Nylion’s use of ‘I’ smarted. He employed it as if he didn’t believe Raimie shared his need for resolution. Yes, he wanted to have it out with their father, but now that anger didn’t control him, he tried to keep perspective. Was settling their personal grievance more important than taking the next step to defeat Doldimar?
“Raimie?”
The door muffled Ren’s quiet voice, and his determination to focus on the critical fled.
He stood stock still, hand already on the knob. “Yes?”
“You can come in.”
He was through the door before he registered opening it. By some miracle, Ren had kept tears at bay until that point, but when she met his eyes, the big drops of saline puddling in hers spilled over. Tiny hiccups followed by gasps shook her frame.
Raimie crossed the distance to her, drawing her to his chest. Stiffening, she weakly tried to push away, but he held firm.
“My baby brother!” she sobbed.
She pounded a fist against his shoulder, crying the words over and over again until her legs stopped supporting her. Raimie’s suspicions proved true. He couldn’t support her weight for long.
Lowering them both to the mattress, he arranged her in his lap, Nylion sandwiching her on the other side. He let Ren soak his clothes with tears, his spirit fracturing alongside hers. As he ran his fingers through her hair, she gradually quieted and drifted into dreams despite the sun’s height in the sky.
Raimie refused to move.
* * *
An hour later, he wouldn’t risk lifting her from him, even though the leg on which she leaned steadily grew pins and needles.
Raimie didn’t want to disturb her rest, of course, but he also appreciated her body’s press against his. Everything about her was soft, and she smelled amazing. Even the snot, tear tracks, and drool added to her understated beauty, a loveliness which took his breath away. Hers wasn’t the same as Kaedesa’s outright exudence of sexuality, all curves and confidence, but something about Ren’s lean muscles and long legs appealed to him.
He could kiss her awake, hold her tight, show her love could exist in her grief-stricken world, but… Now didn’t seem the best time to indulge the fantasy. It bordered on taking advantage.
“I do not think she would mind at this point,” Nylion murmured from where he nestled against her.
Raimie shook his head. Funny, how the idea of his other half cuddling the girl he loved had made him exceptionally jealous only days before. Now, he found he honestly didn’t care what Nylion did because she snuggled up to him as well.
Unfortunately, having her this close to him meant a particularly disobedient part of his body responded in a way to which it was naturally inclined, despite his wishes otherwise. He shifted ever so barely to relieve the tension on his trousers, but even such slight movement was enough to send Ren, blinking, awake. She sleepily smiled at him for a single, blissful moment before realization hit and she jerked upright, almost clipping his chin with her forehead. Nervously giggling, she swiped at her face and hair.
“Can’t believe I fell asleep on you,” she muttered. “I must look a mess.”
“You’re a vision of beauty,” Raimie told her.
Frowning at him, she shifted off his lap.
“What now?” he asked.
What more do you need from me? I’ll do whatever you require to make you whole again.
“You must be busy,” Ren said. “I’m sure I’ve taken up enough of your time, but… I can’t deal with what’s waiting beyond that door. Will you please sit with me a while? Maybe tell me a story as distraction?”
“I’d love to,” Raimie said with a smile.
He couldn’t blame her hesitation. Who wanted to plan a sibling’s burial?
So, he told her a horror story mama used to whisper to him on the darkest nights in an attempt to make him scream. What hadn’t worked on him performed its magic on her, and Raimie’s ears rang when she playfully slapped him.
He switched to fairy tales, at her insistence, and time passed them by as he engulfed them in make believe worlds of magic and fights and evil vanquished by good. He took great pride in sharing one of his favorites of the Eselan Preserver, one she’d joined in on halfway through. It seemed tales of the world’s legendary savior weren’t centered solely in Ada’ir.
“Your home country must be soft and peaceful if wars are so highly lauded in your folklore,” Ren commented after one especially grisly tale.
“Ada’ir is nothing like Auden,” Raimie confirmed, “but it’s had its share of trouble.”
He told her of the rebellions against the Queen and the pirate attacks on coastal cities. At some point, the narrative shifted to his own life, and he nostalgically shared the winter he and his family nearly starved to death because of poor prior planning, causing her to uncontrollably giggle. That winter had been their first freezing season on the farm, away from Daira’s comforts, but Raimie didn’t tell her that. In fact, he avoided sharing anything which came before his ninth birthday, those recently recovered memories too raw and fresh to share with someone else. Even someone like Ren.
“She would not understand. Not yet,” Nylion agreed.
More like she’d think me crazy, but point taken.
“You would be surprised how easily love can color someone’s vision, heart of my heart.”
Raimie smirked. Like you’ve any experience with love.
“I have with you, although yes, it is not quite the same as yours for Ren,” Nylion said. “Stop focusing on me when she is right there, waiting for you.”
Shaken, Raimie complied with his other half’s suggestion, continuing his tales. Over the course of his stories, Ren shifted her body weight against him. She closed her eyes, but quiet murmurs of surprise and appreciation let Raimie know she continued to listen rather than drop into sleep.
He uncertainly wrapped his arms around her, and she snuggled deeper into his chest. Sighing contentedly, he rested his chin on her head. The positioning made talking difficult, but he enjoyed the brush of her hair against his neck too much to move.
They’d wrapped themselves in a warm cocoon of safety and contentment, a barrier against the hardships looming over their heads. It cracked at the knock.
“Come in,” Ren called.
The door opened with a thud, and they both blinked with confusion at Kylorian. Compared to the sense of peace in which they floated, he looked devastated. Stains streaked his clothes, and a nice, red shiner perched on the crest of one cheekbone. His eyes were wild, and Raimie could smell the alcohol which soaked him from the opposite side of the room.
“You,” he pointed at Raimie, “were supposed to come get me when Ren was ready for company, you…” he searched for the word, “liar! You big, fat, fucking liar!”
Kylorian seemed mildly pleased with himself for remembering the word.
“Language, Ky!” Ren gasped. “How much have you had to drink?”
“None of your business!” Kylorian shouted, wobbling. “You’re supposed to be with Dury, helping with Hadrion. Instead, you’re here. Alone. With him.”
Raimie bristled, but Ren squeezed his thigh until sparks of pain shot up it.
“I’ll head upstairs soon,” she commented. “Will you join us, or will the drink force you to sleep it off first?”
Kylorian swayed in place, attempting to comprehend whether the question contained an insult, and Ren irritably waved him away.
“You’ll do what you must, as usual. Is there anything else before you leave?”
Kylorian must have missed the warning in Ren’s voice because he remained fixed in place, thinking. He snapped his fingers.
“A woman waits outside who insists she must speak with your lover.” Ren flinched. “Quite a temper, that one. Almost sicced her goons on me when I didn’t immediately allow her access to the house.”
“Godsdamn it,” Raimie groaned, leaning his head back. “Green eyes and brown hair like a chestnut?”
“Yup,
” Kylorian confirmed, popping the p.
Raimie groaned again, and the other man laughed.
“All right, Ky,” Ren growled. “You can get out now.”
They heard his laughter through the door and down the corridor beyond.
“Who is she?” Ren asked, rounding on Raimie.
Oh, Alouin, why had she so quickly zeroed in on the source of his discomfort? And how to explain without ending up black and blue?
“The Queen of Ada’ir.” He decided to go with the simplest answer, but that only incensed her further.
“And what does the Queen want with you?”
“I believe she wishes to expand her power base.” Raimie sighed. “I unintentionally commandeered a few of her assets upon fleeing her country, a seizure which has put me in her debt. She wants me to repay it in an… unusual manner.”
“Let’s set aside the discussion of why stealing from a person you flee puts you in her debt,” Ren said, shaking her head. “How does she expect you to repay her?”
Coughing, Raimie mumbled his response under his breath.
“What was that?” Ren asked.
“Just tell her, heart of my heart.”
“Marriage, godsdamn it! She wants to marry me!” Raimie shouted. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging on strands. “She offers the support of her nation’s military and economic wealth in exchange for a place at my side as Queen of Auden.”
The hands flopped into his lap, and he inspected them as if they were the most fascinating items in the world. When Ren eventually broke the silence, she seemed calmer than Raimie had thought she’d be.
“How would that work?” she asked. “Would she retain Ada’ir’s throne when she took her place as queen here?”
“It’s not unprecedented in history,” Raimie muttered. “The Southern Kingdoms trade hands via bride so often the political landscape in the south can change over the course of months rather than decades.”
He grimaced. Lessons from his politics and history tutors rang clear as a bell now that his brain didn’t need to fabricate a tale concerning the information’s origins.
“What do you think of the situation?” Ren asked, this time dangerously calm.
“I hate it! I-”
Laying a hand on his chest, Ren forced him to meet her eyes. “Raimie, what do you honestly think?”
Why? Why was she doing this to him?
“Personally, I’d reject the proposal outright. I have what I want right here.” He grabbed her hands. “As for what’s best for Auden, I think I’d be crazy not to accept her offer. We could use the influx of men and supplies, and despite what Kaedesa may think, she wouldn’t be the only one expanding her country’s influence. Auden would have some small say in what happened across the sea.”
“Then, you must accept.”
“What?! Ren!”
“Hush now.” She smoothed a hand across his face, and he flinched. “You are King, my love. In all things, you must conduct yourself in a way that betters Auden. Your wants, your desires. They have no relevance any more. You’ve been allowed to do as you please to this point because your successes have dazzled the populace, but eventually, your freedom will shrink. It will start now, I suppose.”
“The Audish people haven’t even formally recognized me! They could decide they want Kylorian instead,” Raimie protested.
Ren’s smile was bittersweet and withering. “Tiro already lauds you. Once they get to know you, the cities which Doldimar holds under his thumb will quickly forgive your relation to the king of old. My brother doesn’t stand a chance against your claim.”
“How can you suggest this?!” Raimie asked, anger beginning to take hold. “You and I, we’ve something real here! If I marry her, it’s gone forever!”
Ren straddled him, grinding her elbows into his collarbone and holding his face firmly in place. A wave of nausea and fear broke off further protestations.
“You see me differently than others, my love. You appreciate me despite my shortcomings, those which the Audish people will never accept in a queen. They'll never allow a half-Esela to sit on the throne.
“I love you, Raimie,” Ren said, longing pouring from her like a tsunami, “but I love the idea of an Auden free from Doldimar more.”
She leaned in, but no passion fired this kiss. Desperation made her tightly clench his hair and his neck, but her lips were light on his. When she pulled back, Raimie scrambled to chase her, but she pushed him down.
“We were finished the minute your Queen made her offer.”
Sliding off him, she stalked to the door. When he attempted to follow, Ren glared over her shoulder.
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, my love.”
And she was gone. How could she do this?! It made no logical sense to say she loved him and then end their romance. She’d said those three beautiful words. She loved him, and he could do NOTHING about it!
Because much as it hurt to admit, Ren was right. He needed Kaedesa.
Flopping sideways, Raimie curled into a ball. An overbearing voice in his head screamed denials at him. He didn’t need Kaedesa. He needed nothing. Not Tiro, not his family, not the army. Nothing.
The skills imparted through years of lessons and training had forged he and Nylion into a self-sufficient being. They could competently hunt and gather, had learned how to build a makeshift shelter, and knew how to quickly locate sources of water. Companionship was never an issue because so long as one of them lived, the other would exist, a friendly presence overlaying every thought.
If Nylion’s companionship wasn’t enough, Raimie knew he could persuade Ren to follow him into the wilds if she’d give him the chance. They could enjoy a quiet life together, avoid Kiraak patrols, spend wondrous nights delighting in one another, build a home to defend. Maybe someday that home could fill with the shrieking laughter of children, a host of little boys and girls to fill their days with childish antics.
So, why hadn’t he run yet? What the hell had so thoroughly ensnared he and Nylion here?
“We need Kaedesa,” Nylion whispered Raimie’s previous assertion, voice breaking.
The denial rose again. They didn’t need her. Marcuset would gladly welcome her troops, and Eledis would love to acquire the backing of Ada’ir’s court, but even those two didn’t need her. Who did? The Audish people? Why should he care what happened to them? He felt for them, truly, but they weren’t his people, not yet at least. They weren’t the chain tethering him in place.
“No, they aren’t.”
With a lengthy hiss, muscles loosened, and the ball of flesh which was Raimie unfurled. The soldiers, mercenaries, and gullible farm boys who’d followed him across the sea. They were his cage.
“Our family,” Nylion reminded him.
“I know.”
Those men and women had trusted that a naïve boy could lead them to victory, all based on a foretelling which backed him, and he’d brought them to a hostile land fraught with death and danger. They were his responsibility. He needed to provide them a refuge, and to do that, he required more resources. So, in essence, they needed Kaedesa, and for their sakes, so did he.
Which meant for the sake of those he called family, Raimie must close his heart to the one he loved and turn it to another.
Instead, he reached for the one who’d always been there, desperately seeking some sense of comfort, much as he had as a little boy. What rose to greet him from Nylion, however, was a pang which echoed his own horrendous distress, and Raimie was unbearably grateful their bond had weakened so. Bouncing grief from him to Nylion and back again, multiplying its strength with each pass, would culminate with him doing something incredibly rash. It had happened before.
He needed to hit something. Maybe Tiro’s training yard was open despite the late hour.
The front door to Riadur’s house slammed open with more force than Raimie had intended. He stormed down the street which would eventually lead to the yard.
“Raimie!
” someone called behind him.
He slowed to allow her to catch up.
“Have you thought about what I said?” Kaedesa asked, out of breath from her run.
“Yes,” was all he replied.
“And?”
Raimie halted, and Kaedesa continued striding forward a few more feet before noticing.
“Yes,” he hissed through his teeth, “I’ll marry you, but don’t expect me to help with arrangements, Auntie. I’m much too busy planning a war.”
“Auntie?” Kaedesa wrinkled her nose, a faraway look in her eyes. “Why does that epithet stir nostalgia?”
But Raimie was already out of sight.
* * *
The yard’s master looked surprised to see him there.
“How may I help, Your Majesty?” he asked.
“Looking to hit something,” Raimie replied.
“No weapons are allowed, Your Majesty. Only blunted blades and the like,” the master explained, gaze flicking up and down Raimie’s body.
“I know how a training yard works, master,” Raimie murmured, unbuckling Silverblade and removing several other weapons. “You don’t happen to stock staves, do you?”
“Of course, Your Majesty! We wouldn’t be much of a yard if we didn’t supply even the poorest of weapons.” The master struggled to juggle Raimie’s recently freed blades, “but even with you unarmed, Your Majesty, there’s still the matter of the, um, the…” He coughed.
Raimie sharply glanced at the man. “Primeancy? I didn’t plan to use it. I need to hit something, not destroy it, but I’ll make a vow to shun primal energy if that will appease you.”
“No, no!” The man shook his head so vigorously Raimie worried the pistol at the ensemble’s pinnacle would fire. “That won’t be necessary. Staves are in the far-left corner.”
“I thank you, good sir.” He bowed, and the master flushed.
Raimie inwardly groaned as he turned away. He hadn’t quite mastered the acting kingly bit yet.
The yard contained a surprisingly extensive weapons collection: swords of all types, shields, bows and arrows, pikes, and lances. The staves stood in the furthest corner as the master had indicated. It was the spindliest and sparsest of the weapons assortment, only a handful there, and of those, most poorly weighted and shoddily crafted.
A King's Caution (The Eternal War Book 2) Page 26
