumbled a hasty, “Thank you. Apology accepted.”
He patted my knee. “When you’re done having a think, you might also consider having a talk with Tyrrik. You don’t lose the power to choose whether or not you want to be with him and whether or not to love him if you’re just talking.”
The sun had dipped below the mountains during our chat, and soon after, the sky darkened. The sister moons were continuing their monthly merging, and I pointed at the double-circle shape while still nestled by Dyter’s side. “I’ll always remember how I got the best relationship advice ever while sitting underneath a moon that looked like a butt.”
Dyter chuckled. “How does that look like a butt to you? It looks like a fat peanut to me.”
I tilted my head. “I guess it could be that too.”
“You’re twisted. Let’s go to sleep, my girl. I’m too tired to stay up and share any more wisdom.”
He stood and extended his arm, but I waved him off.
“I’ll be there in a minute. I’m going to have that think you encouraged.”
He leaned over and kissed my hair again. “Don’t stay up too late.” He looked up at the sky and then smiled his scar-pulling grin. “You know, as kids we used to say if you slept under a butt-moon, you were destined to get crapped on.”
I quirked a brow, waiting for the good part.
Dyter’s grin widened. “Right then. Good night.”
I glared at his retreating back and then peered suspiciously at the butt-moon and stars above. I muttered up at the sky, “Do not crap on me.”
In my opinion, I’d been crapped on more than enough already.
* * *
The scent of searing meat awoke me, but the pleasant low murmur of voices kept me in sleep’s embrace. I had no idea how long Tyrrik and Dyter had been awake, but it was long enough for the space next to me, where Tyrrik should have been, to have grown cold. Dyter’s cloak was draped over me, but my super-amazing Drae senses failed to alert me then. When I had some spare time, I needed to work on activating each of my senses. Not having them when I wanted was a serious pain. Tyrrik had said I’d be able to control a partial shift; that had to mean my eyes and ears, right?
“She was not raised Drae; you can’t expect her to accept your customs and culture without guidance and time,” Dyter whispered. “And even then, you need to be open to accepting some of hers. A little patience would go a long way—”
“It is not in my nature to be patient,” Tyrrik said. “It’s not in the nature of any male Drae.”
I mentally rolled my eyes. Male schmale.
“To be so close without bonding with her is nearly unbearable—,”
I froze.
“—She wants me to court her, I know, and if our mating meant less, I could. But my soul knows her, and my Drae craves her. My control is not infinite. I fear harming her or you if I continue to deny my instincts. I’m fighting the very nature of our species.”
Dyter said nothing at first, and in my mind, I could see the furrow he would wear while contemplating his answer.
“I’m surprised to hear that,” he said slowly. Small pieces of rock scrabbled to the ground as he got to his feet. “I don’t know much about Drae instincts or nature, but I would think a century of waiting would’ve taught you patience.”
Ouch. Harsh. I knew Dyter was taking my side, but I couldn’t help the smolder of injustice for Tyrrik churning underneath my ribs. I couldn’t imagine waiting a hundred years for anything. And just how hard was it for Tyrrik to deny these instincts? When he’d said he didn’t want to know me better, I’d thought he meant I was annoying or something, not that he was in physical pain around me.
“Are you up, Ryn?” Dyter called as he crossed from the clearing into the small thicket of trees. “We should start our descent soon so we can be up the other side before it gets dark.”
Ugh, we’re walking again? I grumbled as I sat up, my gaze going to Tyrrik to let him know he was the source of my bad mood. His back was to me, and he leaned over the fire to turn the spit roast, rabbit by the looks of it.
He stretc
hed his arms up, his borrowed aketon rising to mid-muscly-thigh.
Attraction for the Drae was not part of my current problems. Fire flared low in my belly, and I eyed the bottom of the aketon, willing it to inch up a little more. Show me some more toned Drae leg.
Tyrrik froze, and I blushed though he couldn’t see me where I peeked over the rocks. Dyter, however, did. He glanced back at Tyrrik and faced me with a chuckle.
“Like the view?” the old man asked.
I narrowed my eyes. “Nah, I’ve seen better.” I stood and folded up his cloak. Handing it back to Dyter, I said, “Thanks for keeping me warm.”
He shook his head and pointed at Tyrrik who was now casually cutting the spit roast into edible pieces with his talon. “Thank him; he’s the one who covered you.”
Of course he did. Great.
Dyter shoved the cloak in his pack. I couldn’t explain my nervousness, but it was there, crawling through my body at an unreasonable pace.
I shifted from foot to foot, asking, “What’s for breakfast?”
“Tyrrik caught three rabbits. He saved one for you.”
Whoever said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach was clearly raised in Verald—I thought the saying pertained more accurately to women. Either way, my heart melted just a little as I watched Tyrrik finish slicing the roast. “A whole rabbit? For me?”
Dyter looked up from the pack and nodded. “Hurry up. As soon as you’re done, we’re leaving.”
I took three blissfully unaware steps toward Tyrrik before the conversation with Dyter fully resurfaced, and my conscience reminded me: I owed Tyrrik an apology for slapping him with thirty-seven branches yesterday. My mum had taught me slapping people was rude. Even if it involved trees. Though I wasn’t entirely sure Tyrrik’s recent lie of omission wouldn’t bend my mother’s etiquette guidelines, I found I wanted to apologize to Tyrrik for the sake of, well, Tyrrik. Because his face had to have hurt after the twentieth branch slap, and I should’ve stopped after thirteen or fourteen.
I trudged forward, distinctly uncomfortable. What should I say? Sorry, I whacked you a bunch with the branches under the premise I wasn’t aware they would rebound into your really handsome face? I sounded twelve. Probably because I was acting twelve. Nice. As if I didn’t already feel bad enough. Holy pancakes, he was watching me.
Tyrrik sat on a rock by the fire. His feet were set wide apart, and his inky eyes searched my face with the focus of a hunter searching for his prey’s weakness. Was that aketon normal length? I eyed the hem askance, sure this was a skimpier design. A broody Drae in a skimpy aketon was going to be the death of me. The closer I got to Tyrrik, the more tongue-tied I became. My stomach picked this same time to tie itself in knots.
I was Ryn the Peacemaker who was also Fearless, and I could do hard things.
I took a deep breath and stopped in front of the fire, staring at my filthy feet instead of acknowledging Tyrrik. The panels of my skirt were frayed and spotted with mud and other stuff. Tyrrik’s feet were clean except for a dusting of recent dirt. How was that even possible?
“Here’s your breakfast,” he said in a low voice.
I gulped and raised my chin, but I couldn’t quite get my gaze to meet his. I managed to accept the roasted rabbit, noticing how it was evenly browned and glistening with grease. “Thank you.” I swallowed again and said in a rush, “I’m-sorry-I’m-twelve-and-I-hit-you-with-the-branches-it-won’t-happen-again.”
He pursed his lips. “Pardon me?”
Really? He was going to make me say it again? I met his gaze, and everything else fell away. Tyrrik’s dark eyes were flooded, wholly focused on me, intently so. His brow was furrowed but not in displeasure, more like I was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
I let my mental defenses slip, and his concern and worry flooded in. All of it for me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I hit you with all those branches yesterday. That was immature and . . . unkind.”
He swallowed. “It made you smile, and you know I would do—”
“Sorry, love-birds,” Dyter blurted, barreling toward us. “You’ll have to kiss and make up later. We need to leave, right now.”
What the hay? He’d been all ‘talk to Tyrrik, Rynnie,’ last night. I turned on Dyter to give him a piece of my mind, but the fear on his face stopped the words.
“What is it?” I asked.
Both men spoke at once.
Dyter said, “Movement coming down the mountain.”
“Druman,” Tyrrik said, his obsidian eyes hardening. “Closing in fast.”
He kicked dirt on the fire, extinguishing the flames.
I watched Tyrrik move, but my mind was fixated on the memory of Jotun’s cruelty. I blinked but otherwise remained frozen, my breath tripping in my chest. Flee. We needed to get out of here. They were going to catch us again. Tyrrik, Dyter, me. They’d use Tyrrik and Dyter against me. I wouldn’t be able to get free.
I sucked in a breath and gagged on the stench of unwashed Druman, a mixture of body odor and dust and sun-baked leather hide. They were here. They were here for me. I couldn’t go back.
“Ryn,” Dyter said, pulling me after him. “We need to go, girl. They’re coming down the mountain, so we should slip away while we still can.”
My feet moved, but I couldn’t shake the feeling something was off. “Why are we running? Why not go Drae and kill them? We can do that, right?”
“As soon as they die, the emperor will know,” Tyrrik said, scanning the clearing. “He’ll feel them die. If the Druman have to waste time reporting to the emperor, we’ll be inside Gemond before he even knows it. If he feels his Druman die, he’ll investigate, and he could intercept us.”
I nodded. “We need to get in the air.”
No one answered, but Tyrrik jerked his head toward the edge of our campsite. His features hardened, and his lips thinned into a grim line.
“Be careful,” he said to Dyter. “The drop is steep.”
I peered over the edge of the mountaintop—calling this drop steep was like calling night day. “You’re not suggesting we walk down the side of the cliff . . . are you?”
Dyter sat down on the ledge and then pushed his body off and disappeared.
I yelped, and my muscles coiled to leap after him.
“Shh.” Tyrrik intercepted my spring, covering my mouth, and whispering, “There’s a path below. He’ll be fine.”
I glared, and he removed his hand from my face only to grab my wrist and tug me after him. “I thought you said we weren’t going to walk down—”
“We’re not.”
The tension in my body eased a fraction until Tyrrik stood where Dyter had been a moment before.
“I’d rather avoid detection if at all possible,” Tyrrik said, not meeting my eyes.
I heard what he didn’t want to say: Tyrrik wasn’t sure he could shift and fight them off. He didn’t want to admit he was weak.
“We won’t walk,” he continued. “We’ll need to run.”
I felt like someone had kicked the backs of my knees. Tyrrik grabbed my waist and lifted me over the side. I dangled for a second until he lowered me from above.
A moment later, I hugged the rocky wall of a narrow ledge. The path curved around the cliff face before reaching the wide expanse of a steep slope covered in a sparse thicket of low trees. I inched my way along, turning back in time to see Tyrrik drop to safety where I’d been standing seconds before.
He tilted his chin again, and I took the hint, side stepping along the ledge until I was able to scurry into the woods.
31
The smell of Druman was growing, and so was the cold sweat on my forehead and palms. We edged down the almost-vertical pass as quickly as Dyter could quietly move. Dyter couldn’t contain his labored breathing as the ground began to flatten out, and we sprinted and jumped over rocks and hidden gaps in the rough terrain.
Soon, Tyrrik’s breathing was labored, too. This run shouldn’t ha
ve been tiring me, but my chest was tight, and my breath wouldn’t completely fill my lungs. I kept seeing my dungeon cell with its solitary drip of water, the sharp rocky ground, the dank smell.
Believing that the scent of Druman was truly lessening took a long time, at least until the ascent of the next mountain. Eventually, even I had to admit their smell had disappeared.
Tyrrik kept us in the foliage as much as possible. Our pace slowed as the ground sloped upward once more.
Dyter held up his hand for a stop and pulled out the now stone-cold roasted rabbit and the water skin.
“You guys need to eat, too,” I puffed, hands on my knees. I felt absolutely wrung out. Like I’d been sprinting for days.
After some insistence, the two men took a third each of the rabbit.
Tyrrik took the water skin from Dyter after the old man had a few gulps. The Drae handed it to me a moment later. I guzzled back the nectar Tyrrik offered and then focused for a few seconds before passing the water skin back.
We continued our climb, our pace slowing further as fatigue settled in. Dyter puffed as he led the way, stopping to consult his compass more frequently as afternoon settled in.
“Are we going to make it?” I asked. My question wasn’t to anyone in particular, and the answer didn’t even matter, not really. The silence was driving me crazy, and I wanted something to fill it. The silence. I hadn’t noticed Tyrrik in my head since the moment by the fire.
I whirled around and stared at him.
Why aren’t you in my head? I pushed my thought at him and couldn’t help the tone of accusation that leaked with it. Usually, when the Drae was conscious, I could feel little spikes of his emotion, and usually, he spoke to me several times even when I didn’t want him in there. What had changed?
He lifted his head and met my gaze. His face was lined with exhaustion that made my heart ache.
“It’s an invasion of your privacy for me to be in your head without your permission, and I shouldn’t have done it before now. Not without asking you if that was okay,” Tyrrik said; his sad smile touched the deep recesses of my heart. “I’m sorry, Ryn,” he said in a weary voice. “I want to say I never meant to take advantage of you, but that would be a lie because I wanted to establish a presence inside you. I forced my way in when you were vulnerable in the castle. I gave over to my mating instincts when I should have tapered them. But I . . . don’t want that to be how we start, how we might go on. Not anymore. You were right. We’re not in the castle. I’m not under a blood oath. I need to stop acting that way.” He released a shaking breath.
