by Eva Chase
His determined reassurances loosen the tension in my stomach. I still balk at revealing exactly what my mind conjured up.
But maybe he should know. What if my body gives away some hint of desire at a time when I’m awake, when he can see who’s provoked it?
“What if it wasn’t August?” I say tentatively.
Sylas lets go of my hand to stroke his fingers over my cheek. “I’m certainly not going to take issue with you dreaming about me.”
My head ducks at his touch. “What if it wasn’t either of you?”
He pauses. “Then I’d remind both myself and you that we don’t choose our dreams, and be glad this one brought you pleasure rather than terror.”
That’s true. How could anyone blame me for something I only dreamed of doing? It isn’t as if I want to find myself back in Aerik’s cage, but how many times has my mind conjured that scene up?
I relax enough to lean toward the fae lord, and he tucks one arm around me, nestling me against him. My initial fear seems absurd now. This man has been nothing but patient with me, despite his natural inclinations. That’s part of why I love him. So maybe that’s why the confession tumbles out in the faintest of whispers. “I dreamed about Whitt.”
Sylas lets out a soft chuckle. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t be the first lady to do so. Does it bother you to have imagined him that way?”
I consider that question. Now that Sylas has reacted so calmly, my uneasiness has fled completely. “Only if it bothered you. It’s never happened before—nothing like that has happened with him in real life. I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Sometimes dreams reveal desires we hadn’t known we were harboring, just as they can reveal buried fears. There’s no shame in it. Especially with him. If I didn’t think he was among the best of our kind, he wouldn’t be in my cadre.” He’s silent for a moment, his fingers grazing my shoulder with a light caress. “Do you care for him, then?”
“Not—not like you and August. I don’t really know him all that well.” My mind drifts back to the waking moments I’ve shared with Whitt—the way he rushed to keep me safe from Cole this morning, the way he spoke about protecting me during the revel, the bag of salt he gave me that’s hidden beneath my pillow right now, just in case.
The warmth of his embrace while he apologized for sending me away, weeks ago. The playful remarks that can startle a smile out of me or banish my anxieties when I need it most. The devotion to his brothers I’ve seen in every move he makes on their behalf, despite how much he heckles them.
“I like him,” I add as I sort through those impressions and the emotions they stir up. “I think I’d like to know him better. And I—there’s definitely some attraction there. For me. But it doesn’t really matter. I’m already happy having you and August. And it’s not as if Whitt would be interested in anything… romantic, or whatever, with me anyway.”
“Has he said that?”
I frown. “No, but—he’s never said he would. He’s never acted as if he wants something like that to happen. It always feels like there’s at least a little distance he’s keeping when we’re talking.” Like he’s holding himself slightly apart from me, even when he’s literally holding me. All the times when I’ve seen something like fondness light in his eyes and then fade away as if he’s shuttered them, shutting me out.
Sylas hums to himself. “Whitt is capable in many ways, but close relationships of any sort aren’t exactly his forte. I’m not sure there’s anyone in his life he’d even call a true friend other than myself and August, and even there, he tends to act as a colleague first. If he’s doing more than tolerating someone’s presence, that’s a high mark of approval in itself.”
Having seen Whitt in action, I can believe that. But… “It doesn’t make any difference, does it? However he feels, I’m with you and August. I know it was already difficult for both of you to share even that much. I’m not going to pursue anyone else.”
“Not even if you had our blessing?”
My gaze jerks up so I can stare at Sylas. “What do you mean?”
His face doesn’t show any sign of jealousy. “You know that the precedent for an arrangement like ours comes from cadres sharing a lover. Typically in those cases, the lover in question is involved with all of the members of that cadre, not just so that their needs are being met amid the cadre’s responsibilities, but also to avoid tensions rising if one or another isn’t so favored. It’s a difficult balance—one that’s already been on my mind as we navigate this unforeseen territory.”
I remember the moment back at the keep when the three of us left Whitt behind, the pang I felt at excluding him. “That does make sense. But this isn’t a typical situation, is it?”
“No. Typically Whitt would have more claim to join in than I do.” Sylas presses a kiss to the crook of my jaw. “I have no intention of giving you up. But I’ve made my peace with what we have… and in some ways I’m coming to enjoy knowing how well you’re taken care of, even though it can’t always be by me. If you wanted to explore whatever you do feel for Whitt, and he’s developed some affection for you as well, it might serve us all to see how that plays out.”
My pulse flutters as I consider it. “I don’t know—How would I even start?”
“Hmm. Maybe leave that to me. Perhaps when we have returned to the keep, an ideal opportunity will arise to put the matter to him. Although if you see an opening before then—you do have my blessing.”
The love that’s a constant pulse behind my ribs swells to the base of my throat. I twine my fingers in Sylas’s hair and pull his mouth to mine. The force of his kiss leaves no doubt that this conversation hasn’t cooled his desire for me one bit.
“Thank you,” I murmur against his lips.
He smiles. “It’s the least the lady of our keep deserves. And now that lady had better get some sleep, before I get too tempted to turn this into the new tryst room.”
“You forgot to make one of those,” I point out as I lie back down.
He stands, a light laugh spilling out of him. “If we find ourselves here for very long, you can be sure I’ll rectify that oversight.”
The late-night conversation leaves me settled enough to drift back to sleep, but when I limp downstairs in the morning, the sight of August already puttering around in the kitchen area reawakens a twinge of anxiety.
Sylas has given me his blessing to indulge my tentative feelings for Whitt. August doesn’t even know I’ve considered it. Even though I haven’t done anything yet, a sense of betrayal pinches at my gut.
This wonderful fae man loves me. By some miracle, he loves me. How can I even suggest that what we have isn’t enough?
But then, maybe he’d feel better including Whitt in whatever exactly this strange relationship is rather than leaving him out. If even Sylas could see it that way, it isn’t hard to believe August might.
Either way, I can’t keep it from him.
This isn’t the time to bring up the subject, though. Two of the pack warriors, including the one who came back to Oakmeet injured a couple of weeks ago—Ralyn—are hunkered down in the living area. Ralyn is fletching arrows and his companion sharpening a dagger. From the number of balls of dough August is tossing onto his baking sheet, he’s preparing a breakfast for the entire squadron I know is stationed a short distance nearby.
“What can I do to help?” I ask, glancing from him to the warriors. Yesterday, along with cooking, I learned the art of sword sharpening and mended a couple of armored vests. If anyone regrets my coming out to the border, it won’t be because I failed to carry my weight in every way possible.
August motions me over. Since we arrived here, he’s been wearing more formal clothes like the ones he put on for Aerik’s visit, not his usual human-style tees. Today’s V-neck tunic is a rich pine-green that brings out both the ruddy tones in his dark auburn hair and the golden gleam of his eyes.
I slip past him into the warmth that wavers through the kitchen area from the stove, w
hich is little more than a clay box around a smoldering fire. No time for the complex magics that went into his kitchen equipment back at the keep.
“Slice up the rest of the cheese,” he suggests, motioning to the crumbly orange block on the counter. “It won’t last much longer.”
“You’re going to make us all homesick for the foods we can’t usually get here,” Ralyn remarks. “The cheese they make in this domain isn’t any match for Elliot’s. All they’ve got is goats.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Elliot how much you miss him and his sheep,” August replies with a grin.
By the time I’ve chopped all of the block of cheese into fairly equal portions, August has fried a few panfuls of thinly sliced meat that gives off an appealingly buttery scent and is starting on another. Together, we assemble a couple of large baskets with cheese, apples from the bushel someone picked yesterday, fresh-baked rolls, and most of the fried meat. As the warriors heft the baskets and see us off with a wave, August lays out the rest of the meal on plates for the four of us living here.
Neither Sylas nor Whitt have made an appearance downstairs yet. I nibble on a stray chunk of cheese and debate whether I should try talking to August now. It’s not as if there’s any rush while we’re here in a battle zone… but the subject is going to nag at me as long as I’m keeping it secret.
I open my mouth—and chicken out. “So far, there haven’t been any signs of another attack coming, have there?” I ask instead.
“None at all. The ravens are lying low for the time being. Most of the activity around here has been building up our usual magical defenses to scare them off if they try to attack during the full moon. So far we’ve been able to stop them from realizing how vulnerable our forces are then.”
I glance down at my arm. My blood could mean none of the warriors here need to succumb to the wildness… but giving it to them would automatically expose me to Aerik. Even without knowing where I am, he’s stopping me from having full freedom.
“Will our squadron be okay when we head back to Oakmeet?” I ask.
“They have been for many moons before. We always make it look as if the border is particularly heavily guarded then, with glamours and the rest. Although with the spats the arch-lords’ cadre-chosen keep having about where the squadrons should be directing their energies, it’s lucky we’re getting that much done.” August lets out an exasperated huff.
I grimace in sympathy. “I wish they’d tell you what they think is going to happen.”
“So do I. But we’re here, so eventually we should see for ourselves. I’m staying ready for just about anything.” He slings his arm around me and tugs me closer to give me a peck on my head. “Are you worrying about that, Sweetness? You look like something’s on your mind.”
I guess I don’t have much of a poker face. I swipe at my mouth and decide I might as well just spit it out.
“It’s—it’s not about the war or anything like that.”
“That’s fine. I could use a break from patrols and battle plans.”
I draw up the courage to push onward, measuring out my words. “You’ve been okay with me also being with Sylas. What if—what if it was Whitt too?”
August’s arm tenses against my shoulders, and my pulse stutters. “Nothing’s happened,” I blurt out quickly. “I don’t even know if he’d want it to. Nothing will happen if you aren’t okay with it. I’m happy with the way things are. I just—I wondered—and Sylas said it might even be better if we weren’t leaving him out—if he’d even want to—”
August cuts off my babbling by pulling me right into a hug. “It’s all right. It’s a reasonable question.” He gives a short bark of a laugh. “If Sylas is already on board, who am I to argue?”
I peek up at him. “I don’t want you to go along with it just because I mentioned it.” My arms slip around his broad chest, hugging him back. “I love you. I wouldn’t do anything I knew would hurt you.”
“You’re the last person I’d ever be afraid of coming to harm from, Talia,” August says gently. He tips my face up so he can kiss me, long and tender, until I’m tingling all the way to my toes. Then he stays there with his head bent close to mine, his nose grazing my forehead. “And because I love you, I want you to have all the happiness you can. I’m guessing you wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t think getting closer with Whitt would make you even happier.”
“If he even would want to,” I say again.
August makes a dismissive sound. “I don’t think that’s much of a question. It has felt a little odd the past few weeks, having something so separate from our connection through the cadre.” He runs his hand over my hair. “And this way we can hope that at any given time, there’d always be someone there for you, no matter what we face.”
I hug him tighter, and he matches my embrace. When I ease back, he’s smiling so easily that the nervous pinch in my stomach melts away. “You’re sure it doesn’t bother you?”
“I promise it’s fine. No more worrying. Now sit and let’s get some breakfast into you.”
Despite his order, I insist on grabbing a couple of plates and carrying them over to the small wooden table between the kitchen and the living area, then coming back for the goblets to go with the sparkling juice August brought from home. As I duck back into the kitchen on one final trip to scoop up a few apples, the stairs creak.
Sylas emerges from upstairs, running his fingers through his dark hair before rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the meal. “Even with as little as you have to work with out here, you manage to impress, August. If the Unseelie knew you’re as good with a sword as you are with a carving knife, they’d never cross that border again.”
August beams at the praise. “I could skewer plenty of ravens with a carving knife too. We have to make the best of what we’ve got here, don’t we?” He veers toward the kitchen. “Here, I have one more portion of—”
The front door bangs open. Without a word, several armed fae march into the house, weapons drawn.
Chapter Twenty
Talia
At the intruders’ entrance, Sylas stiffens and strides toward them. August steps forward too, placing himself closer to his lord—and between me and the unfamiliar fae with their armor and weaponry.
Are these Unseelie? I tense up, but my men aren’t acting as if they see these warriors as an immediate threat. And as I peer past August, standing rigid with an armful of apples braced against my chest, I realize the fae who’ve barged into our house aren’t all strangers to me. The five of them standing most closely together I’ve never seen before, but off to the side, in a bronze vest a little more dinged up than what most of the others are wearing, stands Cole, the icy-sharp spikes of his hair unmistakable. He elbows the woman next to him, who appears to be a colleague of his rather than of the others.
My heart lurches. I curl my fingers around one of the apples as if I can use it as some kind of weapon of my own. Somehow I don’t think throwing it at these fae would accomplish anything other than making them very pissed off at me. Maybe I should reach for the little dagger in its sheath at my left hip or the bag of salt I’ve been tying to a belt-loop at my right, but I suspect a show of overt aggression from a human wouldn’t improve their moods either.
I set the apples down on the counter just in case I need to anyway.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Sylas demands, planting himself in front of the fae man at the front of the main bunch. “I’d have thought Ambrose’s pack was civilized enough to understand the concept of knocking.”
Ambrose’s pack? Ambrose is one of the arch-lords—the one who blames Sylas for how his former mate and her family attempted some kind of rebellion.
Why have the warriors of his squadron come in here so forcefully? You’d think we were the Unseelie they’re meant to be fighting, the way they’re posturing.
“If you have nothing to hide, you shouldn’t mind us paying you a visit, Lord Sylas,” the leader says with only the slightest
tip of his head in recognition of Sylas’s title. His gaze roves through the airy room.
Sylas folds his arms over his chest. “And why would we have come all the way out here in order to hide something?”
“Why have you come all the way out here at all is the real question. We thought we’d best make a real stab at answering it.”
“I believe one of my cadre-chosen spoke with one of your lord’s yesterday about that very matter. We haven’t made any secret of our intentions.”
The other man takes a step to the side to get a better view of the living area. “Forgive us for not being willing to take you entirely at your word. We serve only Ambrose, and we’ll ensure no treachery comes from our side of the border.”
Do they really think Sylas would have traveled to the border to carry out some scheme against the arch-lords? The idea seems ridiculous to me, but the solemn expressions on all of the warriors’ faces suggest they find it totally plausible, the jerks. I have the urge to pelt them with the apples after all.
Cole, of course, is simply smirking, like this is all great entertainment. Sylas shifts his weight, the muscles in his arms flexing, obviously wanting to chuck the lot of them out of the building but wary of the repercussions. These aren’t lords, but they’re an arch-lord’s pack-kin. My stomach knots, watching.
“If there is anything else you want to know, you need simply have asked,” Sylas says tautly. “But I’m sure you can see there’s nothing startling within these walls. I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for all Seelie kind, as plenty of our brethren can attest to.”
“Hmm. And yet one of your cadre-chosen isn’t among you. What could Kellan be up to?”
“You wouldn’t expect me to leave my domain completely undefended, would you?” Sylas asks, as if it’s Kellan back there doing the defending, not a handful of sentries.
The leader of Ambrose’s squadron—or whatever part of his squadron this is, since I’m sure the arch-lord has more than five warriors at the border—makes a skeptical sound, but he doesn’t push that line of questioning any further. He marches through the living area and parks himself behind one of the chairs at the dining table, his narrowed gaze sweeping into the kitchen. When it comes to an abrupt halt on me, my stance stiffens twice as much.
