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Though Urduja was well versed in the art of keeping her own counsel, the way her right eyebrow threatened to prematurely join the ancestors in the Sky
“The rebel with the crossbow—why didn’t you kill him?” His gray eyes lingered on her hand on his sleeve, then drifted to her face. “Because you told me not to.”
“Don’t go,” he murmured hoarsely, fitfully, a man caught in a fever-dream. “I won’t bring up the rebels again. I won’t breathe another word. Just—don’t leave me, Tala.”
“I couldn’t kill that rebel.” It was a choked, bewildered rumble in her ear. “One word from you and I let my guard down. I couldn’t kill you, either, all those times before . . . What am I, if I’m not a weapon? What have you done to me?”
“You’re not just a weapon,” she mumbled into his neck. “You have a sweet tooth and sometimes you make me laugh. I tell you things that I’ve never told anyone else.” The very air seemed to spin golden with each surge of memory, aether humming between their forms. “You helped me with my magic. You tackled me out of the way of that void bolt. Today you made sure I could run and fight. All of these things—they’re not what a weapon is, or does. You’re so much more than a weapon. You could be more.”
Talasyn flashed Alaric a small, hopeful smile. “Pretty, isn’t it?” Strands of chestnut hair had spilled loose from her braid and were blowing in the wind. The sun brought out the gold in her eyes and danced atop the freckles on her softly rounded cheeks. He was looking at her when he said, “Yes.”
“Write to me again, Tala.” There was a teasing lilt to his tone. “I’ll write back. I promise. We’ll endure your awkwardness together.”
“First of all,” he said through gritted teeth, “I don’t know how to react to you. You are infuriating and self-righteous and you get under my skin. Secondly, there have never been any other women—there was never anyone before you—and much to my dismay you have provoked me so much that you’ve wormed your way into my dreams. You are the only one who plagues them. And one last thing”—his voice lowered into a growl—“the next time I kiss you, I want to remember it.”
“I just wanted to say—” Alaric broke off. What did he want to say? Talasyn blinked up at him. “Yes?” I am sorry for everything. I liked writing to you. I won’t let my father hurt you. I know we agreed that it’s simply physical attraction between us, but sometimes—sometimes I think— Ever since we met, I have lived in a dream of what could be.
“If there’s anything I believe in,” he said, “it’s your stubbornness. It annoys me quite frequently, but it can move mountains. I would have no one else by my side tonight.”
“Let the Nenavarene see their Lachis’ka ride the Night Emperor’s face.” There was a ragged edge to his deep voice. His breath was hot against her wetness. “Let them see me make my wife scream. Let them know, beyond the Shadow and the turning of the stars, that you are mine.”
