by S. M. Boyce
He hummed and leaned his head against hers. She took a deep breath and leaned into him, a smile still on her face.
“Sounds lovely,” she said.
“It will be. But no discussing politics or war. Agreed?”
“That is technically in our future.”
He poked her side. She giggled and squirmed out of poking distance. He smiled, but pointed a finger at her.
“Promise me,” he said.
She grinned, too. “Fine, pushy pants.”
He laughed, but a pang of guilt rocked Kara’s core. She frowned.
Braeden’s smile fell. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head and stretched out on the mattress, facing the window. “Maybe Stone’s right. Who are we to take a break, Braeden?”
His shoulders slumped. His eyebrows twisted, and he tilted his head as if studying her. Another pang of guilt shook her—only this time, out of disappointment in herself. She was letting him down. She rubbed her face. He sighed and crawled over the mattress to join her. He settled in, his warm body pressed against hers.
He nudged her with his shoulder. “What is this really about?”
She shrugged but wouldn’t look at him. “I don’t know. The war, I guess. How can we talk about the future if we don’t know there will be one?”
“No one knows what’s coming, but the unknown doesn’t stop us from dreaming about what could be.”
She nodded. “True. But what if either of us dies, Braeden? I couldn’t—I can’t—”
He shushed her. “None of that. Death can’t be an option. We go in expecting to win.”
Her voice broke. “But this is war. Shouldn’t we be preparing? There’s so much to do, and we bond less than a week before a final battle that will decide the fate of Ourea? I just feel—I feel selfish. Frivolous. Silly.”
He paused, eyes on the floor. He took a deep breath, lips parted as if he debated what to say.
“Kara, there’s a lot more to life than the role you fill for everyone else. You have to do what’s important to you as well. People will drain you dry with expectations and never once stop to ask if you’re all right. And when you’re done, when you’re all used up, they’ll move on to someone else. No one will look out for you like you can look out for yourself, except perhaps me. So tell me, what’s important to you in this moment?”
A thin smile stretched across her face. She eyed him, her heart bubbling with joy. He continued to stare at the floor, eyes focused in what she could only assume was fear of her answer. She reached her hand into his and squeezed. He squeezed back.
“You,” she said.
He nodded. “That’s my answer, too.”
She leaned into his shoulder. He lifted his arm and folded it around her, pulling her close.
“Will you let yourself enjoy one day of peace?” he asked.
She nodded. She would try.
Chapter 4
Union
A knock on the door woke Braeden. He lay still, allowing his mind to clear as he blinked himself awake. Sunlight cut through the open curtains, casting ripples of light along the floor and furniture as clouds zipped by outside. A finger brushed along his neck, tickling him.
Kara hummed to his left and snuggled closer, resting her head against his side. He smiled and ran his fingers along her back, his fingertips brushing the indigo cloth of her night shirt. Flick snored once from his pillow on the nightstand, his breaths hiccupping with little chirps. The little creature’s ear twitched.
The knock came again.
Braeden lifted Kara’s hand with care and slipped out of the bed. He grabbed his shirt from the desk chair and yanked it on. His boots sat by the entry, flecks of mud clinging to the sole. He left them and tiptoed for the main door—he had no plans to leave today. He inched the door open and crept into the hallway. The door swung shut behind him, but he kept his foot on the base so the latch wouldn’t click.
An Ayavelian in a black uniform waited in the hallway, his three-pupiled eyes on Braeden. In one hand, the servant balanced a silver tray with a dome. Beside the dome sat a pitcher of yellow liquid and two glasses. The aroma of bacon and the tang of strawberries drifted from the silver.
“Oh, thank you,” Braeden said, leaving the door open a crack.
The Ayavelian nodded without a smile and handed Braeden the platter. “When shall I return to lead you and Miss Magari to the altar caves?”
“Two hours.”
“Very well.” The Ayavelian bowed and began down the hall.
Braeden chuckled. Evelyn’s personality seemed to have rubbed off on her servants—at least the ones assigned to him.
He leaned into the door with his shoulder. It slid open in time to catch Kara mid-stretch. She arched her back and pressed her arms into the air, yawning as she sat up in bed. Flick sat up, twitched his tail, and curled back into a ball, apparently not ready to wake yet.
Kara hummed and took a deep breath. “That smells amazing.”
Braeden set the tray on the comforter and lifted the lid. A plate filled most of the platter, its surface covered in meats and fruits. Braeden grabbed the pitcher and sniffed. The zest of lemon juice engulfed him like a wave but left a sweet lingering scent in its wake.
“Lemonade?” Kara asked.
Braeden nodded. “Want some?”
“Please.” She picked a strawberry and bit into it. She closed her eyes and smiled.
He grinned, watching her as she dove into the food. A cloud shifted outside, and the sun cast a beam on her hair. She glowed, the light picking up hints of red among the gold. Her gray eyes surveyed the platter and, after a moment, shifted to him.
His heart skipped a beat.
“Are you going to eat?” she asked.
He nodded. “You seemed hungrier.”
She laughed and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward her with a soft tug. He obeyed and inched closer to the plate. The mattress dipped under his knee, and the platter shifted, the lemonade sloshing. He stretched out on his stomach, more carefully this time, and picked up a slice of bacon. The flavor burst on his tongue.
He could get used to this sort of peace. And since he wouldn’t get it again until the war ended, he would savor every second of today.
Two hours and a hearty breakfast later, Braeden and Kara sat in a carriage on its way to the altar caves. The wheels rolled along the dirt road, bouncing over the occasional pebble in the path. Braeden wound his fingers through hers and squeezed. They’d been bumbling along for quite a while, and an ache crept up the base of his neck from the bumps in the road. He would have preferred to walk—hell, it would’ve been faster—but apparently a carriage ride was an integral part of the ceremony in Ayavel.
The butler from earlier sat on the opposite bench, staring into the space between them as he swayed with the cart’s movement. An indent appeared in Kara’s cheek as if she bit it to keep from laughing. Braeden grinned and shifted his attention out the window. Beige tree trunks and the green haze of a forest blocked out all view of the sky, the rich emerald leaves of a late summer twinkling in what sunlight swept past the canopy.
Flick's usual twitters should have filled the silence, but Kara left her pet with Twin for the night. Bribed with grapes, the little creature hadn’t put up much of an argument.
The carriage skidded and paused. The butler stood and reached for the door, twisting it open and hopping to the ground in a single motion. A cool breeze rushed into the cabin, tickling the hair on Braeden’s arms. He followed suit and jumped off, extending one hand to the woman he loved. Kara grinned, her cheeks flushing, and took it. The sweet perfume of honeysuckle played with his senses. He eyed the forest, tempted to slip away for a second and find the vine.
A horse snorted. The white mare pulling the carriage complimented the golden detail along the sides, her coat glistening in sunbeams. Her ears perked up, and she reached her nose toward Braeden, nuzzling his back as she no doubt looked for a treat. The butler sighed and clicked his tongue, bu
t the horse didn’t pause in her search for the sugar cube Braeden didn’t have.
The dirt road ended in a cave, its smooth entrance carved from the rocky foot of a mountain. The gray stone shot upward, jutting through the forest like a boulder dropped in a river. A seven-foot archway invited Braeden into a blanket of darkness illuminated only by the flickering firelight in sconces on the wall inside.
Their butler stepped back, his shoulders almost to the forest line, and bowed. His coattails swayed. “Everything you need should be within the rooms. For the next twenty-four hours, no one will bother you.”
“Thank you,” Braeden said.
The Ayavelian bowed and climbed into the carriage. The horse’s ears wiggled, and she turned without an order to plod along the path. Wind pushed its way through the trees, rustling the leaves together in the warm summer morning.
“Charming, isn’t he?” Kara muttered under her breath.
Braeden stifled a laugh. “Let’s head in.”
Kara smiled and took his hand. Her fingertips brushed his palm, the nails grazing his skin with the barest touch. He suppressed a happy shiver and grinned, following without a word as she led him into the tunnel. They crossed into the shadow of the cave, and chills sped along his arms within seconds after the sunlight vanished. Fire crackled in the sconces as they passed, the little pockets of heat warming him for only a moment when he walked by each one.
Shadows danced against the walls of the cave as the torches twisted in their cages. The sconces dipped downward, and a stair appeared in the path. Kara descended, her head bobbing with each step. The cave walls spiraled with them, taking them deeper into the ground below the mountain. The air chilled, stealing the last of the summer warmth from Braeden’s clothes.
The staircase ended in a small room carved from the rock. A large golden plate bolted to the cave wall in each corner held flames two feet high and lit the small space without effort. As with the tunnel, the flames cast dim silhouettes. Braeden’s mind toyed with him, transforming the shadows into figures flitting across the rock, eyeing him a second or two before bolting out of sight. He shivered.
An altar occupied a good part of the far wall. A slab rested on top, smooth except for two spikes that extended upward from opposite corners. An array of candles sat beneath the altar, sitting alongside several sticks laid out on the ground.
“Where does this go?” Kara asked.
Her hand rested on the knob of a wooden door, its hinges bolted to the rock wall.
“Let’s find out,” he said.
She turned the handle. It creaked. A latch clicked, and the door swung inward. Pale light streamed through, filling the dark altar room and chasing away the shadow figures Braeden’s mind had invented. He set a hand on Kara’s lower back. She smiled and kissed his cheek before walking toward the side room, one hand on the door frame as she peeked in.
Braeden followed suit, mimicking her so that he could rest his hand on hers. She rubbed her thumb along his wrist.
Light streamed from a window on the opposite wall. It rested along the top half of the rock, a thick ledge creating a seat at its base. It looked out onto a trench lined with rocks and a sea of green leaves. The garden glowed in the external light.
A bed rested against the wall on the right, covered in a white comforter. Two chairs filled the remainder of the wall, one on either side of the bed. A white dress covered one chair’s back, the skirt brushing the floor; a set of folded white clothes filled the other chair’s seat.
“The dress must be mine,” Braeden said with a grin.
Kara laughed. “It’ll look good on you.”
She peered around the door and gasped. He did, too.
A counter had been carved from the rock and set against the wall. It ran the length of the room. Ice filled half of the surface, food and silver pitchers poking from the blocks. Plates of fruits, dried meats, cheeses, and cakes covered the other half of the display.
“Are we supposed to eat all of that?” Kara asked.
Braeden shrugged. “We may as well try.”
She laughed and walked back to the center of the room, spinning as she took it all in. “This is wonderful.”
He smiled. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
She grinned, but her gaze fell to the floor a second later. She cleared her throat.
A tremor of worry snaked through his gut. She’d promised him one day of happiness, but knowing her, she couldn’t simply ignore the world outside. She carried too much guilt.
She lifted the dress and examined it, rubbing her thumb along the fabric. He approached her back and set one hand on each shoulder. He kissed her neck and held her, silently wishing she would let herself have this one day of peace.
“Let’s get dressed and prep the altar room,” he said.
She twisted in his grip and wrapped her arms behind his neck. “Sounds like a plan, Prince Charming.”
Braeden set the final candle into a recess in the wall. It flickered, casting shadows against the uneven rock, but all of the new candlelight chased away his imaginary figures. His white tunic lacked sleeves, exposing the tattoo-like lifeline covering his bicep and elbow. Kara’s dress swished about her ankles and showcased her bare right arm. If the bond worked, she would soon have a lifeline like his. If it didn’t—well, they could worry about that if it happened. She hummed a tune he didn’t recognize as she set a stick of incense into a wooden stand mounted to the wall behind the altar. He leaned against the stone and watched her. Her blond hair hung around her face in waves, the gold complimenting her warm skin. Her eyes shifted toward him. She smiled, and her cheeks flushed pink.
“What?” she asked.
He smiled. “You’re beautiful.”
Her grin widened, eyes glistening in the room’s amber glow. “Thanks, handsome.”
She stepped back and set her hands on her hips, eyes scanning the wall she’d been working on. He rubbed her shoulders and kissed her head.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“This looks good to me.”
“Me, too. So do we just… start?”
He laughed. “There’s no checklist. We have the room for a full day. We do whatever feels right.”
“Honestly, this altar scares me. I kind of want to get it over with.”
He examined the pedestal. The two spikes on opposite ends cast shadows on the flat, rectangular surface. It was only about a foot long and half as wide—he could reach over and kiss Kara from his side if he wanted to. Lines coursed through the slab, tiny riverbeds that led to a small hole in the opposite corner. He ran his finger along the hole and knelt, looking for where it went, only to find another spike pointing downward.
“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” he finally said.
“What are we supposed to do?”
“Set one finger on each spike—you on that side, me on this side. The altar does the rest.”
She frowned. “Rings would’ve been less painful.”
He laughed. “And less rewarding.”
Her frown dissolved, but she looked at the floor. “What if it doesn’t work? The bond? I mean, this is meant for yakona, not isen. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
He wrapped her in a hug and kissed her forehead. “You can’t. What happens, happens.”
She smiled and leaned into him. He rubbed his thumb against her hand. His eye hesitated on his own olive skin, and a flicker of worry erupted in his gut. His mind raced. This was the body she recognized, but it wouldn’t be the body he could keep when he ruled the Stele. Stelians would only respect a Stelian Blood, not a Stelian posing as a Hillsidian.
Stupid, he thought. You should have brought this up sooner.
He cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something first?”
“Of course.”
“Do you—um, do you have a preference for—uh…”
She turned around and examined his face. “Are you okay?”
He nodded and forced himself to ask. “What do you lik
e better—my Hillsidian or Stelian form?”
Her expression softened, and her eyebrows twisted upward into what might have been understanding or perhaps resignation. He couldn’t tell.
“I like you. I don’t care which skin you wear.”
He smiled.
“Shall we?” she asked with a nod to the altar.
“I don’t want you to be anxious about this.” With a deep breath—and a shaky sigh from her—he took Kara’s hand and led her to the altar, setting her left pointer finger on the topmost spike. She lifted her other hand, setting her finger against the downward spike. Her eyes remained locked on the altar. Concern weighed on his shoulders. He didn’t want to force her into this.
“Say the word and we’ll stop,” he added.
She shook her head. “I want you, Braeden. This is important to you, so it’s important to me.”
A flurry of gratitude rushed through his chest. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He smiled, and she returned it—though her eyes shifted once or twice to the pricks beneath her fingertips. He set his fingers on the spikes and pressed into the sharp ends.
A twinge of pain tore through his fingers. A drop of black blood snaked down the spike, filling his end of the altar’s riverbed. Red slid down Kara’s spike, the blood inching toward Braeden’s right hand as he waited to receive it.
His skin stitched together around the spike, pushing it outward as his body naturally healed. His hand twitched, breaking open the skin again. A jolt of pain shot up his arm. Another bead of black blood trailed toward the line, pushing what had already spilled closer to Kara. Yet again, his skin healed. And yet again, a ripple of pain tweaked his hand as he ripped the skip open once more.
The two lines of blood—one red, one black—trailed along the shallow riverbeds of the altar. He looked at Kara, who stared at the altar with wide eyes. He reached over and kissed her cheek. A flush spread over her face, and her eyelashes fluttered.
