by Eva Chase
They pause in their conversation at the sight of me, and an image swims up from my deadened eye: hands tangled in each other’s hair, mouths locked passionately together. It’s a mere flicker, but my wolf stirs in an instant.
I come to a stop and smile at them, hoping I’ve summoned enough genuine warmth to hide the itching of my fangs in my gums behind that smile. I meant to launch into my purpose here immediately, but it takes me a moment to yank back the wolfish possessiveness lunging up inside me.
I will not claim her. She’ll slip away from me completely if I go back on my word and start picking fights over who’s gotten how close to her when.
But skies above, the urge is nearly overwhelming—to sweep her up now like August did at the dinner table yesterday and carry her straight to my bedroom so I can demonstrate every intimate pleasure I could inspire in her.
There’ll be time for that later. And I’m more lord than animal, thank the Heart. I clamp down on the defiant howl within and turn to the business at hand.
“You wanted to be included on more of our strategy discussions,” I say to August. “I’d like to consult with you on a few matters. But if you’re already occupied, it can wait until after we eat.” It’s early for lunch yet, but my cadre-chosen does sometimes get rather ambitious in his meal-planning.
August’s eyes gleam eagerly at the opportunity, even without any idea what I’m looking for from him. He really has been craving this kind of recognition far beyond what I realized, hasn’t he? Maybe it was Kellan’s presence, that constant thorn in all our sides, that stopped me from noticing before how capable the youngest member of my cadre has become. All I can do to make up for that oversight is honor his loyalty and determination in every way I can now.
He brushes flour from his hands and glances at the loaf he was shaping. “It’s nothing too elaborate. Just needed to get started now to leave time for the baking. Give me five minutes, and we can talk while the oven’s doing the rest of the work.”
“Excellent. I’ll be waiting in my study.” I tip my head in greeting to Talia, about to turn on my heel and leave, but she slides off her stool onto her feet with a flash of her own determination.
“Can I—would it be all right if I came too?” She hesitates, her shoulders drawing up in a hint of the defensive pose I saw so often during her early days here and wish I never needed to see again. She’s still a little uncertain of her place here, still nervous about asking for anything beyond what she’s already been offered. “I mean, I’d like to know about what’s going on. Even if there’s nothing I can do to help, it’s scarier not knowing what problems you’re dealing with.”
How could I deny the request framed like that, even if I wanted to? I’d rather she didn’t need to worry about the conflicts we face beyond this domain, that she could simply roam the village and relax among the pack, but she’s seen too much of our world to believe in the appearance of peace whole-heartedly. If being included in our discussions will give her more of that peace, then I won’t stand in her way.
I give her a deeper nod of acknowledgment. “Fair enough. I have no plans I intended to keep secret from you. I’ll only ask that you hold any questions until we’ve worked out what we need to.”
“Of course. I won’t get in the way.” She beams at me, the fearfulness melting away, and it’s hard to imagine not wanting her at my side, wherever I am and whatever I happen to be doing. I can’t resist giving her cheek a brief caress before I depart.
This little scrap of a human woman has worked her way so much deeper into my regard than I would have thought possible a month ago.
As I head to my study, I knock on Whitt’s bedroom door to let him know the meeting I already warned him about is proceeding. He came to me around dawn with a report from one of our few warriors remaining at the border, and as far as I can tell he promptly went back to bed—if he’d even gone to bed before that in the first place.
Despite the late hours he’s kept, he saunters into the study just a few steps ahead of August and Talia, his eyes perhaps a little weary but his stance alert enough. Knowing he’s mainly there to witness my conversation with August and offer his opinions if need be, he drops into the armchair in the corner and steeples his hands over his chest. His eyebrows arch at Talia’s entrance, but he makes no remark.
August comes to a stop right in front of my desk, his head high and his shoulders rigid as if he’s doing his best to give every impression of dedication to whatever purpose I might have for him. Talia lingers near the doorway, her head swiveling as she takes in the room she’s never seen before. After a moment, she relaxes enough to lean against a nearby cabinet, her slim arms folding loosely over her chest.
I focus on August. “You know our contributions in the conflict with the Unseelie have… not been proceeding well.”
He grimaces. “Yes. It’s looked like Ralyn is recovering from his injuries fairly quickly, at least. This morning he even joined part of the training exercises I organized for the pack—moving at his own pace, of course.”
“I’ve been glad to see him pulling through. He’s given a lot for the pack—he deserves a chance to get some rest.” I inhale deeply. “But between that and the losses we suffered in that last battle, we have barely enough people in our already small squadron to have an impact in the conflict. There’s no point in leaving any of our people in harm’s way if what they’re doing won’t help us win back our home.”
August rubs his mouth, clearly thinking over the problem. His gaze is uncertain but steady when he meets my eyes again. “Where do you think I can help? Did you just want to know if I had any ideas for proving our worth against the Unseelie?”
“I’m definitely open to ideas in general,” I say. “But in particular, since you’ve been working with our pack-kin here, I wondered if you’ve noticed any of them showing particular aptitude and enthusiasm for combat that they might not have previously—if we might have enough between them and our existing sentries and other warriors to send a few more to the border.”
I don’t ask with a great deal of hope. Plenty of fae aren’t cut out for battle, especially the sort of sustained conflict we’ve faced with the Unseelie. We’d already sent every capable pack member Whitt and I felt we could spare. But attitudes and proficiencies can shift and develop—and it’s possible August has seen things from his differing perspective that we haven’t.
August rocks on his heels with a more pensive expression than he usually shows, but the eagerness in his eyes hasn’t faded. “I could answer that more easily with a better understanding of what our warriors are facing out there. What sort of tactics have the Unseelie been using lately?”
A reasonable question. I glance at Whitt, who’s been getting most of the direct reports. He leans forward in the chair, his expression intent but his voice in its typical dry drawl.
“The stinking ravens like to keep us on our toes. From what I’ve gathered, there’s been no clear pattern to when they strike. The forces assembled along the border might have to defend the lands there every night for a week or spend a month or two simply waiting, on guard. Anytime they have let down their guard, thinking maybe the bastards had given up, they’ve regretted it. The bastards have tried both swarming and picking us off one-by-one at a distance, flying overhead to avoid the patrols completely, taking hostages of vulnerable pack members…” His lips curl with distaste. “There’s little they won’t stoop to. As best as anyone can determine, they’ll do whatever they can, whatever looks like a reasonable approach in the moment.”
“Then we’d want people with a good amount of experience, who can adapt quickly to changing offenses.” August frowns. “I don’t think any of the pack members not already part of our defensive force would be prepared for that. We’d be sending them to be slaughtered. I’m sorry.”
The regret in his voice, as if he’s letting me down somehow by saying what he knows to be true, sends a sharp twinge through my chest. “I appreciate your candor, August. Then
, if you were making the decision… Would you withdraw the few warriors we’re already contributing?”
“They haven’t been able to count on any of the other squadrons cooperating with them,” Whitt adds, his tone darkening. “With their numbers diminished, they’re easy pickings for a slaughter themselves.”
Talia has been so quiet I’d stopped paying her any mind, but now she lets out a disgruntled sound that’s almost a wolf-worthy growl. “The other fae would really leave your people to die rather than work with them so they can fight off the Unseelie together?”
Her vehemence provokes a tight smile. “Our politics are… complex. But at the core of it, the other packs don’t wish to be tainted by our misfortune—to risk any victories they win being dismissed because of our warriors’ involvement or any losses to be blamed on their associating with us. Until we can prove on our own that we have just as much honor as we always did, any action we’re a part of will be seen as suspect.”
“It isn’t fair,” she mutters, but softly enough that it’s obvious she realizes fairness hardly comes into it. She’s experienced plenty of evidence that many of the fae value their own interests far above anyone else’s wellbeing.
While the rest of us have talked, August has been mulling over my last question. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Then he exhales in a rush. “There is someone you can send who might be able to turn our part in the battle into something good.”
Whitt’s eyebrows shoot up higher than before. I can barely prevent my own surprise from showing. “Who?” I ask.
“Me.” August holds up his hand before I can even think about responding. “I know you haven’t wanted me to leave the domain—but if it’s that or give up on this chance completely, I think we have to take the risk. Kellan isn’t around anymore to stir up trouble. Aerik seems to have backed off. We don’t face any immediate threats, other than the threat of losing the chance to win back the respect we deserve.”
My instinctive reaction is to deny him, but I can’t refute the points he’s made. I bite back the arguments I’d like to make and motion to him. “I’m not convinced yet, but you can continue making your case.”
“I have plenty of training—you know I had the best possible teachers—and I’ve made it through enough skirmishes over the years to know my way around a battle. I’ll just go out and speak with our squadron myself, plan out the best approach when I can see exactly what we’re dealing with—or tell them to come back with me if that seems like the best we can do. If there’s an attack while I’m out there, so much the better. Maybe I’ll win us a few allies by showing that our cadre is willing to join the fight.”
He might be able to spin the situation around from a total disaster into something closer to victory. And as long as no one launches a full-out assault on us while August is gone, we should manage without him.
The older brother in me doesn’t want to say yes, but the lord knows I should. I catch Whitt’s gaze again, and while he doesn’t look any more pleased than I feel, he inclines his head in the slightest of nods.
I return my gaze to August, forcing myself to see the man, the proven warrior and cadre-chosen, not the boy whose progress I guided so many decades ago.
He can handle this. The fact that he kept his cool around Aerik despite all the animosity he holds over Talia’s torment is all the proof I could ask for of the control he’s gained over his fiery temper. And a little fire might be just what they need out there on the endless front.
“All right,” I say. “You’ll take a short time longer to increase the defensive skills of the rest of the pack, and when Ralyn is ready to return, you’ll join him. I’ll give you ten days, but if you feel you may as well bring them all back, of course you may return sooner. I want you back with us well before the full moon.”
August gives me a brief bow, looking both proud and relieved that I saw him as worthy, and I hope with all my heart that I’m not making a mistake.
Chapter Eleven
Talia
In theory, I’ve already said my goodbyes. Then August turns before stepping onto the conjured carriage that’s going to whisk him away to the battlefield and gives the assembled pack one last wave. I can’t help dashing to him as quickly as my foot allows to wrap him in one last hug.
Everyone knows we’re lovers. It shouldn’t look strange. But still my face heats a little at the public show of affection even as his arms come around me in return.
“It’s only ten days,” he murmurs close by my ear. “I promise I’ll come back to you, and in one piece, Sweetness.”
I know it’s not that long. I waited almost ten years to get out of Aerik’s prison—ten days is nothing.
At the same time, it feels like forever. I’ve seen this man every day since our lives collided. I’ll have no idea what’s happening to him out there at the border where other members of the pack have already died at Unseelie hands.
I understand why he’s doing this, though, and if he finds a way to impress the arch-lords, it’ll be more than worth it. The last thing I want is to make him feel guilty about going. So I force myself to step back with the best smile I can summon for him. “I’ll hold you to that promise,” I say, relieved that my voice doesn’t waver.
As he gets into the floating wooden carriage next to the man named Ralyn, Sylas comes up behind me with a steadying hand at the small of my back. I exhale, letting him take just a little of my weight. He must be worried for August too, and he’s managed not to show anything but confidence in his younger half-brother. If both he and Whitt think this was a reasonable plan, August can’t be in too much danger, right?
I’m not sure I actually want the answer to that question.
The carriage glides off, and the pack members drift toward their houses, other than the couple of fae who are taking over cooking duty in the keep while our usual chef is away. My relationship with Sylas isn’t public knowledge, so he ruffles my hair where otherwise he might have offered a kiss. His voice comes out low and gentle. “Do you have enough to occupy yourself with, Talia?”
I don’t, but I know I need to find something to do, or the anxious questions will take over my brain. “I’ll get my exercises in—August gave me some moves that I can practice on my own.” Maybe imagining I’m kicking our enemies’ butts will take me from feeling helpless to formidable.
Working out in the basement gym does distract me for a little while, but when I sink down on the mat, sweaty and panting, after putting myself through the paces, memories of my interlude with August here rise up in my head. A lump forms in my throat. I shove myself to my feet and limp to my bedroom to change out of my damp clothes.
The sun shines warmly through my bedroom window. I bask in its glow for a minute before reminding myself that I can go right out into it for as long as I’d like now. I still feel a little shy intruding on the pack’s village, even though everyone has been uninterested at worst and friendly at best, but Harper did encourage me to drop in on her whenever I wanted to. Maybe her cheerful curiosity will give me a longer diversion.
Harper pointed her family’s house out to me when I last spent time with the larger pack. Though they all look very similar in their immense twisted-off tree-trunk forms, the smaller details make them easy to distinguish. She shares her home with her parents and one set of grandparents, and true to her name, there’s clearly a musical inclination in the family. Someone has carved an elegant image of a flute embraced by a fiddle on the door.
Her father is crouched outside the house tending to the garden. As I approach, I’m embarrassed to realize I’ve forgotten his name. “Hi,” I say tentatively. “Is—is Harper around?”
He bobs his head with a soft smile and motions me toward the house. “Deep in her work, but I expect she won’t mind you interrupting.”
Because she doesn’t mind interruptions in general or because she wouldn’t want to turn me away? I haven’t quite figured out what Harper finds so fascinating about me, other than from w
hat I’ve gathered she’s never gotten to talk to any human at all before. I guess that’s a reasonable explanation right there. Maybe it’s also that I look like a newcomer who’s about the same age, even though I know her youthful appearance is deceptive. She might be just out of adolescence, but in fae terms that means she’s still several decades old.
I venture into the house cautiously, met with an odd hissing sound from behind the door to my left and a disgruntled muttering. I hesitate and then knock. “Harper? It’s Talia.”
“Oh! Come in.”
I nudge open the door to find her grappling with a sheet of satiny lavender-purple fabric draped across a table. She gives it one last tug, snatches up her scissors, and shoots me a bright smile. “Sorry. Sometimes spider-weave just won’t behave.”
A wooden dummy stands on the other side of the table, a few pieces of fabric already pinned around it to form a bodice and the start of a waistline. It’s a more elaborate construction than the simple dress Harper’s wearing right now—the kind most of our pack-kin appear to prefer. Maybe there’s a celebration of some type approaching.
“You’re making a special outfit?” I ask. “What’s the occasion?”
“Oh, no occasion.” She pops the head of a pin into her mouth, snips a chunk of fabric off—that hissing sound I heard from outside was the scissors, I realize—and fixes it against the dummy with a shallow fold. “This is just… practice. I figure the more proof I have of my skills—and the more I can improve them—the better off I’ll be when I really want to use them. I’ve already got a pretty good collection.”
She waves me farther into the room so I can see the rack by the far wall. The rack holds at least a dozen dresses in every color from bright ruby red to deep earthy brown, all in a formal evening-gown style with long skirts and fitted bodices adorned with sashes, gauzy panels, or delicate flowers and leaves sculpted out of fabric. Stepping closer, I run my fingers over a vine that looks almost like an actual plant winding around a skirt and find it silky soft.
