Threats of Sky and Sea Page 23

  One of Caden’s hands rests near his scabbard. It’s surely for show. I rarely see him with a weapon. His doublet is a stiff velvet, a dark gray-green with gold embellishments. The shoulder shells are two horns poking out of his torso, the customary style for Egrian formalwear. A reminder that even when participating in revelry, the soldiers of the realm remain sharp.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” Caden chides after the servant disappears. “You knew I only meant that it wasn’t fair that you got to enjoy yourself while the rest of us only pretend at it.”

  I shrug. “I took a chance that you’d be glad for one less ear on you tonight when there are already so many eyes.”

  His eyes warm on mine. “Dance with me.”

  The violins quaver an achingly slow waltz, a dance that requires a partner be held close. It’s dangerous when I think about who my partner will be. My heart trembles a warning, but there’s a singular advantage to the style. It’s a dance that will allow me the chance to let Caden in on his father’s scheme. I’ll be able to whisper what I saw right into his ear.

  The danger of getting close to him is still there, but who knows if I’ll get the chance to talk to him any other time before Aleta and I make our escape?

  His eyes soften, melting like slush in a rainfall. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it as an obligation. I meant, would you dance with me, Bree?” He extends a hand, waiting for my answer.

  Something gives way inside of me as I stare at his hand, callused from hunting and training exercises. I’ve fooled myself for this long, believing that by guarding my heart I’d somehow be safe from Caden. But despite his betrothal, despite who his father is, I can’t deny how drawn I am to him. I can’t deny that if things were different—

  My heart aches. He deserves a real goodbye before I disappear. I spare a brief prayer that I and those I care about will get out of this alive and fix my hand in Caden’s. My throat feels tight as I smile at him.

  “Yes. I’ll dance with you.”

  We stumble a bit as we begin our waltz. I’m not accustomed to the slow dancing, much less having to follow another person’s lead.

  “Relax a bit. You’re stiff as a board.” Caden’s lip brushes my ear when he whispers into it. A thrill shoots through me at the sensation. “I know this waltz. It’s a long one. If you don’t stop concentrating quite so hard on trying to steer yourself, you’re only going to step on my toes more.”

  I relinquish control of the dance lest I trip us both up and send us spilling across the floor. “Caden, I need—”

  “That’s a lovely color on you.”

  The compliment distracts me for a moment. The king ordered the gown, a midnight shade of blue that reminds me of the night sky. “Thank you. It’s meant to indicate that I’m a Thrower, but I see plenty of people who aren’t Elementals in the same shade.”

  We’re interrupted by a smiling noblewoman, who puts a playful hand on Caden’s shoulder. “Lady Breena, surely you don’t intend to monopolize His Highness’s last evening as a bachelor? I’m sure you don’t mind if I steal a dance.”

  The waltz is still going, and Caden frowns at the woman’s presumption.

  “I do, actually,” I say, vexed. “Perhaps you can dance with His Highness later.”

  The woman humphs and walks away. The disturbance is irritating but allows me to return to my original train of thought.

  “Listen to me,” I breathe into his ear. “And don’t react.” His hand clenches around mine. “Ow. You’re reacting. Just…waltz, all right?”

  He steers me mechanically through the motions, no longer graceful but more like a poorly made puppet.

  “I was in the rose garden behind the dungeons today,” I continue. “On an errand for Aleta. And your father and Kat were there as well. They were planning—Caden, they’re going to kill her. Aleta, I mean. Sometime after the wedding. The Great Makers only know when.”

  He sucks in a breath, a sharp intake of air. “My father intends for sole control of Nereidium,” he surmises immediately.

  “Yes. I haven’t told her yet.”

  Caden pulls away to look at me incredulously, and I get defensive. “I’ve hardly had time. We’ve been surrounded by your people—”

  “Don’t confuse my father’s people with my people. The terms aren’t synonymous.”

  “Fine,” I snap. “Your da’s people then, if that makes you feel better.” I take a deep breath to steady myself. Caden isn’t where my anger truly lays. Arguing with each other will get us nowhere. I settle back into his chest.

  “What are you going to do?”

  We turn. The waltz nears its end, strings crescendoing and crashing against each other. “I wish I could tell you I had a solid plan, but that would be a lie. We’ll break away from here when everyone is busy after the wedding, hopefully before anyone realizes we’ve gone.”

  “That’s your plan then. You’re leaving.”

  I pull back a little. A shutter’s fallen over Caden’s face, closing off any emotions he might reveal. “If you have another option, I’d love to hear it.”

  “I knew you’d be leaving, but…” He growls, frustrated. “We really shouldn’t speak about this here. Just…wait. Is that all right? Will you do that for me?”

  “I can’t wait for you, Caden.”

  The cello draws out one last mournful note, low and sweet, and around us, dance partners separate, bowing low to each other.

  Caden and I are nose to nose. I inhale deeply, imagining that I can smell him, fix it in my memory to carry away like a parcel. But that’s the stuff of whimsy. I can tell myself that Caden is cedar and apples with the tang of steel and parchment, but it won’t be his scent that I bring with me. It will be far more.

  I step away, swish my skirts in an approximation of a curtsy. And this time, when the lady who tried to cut in earlier hustles for Caden, I let her have him.

  I find a seat as the music picks up again. A cavorr, I think. I recognize the jolly rhythm. I wouldn’t mind dancing one of those. It’s a pretty common step, spinning round the room from partner to partner, legs kicking in a forward jig. I’d rather liked it on festival days.

  “Would you like anything to eat, my lady?” a kitchen maid inquires.

  “Yes, please.” I sag in my seat, relieved to let my mind rest for just a moment. “Would you fetch me some of those olives and Nereid feta?”

  “Certainly, my lady. Anything else?”

  “Whatever isn’t Egrian,” I say grumpily. Never mind that I’m technically Egrian myself. I’m feeling a marked lack of patriotism these days. “Unless it’s mead,” I add. “I’d love a pint of Egrian mead about now.”

  The maid’s lips fold over in a smile, and she’s gone, returning nearly as quickly with a plate piled high with feta-stuffed black olives on a bed of leafy greens.

  I dive in. “No wonder the king’s willing to kill for the place,” I say, mouth full. “I’ve never tasted anything as fine in Egria.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” I drop my fork to my plate with a small clatter. The king tilts his head when I turn and find him behind me. “You must not have tried my chef’s stuffed figs. Now those are worth dying for.”

  “Your Grace—Majesty,” I correct myself. For all of my bravado about defying him, the king sends a stampede of horses racing wildly across my chest. I feel like he can read my escape plans plain on my face. I fight not to show it. “I only meant—”

  The king seats himself next to me. “I gathered what you meant, Lady Breena. And I further gather that you’ve finally learned the nature of your father’s service to me before his betrayal.”

  I hesitate, then nod.

  “And he’s told you about Lady Katerine as well?”

  Another nod. More than he knows. He’s stopped having me report in after every visit with Da. Probably because he thinks his threat is enough to ensure that I’ll find him if I have information. What he doesn’t realize is that I’ve seen and heard more than he’d like. Grimly, I th
ink of his plans for Aleta.

  It feels like the king can read my knowledge in my bearing. Will it be revealed through my eyes? I meet his stare. Not to do so would be to cause unnecessary suspicion, no matter how difficult it may be.

  My motions grow forced and the food grows tasteless the longer I look at him. The king’s crown catches the light of the candelabra.

  He doesn’t deserve that crown.

  Not content with an uncomfortable silence it seems, the king speaks. “Would you honor me with a dance, Lady Breena?”

  The cavorr is over, but a tight smile stretches over my lips. I blink falsely at him and dab my mouth with a napkin. “How can I refuse, Your Majesty?”

  It had been difficult to follow Caden’s steps, but that’s nothing compared to my second dance with the king. My awkwardness with Caden had more to do with the fact that I prefer to be in control. With the king, it comes from the knowledge that any semblance of control here is only an illusion.

  “Perhaps I should have hired you a dancing tutor instead of a Throwing tutor,” the king says when I trod upon his toes for the fourth time. He grimaces. It was an accident—but a happy one.

  “I fear your treasury’s entire holdings may not have been enough to make me a passable dancer, no matter the tutor, sire,” I say flatly.

  Speaking of tutors… I don’t like the idea of Larsden wandering the ballroom where I can’t see him. I turn, seeking out his thin form in the crowd.

  The king laughs loudly. “Tell me, do you look forward to the morrow, Lady Breena?”

  My neck snaps back around to face him. “Of course.” This much is true—I can scarcely wait to escape—but I add a lie atop of it for good measure. “It is indeed a grand occasion when two great lands are united.”

  “I doubt you’ve seen a civilized marriage before, have you?”

  I swallow the ire, practically used to the digs at my peasant upbringing by now. They truly think I’m less than them because of it. I’ll just scream into a pillow later.

  “If you mean a noble one, then no, Your Majesty.”

  His smile is like a wolf’s—hungry, with too many teeth. “My priest binds the two together with the blessings of the Mother and Father. It is called Ispri Blanchett. In the ancient tongue, it means ‘Pure Spirit.’”

  I can’t even bring myself to feel surprised. He would choose to taint something like that and twist it for his own means. Pure, indeed.

  He twists me around in a spin that brings me too close to his body. My stomach turns.

  “Once the holy bond is forged, it cannot be broken. When the blood vow dries, the marriage is final and considered consummate.”

  Consummate. The hair on my neck rises with horror. “Surely you mean after they take to their marital bed.” I struggle for a bored tone. He can’t know how my breath hangs on the precipice of his answer.

  He raises an eyebrow at me. “What does a young, unwed girl like you know of marital beds? I make no mistake.”

  My heart sinks. While my thoughts race, it’s much easier to become the king’s puppet as he steers me around the dance floor. I clap when the music ends. Bow to thank him for the dance and the unexpected blessing of information.

  My head lost in a fog that has little to do with mead, I leave the Bonding ball, walking blindly down the stone halls. When I’ve walked until I am lost among dark and quiet corridors, I sink to the floor between two large columns and put my head in my hands.

  I thought I’d have at least a half day more. That Aleta and I would flee when I could ostensibly be preparing her for her first night as a married woman. My hands shake. The marriage will be validated without that night. We’ll have to leave sooner than I anticipated.

  “Bree?”

  I hear two stumbling steps in my direction and jerk my head up to see Caden. His eyes are bright as he watches me. Too bright. How much mead did he have after we danced at the banquet? I hadn’t watched him after we’d separated.

  I push myself to a standing position. “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought you’d left.” His eyes don’t leave my form, and I flick my gaze away.

  “I did leave,” I say on a breath. “Just didn’t get as far as I’d like.”

  He’s silent, watching me. The air sticks in my lungs. Here’s another similarity between father and son that I’ve managed to miss up until now: they both have eyes that see too much. I clear my throat.

  “Your Highness—”

  “Don’t call me that,” he interrupts. “It feels wrong from you. Call me Caden, call me Rick, but don’t…” His expression twists into something pained. “I’m your friend. I don’t want you to think of me as just…a prince.”

  “Even in those brief moments in the dungeons—the ones before I knew who you were—I never thought Rick suited you properly.” My smile warbles. Falls. “I suppose I was right, wasn’t I?

  The thought sobers him. “I wish you hadn’t been. I wish that I could have been Rick for you. Just for a moment, I wish I could have been someone else.”

  “While you’re busy wishing, could you also wish that my father hadn’t been your father’s assassin, that we’d never been discovered in our village, and that I wasn’t an Elemental? Maybe then my life could be what it should’ve been.”

  “Bree—”

  “Forget it.” I strike what I’ve said with a wave of my arm. “I need to stop dwelling. Things are what they are. They happened as they happened. There’s no changing that. No changing who we are.”

  “Perhaps not. But we can still change what is to come.”

  That is a dangerous road to tread upon. Caden’s eyes trace a deliberate path from my eyes to my lips.

  Heart pounding, I change the subject. “The olives,” I say, “were excellent tonight, weren’t they?”

  He sighs.

  “I think I tasted rosemary in the cheese. We used to have a small bush behind the inn back home. Hardy herb. Can take the cold. Wonderful choice, I think. The kitchen chefs did an excellent job.”

  “Bree.”

  “Would you stop,” I say, frustrated, “saying my name like that? I read far too many things into it.”

  He rocks back on his heels and changes tacks. “You have an eyelash on your nose,” he says.

  Irritated now for reasons I won’t give a name to, I rub at it with the heel of my hand, and he shakes his head. “Still there. May I…?”

  He swipes a gentle finger down the slope of my nose. Then, as if drawn back by a magnetic force, his hand returns to caress my face. When he rasps out “May I?” again, I know what he’s asking.

  I swallow hard. “I’m not sure—I don’t want to be that sort of girl.”

  “What sort?” His hand moves to toy with the ends of my hair. The other one brushes my hip. His eyes are steady on mine, gauging my reaction. Waiting for me to give him a real answer.

  I steal my hair back from his fingers. “You know which sort,” I say emphatically. “Whether your da arranged it or not, you’re betrothed.”

  “But she and Adept Tregle—”

  I shake my head. “If there’s anything on Aleta’s side, she hasn’t admitted to it yet. And that doesn’t matter.” His silence is thick and sullen, but I continue. “If things were different… But they’re not.”

  Caden’s thumb slides the line of my jaw while he mulls over my words. “I think on it often, you know.” He lets the statement hang in the air around us before explaining further. “What it would be like if you were the girl. My betrothed. I think on what it would be like if I could be someone else. Just for a moment.”

  I should move. I should really move. The scent of apples and cedar and mead engulfs me. When had he gotten so close? And have his eyes always had that rim of blue on the edge? I don’t speak. I rather think my ragged breathing is doing that job for me.

  He is so close. Just a whisper away.

  “Bree. Lady Bree.”

  Makers bless, the way he says my name. Singsonging my title, eac
h syllable rolled between his teeth like he wants to keep it on his tongue forever. I’ve never indulged in the vanity of the sound of my name before, but I close my eyes briefly, listening to the husky hum of his voice.

  “You can’t think that you could ever be that girl to me.” He shakes his head and corrects himself. “No. You can’t think that you could ever be simply a girl to me in any way.”

  He moves to close the gap between us.

  My fingers cover my mouth a scant second before Caden’s mouth can. His lips, warm on my hand, break the spell enough for me to take a step away. His eyes speak of his confusion. The gray is caught so between dark and light that I can’t decide which they are, and he steps away.

  “I thought we felt the same way.”

  And how stupid of me to have assumed that I could push my attraction to him aside, brushed like dirt under the proverbial rug. A humorless laugh escapes me.

  “I think we do. But, Caden, if a lack of feelings were the only problem, then this would be far—”

  Whether it’s my confession or the mead that makes Caden bold enough to press the issue, I’ll never know, but he slams into me like a tidal wave, his lips slanting over mine—warm, wet, insistent. I don’t have the strength of will to deny myself twice.

  Ether.

  Am I truly a Thrower? I don’t feel like one now. It isn’t water but fire in my blood at Caden’s touch. Flames race through me, burning me with their insistent need to be fed more. More of him, more of his lips.

  My arms wind themselves around his neck as my toes curl inside my shoes. His hands are in my hair, at my hips, caressing my cheeks. They’re everywhere at once, but it’s not enough. His mouth moves for a moment to my neck, and he breathes my name into my collarbone. I clutch his shoulders to pull him closer.

  I let politics, war games, and history’s mysteries fall away. I forget about being a Water Elemental to concentrate on the ebb and flow that is Caden.

  His hands drift to my back, and I recline into them. He follows, his mouth chasing mine. My spine hits the stone of the hard wall, shoulder blades scraping against it.

  It’s that harsh sensation that brings me back to my senses, and I tear my mouth from his. Lifting a shaky hand to swollen lips, I swallow thickly. Caden’s gray eyes are glazed as he blinks at the sudden loss of contact, reaching for me again.