by Alex Lidell
“She looked a great deal like you,” he says softly. “And had a stubborn streak to match.”
I try to smile, but the ache in River’s voice makes it nearly impossible. I wish I could say something. To tell him that—that his Diana has not died, that she’d never existed. Better yet, I wish I could say that I’m her. Except that isn’t true either. The Diana in River’s soul is a peer to him, while the real me standing before him is just a cadet, and a pretender noble at that.
The unfairness of it all makes tears burn in my throat.
In the Great Hall below, the violins play a fast prancing tune. It must look gorgeous with the couples swirling around the floor, the girls’ gowns opening like flower petals with each swing. But I don’t belong there.
“And what of you?” he asks. “What brings you up here this night?”
I turn back toward the mountain range splaying open before us, my immortal sight and the starlit sky giving me a good view. “I don’t enjoy dancing.”
“For someone who lies as much you do, I would think you’d be better at it.” He says it as a curious fact, his soft tone carrying no hint of malice, as if the night has declared some sort of temporary truce between us.
I shrug one shoulder and leave it at that. Down below, the instruments finish the ditty and change tune. This time, the music is a slow, three-beat piece that makes me think of flying. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three. The notes hit their marks, my core rousing to their beautiful rhythm.
From the corner of my vision, I see River cocking his head, his eyes losing focus as he takes in the same melody that has my thoughts spinning. “The Ostera waltz,” he says. “It is bad fortune to sit it out.”
“In this place, I’m shocked there is no rule mandating the dance.”
He smiles lightly. “There might be.” Turning his hand palm up, he extends it toward me.
My breath catches, my stomach tightening with a mix of fear and desire. Despite the fresh spring air, my revealing blue gown is suddenly too hot. Taking a step away, I clutch the railing as if asking for its protection.
His voice softens. “Do I frighten you that much, Leralynn?”
I shake my head, though maybe I should have taken the lie River offers.
Instead of leaving well enough alone, he steps toward me. His nostrils flare gently as he takes in my scent with the same intensity with which he surveys my face, stripping me bare. Reaching forward, he touches my elbow, the contact sending a wave of warmth all through my chest and belly.
“If it’s not me you are frightened of, then who?” he asks. “And don’t tell me you don’t want to dance.”
“I…” I feel like a rabbit caught in a python’s hypnotic stare, my heart beating so quickly that I can’t think. Can’t see beyond the fleeting moment made of moonlight and violin music, where the rules are distant and time itself has come to a standstill. One, two, three. One, two, three. The music calls, my body longing to respond to the rhythm. To River. “I don’t know how. The Ostera waltz, I guess.”
River frowns. “It’s no different from any other waltz.”
“No. I mean…” The words fall in a rapid whisper that I can’t stop. “I don’t know how to dance. Any waltz. Anything at all.”
The utter bewilderment in his gaze is so strong that even the self-controlled male can’t hide it quickly enough to escape notice. I can’t blame him. A noble who doesn’t know basic dancing is about as common as one who can’t read or work out figures—and Great Falls Academy is a school for the elite.
I clear my throat. “You would have a better time dancing with anyone down in the hall.”
Instead of retreating, River steps closer still. “I can’t possibly allow a Great Falls cadet to not know a basic waltz.” His tone is an irresistible mix of caress and challenge, as if he knows the perfect combination with which to strike at my resolve. Reaching forward, he takes my left hand gently and, upon finding little resistance, lays it atop his bicep. “Plus, I’ve a secret too,” he adds, leaning down toward my ear. “I enjoy teaching.”
8
Lera
I’m suddenly shy as River draws me into the powerful frame of his arms. A clean soapy scent wafts from his clothes, weaving with his natural woodsy smell. Even as he grabs my waist firmly, he pushes against our clasped hands, engaging a gentle tension between us. His sculpted face is suddenly so close to mine, it’s an effort of will not to close the distance. One, two, three, one, two, three, the music calls, and River sways to it, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.
I start to move my feet, but River’s hold tightens gently. “Just listen to the beat. Let it fill your body until the tension is too much to bear.”
I’ve not seen this side of River before, not even in Lunos. For a heartbeat, I expect the moment to dissolve, but I find him opening to the music instead, his pulse matching the melody’s rhythm. I draw an uncertain breath, but the security of his hand on my waist holds me steady. Despite being so close that my lower right ribs press tight against River’s taut body, the position manages to feel powerful instead of lewd.
One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.
River sways, each movement winding an invisible spring.
“Ready?” he asks.
“No.”
“Let me lead,” he says into my ear, his final pause seeming to compress the energy of the world into a single movement. “Stop thinking and let your body listen.” He squeezes my hand once, and, with the first step, the male moves through me. Powerful thighs step between mine, propelling the pair of us across the wide empty terrace.
“Left. Right. Together,” he murmurs, his body molding mine into the motions, making us rise and fall and twirl.
Wind hits my face, the stars starting to spin. For a moment—just a moment—I feel like I might actually be dancing, River’s perfect movements embracing uncertainty, guiding my body with gentle cues of pressure and step.
We spin. Again. Again. A—
I step on him.
His hand only tightens around me, a steady assurance that he isn’t letting me go. He sways again, finding the rhythm before thrusting us into motion.
Left foot. Right. Together. I recite the instructions in my head. Right—no
This time, I somehow manage to crash into the male, only River’s firm hold preventing me from tripping over the hem of my own dress. Heat fills my face, a bouquet of embarrassment and regret. He invited me into the magic of a dance—and not just a dance, but the dance, the night’s crown jewel to mark the clock turning to Ostera.
And in return, I’m body-slamming him.
“This isn’t happening,” I say, pulling my hand from his grip. “I can’t learn how to dance in the course of a single song.”
“You are right,” River says, but instead of releasing me, he only tightens the grip. His gaze pierces me, powerful and steady and deep enough to brush along my soul. “Can you trust me, Leralynn?” he whispers. “Not forever, but just for this song.”
I nod, and suddenly, I am in the air, my body flush against his as he spins us to the rising music. Faster and faster, the breeze filling and lifting the layers of my blue dress. My breath quickens, my lungs opening to the hyacinth-filled air. In the night sky, the stars circle us in perfect harmony to the song. To us.
More strings join the chorus, the Ostera waltz rising to its inevitable climax. River takes us into a spin so fast and powerful that the world disappears in a swirl of speed and color and streaking stars. When the final note vibrates through the air, he brings us back to the same railing where we started, his eyes locked on mine as he settles me back to the ground.
I feel as though I’ve been running, my breath quick with energy that wakens all my senses. Around me, the world rocks into gentle focus, but I can’t take my eyes off River’s, the mix of joy and pain in his eyes gripping my soul.
He gently loosens his hold.
&
nbsp; I tighten mine.
“Leralynn,” he warns, a tremor racing through his muscled frame. The male’s pulse beats so hard that I see it in the hollow triangle of his neck. ”Thank you for the dance.”
I try to let him go, but my fingers won’t obey my command. The heat from River’s body envelops me, everything but his piercing gray eyes falling away into irrelevance. I draw a shaking breath, feeling him do the same. The bicep beneath my left hand coils, the calloused fingers holding my right palm softly scraping my skin.
“Lera. We need to stop.” His words hitch, and when he tries to step away again, I feel the hardness pulsating between his thighs. An oh-so-familiar hardness that I haven’t felt in far too long. “This is wro—”
“No.” A desire as powerful and primal as the male himself grips my chest. My fingers dig into River’s flesh. My mouth tingles with the need for him, my whole body as desperately tight as the mystical strings of the Great Hall violin. Rising to my toes, I grip the back of his neck and suck on his lower lip.
“Stars take me,” River rasps, his hardness giving a tight jerk against me. With the next heartbeat, he lowers his head, covering my mouth with his. His lips are soft at first, as if seeking permission—despite the thundering need making my thighs so wet that I’m sure he can scent it. It’s almost surreal, the press of his warm mouth, after more than a month of missing my commander, longing for him from afar.
When I open for him with a soft, helpless moan, River cracks. His tongue plunges into my mouth, an inaudible growl rumbling in his chest. Claiming me with a primal need that turns more possessive with each stroke of his tongue. His hands come around to grip my head and back, trapping me between his powerful arms and body, the restraining hold magnifying each sensation.
His woodsy taste makes my head spin just as the stars did. Within his strong hold, I feel safer than I have since stepping foot into Great Falls. When he scrapes his canines along my lips, the sting of edged pleasure shoots down to my core, echoing from my bunched nipples, my thighs, the arches of my feet. My sex clenches, my damp underthings sliding along sensitive skin.
His hand tangles in my hair, and I moan into his mouth. My hips press forward, my mound seeking the pressure of River’s large thigh, the rock-hard muscles shifting beneath the warrior’s skin driving up my need.
Dong. Dong. Dong.
I jerk, the bell’s rich toll driving ice down my spine. No. No, it can’t be midnight. Not now. Not yet. My fingers dig deeper into his flesh, trying to stop time.
Dong. Dong. Dong.
Inside my soul, duty pounds against desire, each extra heartbeat of stolen time with River worth the safety of all realms.
Except it can’t be. Not with others’ lives at stake.
I pull my mouth back, River’s panting breath filling my ears. His gray eyes narrow, his beautiful face straining with a mix of confusion and restraint. With questions I can’t answer.
“I… I have to go.” I tell him, pulling back more roughly than I should. I’ve no choice. Another moment in his arms and I know I will damn the whole world to hell before leaving. “I—”
River steps away so quickly, cold air rushes to fill the void between us. His eyes are wide now, his hands grabbing his head, making his dark hair stand up in tufts. “Leralynn.” River’s chest heaves, cracking open my heart.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, backing away beneath the final dong, dong, dong of the tower bell.
My last sight of the terrace before I rush out the double doors is that of River standing with his back to me, his shoulders hunched as he braces himself against the rail.
9
Lera
“You are cutting it close,” Gavriel steps out from behind the cluster of whispering trees guarding the escape tunnel entrance. He’s draped in his usual dark robes, his thinning brown hair poking up in wild tufts that speak to long hours bent over a desk. Holding out a bow and quiver, he checks me over with a scrutinizing gaze—though I’m not sure what he can possibly see in this light. I pull the final part of my outfit on before taking the bow—an armored leather vest that laces up the side, the hardest place for a sword to reach. In my fitted black pants, boots, and long-sleeved tunic, my hair in a tight braid down my back, I feel far more myself than I did only moments ago in that gown—now crumpled in a beautiful blue heap behind the usual bush.
I sling the quiver over my chest, Gavriel’s eyes widening at my brusque movements. “Have a care. Those arrowheads are saturated with eradicant. Unwrap them carefully before firing—and remember that you need to hit the Yocklol’s eye. This is all the eradicant we have, and it will sour in forty-five—no, forty—minutes. No diversions before you deploy it.”
“I know.” I make my voice strong. Or think I do, until Gavriel frowns at me with perceptive brown eyes. Of all days for Gavriel to pay attention, of course he’d choose today.
“Are you feeling ill?” Stepping forward, the librarian touches my forehead, and it’s all I can do not to jump back, the memory of River’s touch still searing through me. Gavriel’s frown deepens. “Your life is more vital than killing those Yocklol trees, Leralynn. If you aren’t feeling well—”
“I’m fine.” My heart pounds, my words coming with a snap I don’t intend. “I’m mad at myself for being late. Let’s get this done and go to bed.” Without waiting for Gavriel’s reply, I open the trap grating and slip into the darkness. I’m already on the floor of the tunnel when Gavriel’s final words—ones not intended for my hearing judging by the mutter—reach my ears. “Be careful, Lera. Please.”
I am only half surprised when, a mile into the hike, Shade’s wolf trots up beside me, his gray fur and yellow eyes gleaming in the moonlight, black muzzle opened in a soft pant. How the animal—or Shade himself—gets in and out of the Academy is still a mystery to me, but one I am happy to leave alone for now. Reaching around the back of my neck, I take off the amulet, feeling a weight lift from my skin, the slight haze in my mind clearing.
Beside me, Shade sneezes. Some small creature chitters in the branches above us, scared from its rest.
Tucking the veil amulet securely into a pouch around my neck, I follow the now-familiar trail to the Yocklol trees, the memory of River’s lips fighting for my concentration so much, I nearly trip over a root. “Things aren’t supposed to be this complicated,” I tell the wolf, who blinks at me with bright yellow eyes that seem to say Want to chase a rabbit together?
I scratch Shade’s ear, which doesn’t require me leaning down any, and pick up my pace. By my calculation, I’ve only ten minutes of the eradicant’s effective window left when I reach the first of the yellow Yocklols. Thanking the stars that all five—no, now six—of the things are near each other today, I ease the bow off my shoulders and carefully unwrap the arrowheads. The one beauty of this arrangement is that I should be able to hit the trunks from far enough away to stay clear of the writhing tentacles.
The memory of River floods me again, the dismayed look on his face as I stepped away making my stomach clench.
Stop it.
Bracing my shoulder against an oak, I take a few calming breaths, trying to think of something happier. River’s lips on mine. Exploring, claiming.
The taste of him, after having tasted none of the males in a month, felt as intoxicating as Tye’s strongest brandy. Is intoxicating me still, apparently, despite the effort I’ve put to focus on my mission.
Except I best sober up quickly. Ostera is here, and the moon continues shifting along the sky with each passing minute. I have to keep my mind in the now, not in memories of a bed long ago. My hand brushes against the rough bark, grounding myself. When I look at the Yocklol trees again, I can finally think clearly.
Which is when I notice the six eyes are open. Blinking. Watching.
I swallow, turning about. Someone or something had to have been here recently enough to have woken the things. I’d chalk it up to an unfortunate animal if one or two had wakened, but all six? I take a deep breath, but th
e wind is blowing against my back, the scents it carries limited to ground already covered. A glance at the moon has my heart speeding again. Whatever else is out here tonight, I’ll have to deal with it later.
Nocking the first of my ten arrows into my bow, I pull the string back to my ear, aim at the first open Yocklol eye, and release.
The arrow hits with a soft thud, its head crumpling before falling to the ground. If that is supposed to have happened, Gavriel forgot to mention it. Either that, or I missed the eye. I am still pulling the second arrow onto my bow when a darkened spot appears on the Yocklol’s yellow trunk, making the thing look like a bruised banana.
Relief rushes through me, and I shift position for a clear shot at the next Yocklol, nocking my next arrow as I move. Focusing on my next target, I let my mind go blank as I pull back on the bow. Take aim along my forearm. Breathe in. Out. Hold and release.
The arrow flies as straight as the first one did, managing to catch the Yocklol’s eye despite the tree’s sudden shift. I wonder if the thing is smart enough to sense that something is amiss or whether the movement was simple coincidence. Making a mental note of it to ask Gavriel, I draw my third arrow and pull back.
Shade whines.
So much for coincidence. Over the extended arrow tip, I mark all the Yocklols moving away now, the two I hit earlier limping behind the deadly herd. Yellow tentacles slither up and down, concealing the target eye.
“Smart bastards, aren’t you,” I mutter, wincing as a slimed yellow vine flicks an errant squirrel. The small animal runs off, unaware that it’s already dead. My teeth clench. Yocklols are a toxic blight that not even the horrors of Mors want around, and they need to wither. Tonight. I will make sure of it.
Another whine sounds from Shade’s wolf, but I trust him to stay away from the thrashing vines. With the trees moving, I will have time for one or two shots at the most before I have to find a new firing point, and the minutes are already racing by me.
