“Oh! Oh, I’ve spilled the—” Holding her side, the nurse backed away. “I have to mix up a new…”

  Her voice trailed off as she left the tent. Dara wiped her eyes and arranged the tray in front of Elina. “I was about to say, there is more substantial fare for the…” She faltered as she looked to Warrick, uncertain what to call him.

  “My betrothed husband.”

  “For your betrothed husband. Eggs and meats and such. But we were afeared the smell would turn your stomach, so I didn’t bring them in.”

  “I thank you, Dara. Ask the serjeant to attend us shortly; he can convey that to my warrior then. See that enough breakfast is saved each day. By the look of him, he’ll eat a hefty amount.”

  “Indeed, Your Highness.” With another quick glance at Warrick’s lap, Dara retreated.

  Grinning, Elina reached for the toast. Warrick sat up, plucked a fat raspberry from the bowl and brought it to her lips.

  “Oh.” Her eyes locked on his as she obediently opened her mouth. He slipped the berry in and followed with a kiss, gently, pressing his open lips to hers. The barest graze of his tongue along her inner bottom lip could not tell him want he needed to know, the flavor of raspberry was so sharp and strong—but he cared not at all. Because that small lick made her moan low in her throat, and she clutched at his shoulders, smashing her toast against his skin. Gently he coaxed her to open a little wider, sliding his tongue between her teeth to tease the tip of hers. Eagerly she responded, and her lips were swollen and her expression dazed when Warrick finally pulled back.

  Then he selected another berry and went in for more.

  “Your tonic— Oh!”

  Elina laughed against his mouth before turning toward the nurse. “It is well, Chardryn. Though in future mornings, I will call for you when I am ready to leave my bed.”

  Taking the small cup, Elina drank the contents in one swallow. Chardryn bustled away again.

  Warrick reached for another berry, then paused. Elina had squeezed her eyes shut. Her breathing was quick and shallow, her face pale.

  “Elina?”

  “I am well. I just…I do not think I can manage breakfast. Or more kissing. Nor can I bear to puke in front of you again. Or on you.”

  Her wry smile couldn’t conceal her regret and embarrassment. Warrick stroked a thumb down her cheek.

  “You may do anything you wish to me, Elina.”

  “I only understood my name, but I like how you say it very much.”

  Her sweetness filled him again and he reached for the raspberries—taking the full bowl, not just one. “I will bring these along with me. All day, I will remember the taste of your mouth and the feel of your nipple against my tongue.”

  She might not have understood a word, but she didn’t misinterpret his tone or the look he gave to her lips. A blush overspread her cheeks again.

  Satisfied, Warrick swept the sheet aside and left the bed. He collected his leather wrap but did not yet bother to put it on. In the corner of the tent, attendants were filling a tub with warm water. Not big enough to share. He strode out into the early morning sun and a burst of giggles sounded from the attendants inside.

  Dara approached carrying a pail of steaming water. She mimed shoveling food into her mouth and pointed.

  “My thanks.”

  Her cheeks pink, she smiled and bobbed a curtsy before sweeping past him. A moment later, another burst of giggles came from Elina’s tent.

  Serjeant Iarthil came upon him next, brows raised high and eyes dancing with laughter. “Even in the Dead Lands, I believe warriors wear their clothing instead of carrying it.”

  “Not before a morning’s bath.” Elina was sensitive to smells. So he would make certain she was not repelled by his.

  Understanding dawned on the man’s face. “Well done. Have you eaten?”

  Not enough. He followed Dara’s direction and the wafting scent of roast meats to a tent under which stood three tables laden with platters. Over thirty knights and attendants shared the benches—a number which didn’t include those who were on duty. Ignoring the plate offered, Warrick chose a whole leg of lamb, and carried it to the pool. He ate the meat off the bone while standing naked in the water, letting his mind toss through everything he’d heard and seen since Elina appeared at the prison. Envisioning the path forward.

  Everyone thought him a barbarian with strange ways. And so he was, in truth. Yet few outside of the Dead Lands knew anything of the clans aside from rumor and legends.

  Warrick would put that ignorance to use.

  He was briefly surprised that Elina did not again wear an ornate costume. But he’d believed her an arrogant monstrosity then, coming to a prison garbed in gold. Now he saw the ceremonial aspect for what it was—and realized that even the words of her haughty proposal had likely been traditional.

  He also now understood how tightly Elina had clung to the little strength she had just to rise from her chair and stand before him in that heavy crown and robe. How she’d fought to simply speak the words without retching from the stench of his cell.

  The day before, he’d despised her. Now Warrick could do nothing but admire her. His strength had always come easily. He’d never had to fight his own body’s weakness. Yet Elina did each day.

  At least her clothing on this day would not weigh her down. In a wisp of a gown that skimmed her slender curves from shoulders to mid-thigh, she stood with Iarthil—both of them looking at a large parchment overspread on a table.

  A map. Serjeant Iarthil glanced up as Warrick joined them. “We travel north to Darcoth. In the city is a temple of Khides—you will be married by the priestess there.”

  “Vows can be spoken anywhere.”

  “Not if you are the Radiant Queen,” said Iarthil. “We should arrive in Darcoth by Midsummer Eve. Your ceremony will take place on Midsummer Day, so that every citizen of Aleron—whether in the kingdom or abroad—will be taking part in festivities on the day of our queen’s wedding. Then we will return to Aleron.”

  Warrick found that kingdom on the map and his heart leapt against his ribs. The shortest route would take them west through Galoth—and the Stars of Anhera would come with them.

  The jewels were keeping Elina alive now. But he would discover the root of her cursed illness so that she would no longer need them.

  And if he did not…

  His throat tightened. He would not think of that. Such a choice could not be made. And so by the time they reached Galoth, Elina would be well enough that she no longer needed the jewels.

  “Through Galoth and the Glass Mountains?” Warrick confirmed, tracing the route with his finger.

  “Not west. We’ll return on the roads by which we came.” Iarthil indicated a route that trailed north and east.

  Warrick frowned. “That is far longer.”

  “We’ve made allies and friends along the way. It will be safer for the queen than traveling west through unknown kingdoms.”

  A fair reason but an unnecessary one. “I have friends in Galoth who will see to our safety.”

  And after she returned the Stars of Anhera to them, every warrior in Galoth would likely march north by her side to help her take back her kingdom.

  “Serjeant Iarthil.” Elina was eyeing him impatiently. “What does Warrick say?”

  “He says that the route west is too dangerous to travel.”

  The words rolled smoothly from Iarthil’s tongue. Not by a twitch did Warrick reveal that he understood them, though dread and fury abruptly roiled like molten lead within his chest.

  Elina’s face fell. “Is he certain?”

  “He has been to Galoth. He says that in the wake of the stone sickness, bandits and warlords rule the roads. You would not be safe, even there were double the number of knights in your retinue.”

  With her finger, she longingly traced the western route. A resigned sigh escaped her. “And it is said the Glass Mountains are haunted.”

  “Quite full of ghosts,” said Iarthil, smiling faintly. “Perhaps we might cut the distance through one of these routes.” He tapped a northern road.

  “It is still a long distance.”

  “Not as long.”

  She forced a smile. “Onward, then.”

  “Onward.” Iarthil gave her hand a light squeeze, then rolled up the map. “We are ready to depart when you are, my queen.”

  Silently she nodded, her disappointment still clear upon her face. Warrick could say nothing. Fury burned in his chest.

  Before this, he’d begun to think the serjeant was truly honorable. That Iarthil protected Elina was certain. Yet why take the longer road home if he believed she had not long to live? Would he not wish to return her to Aleron as quickly as possible?

  And why had the man lied about his reason? What lay upon the road north that Iarthil wanted to revisit—or was there something along the western route he wished to avoid?

  If the last, it mattered not. They would be going west. And without Serjeant Iarthil. Of that Warrick was certain.

  But he could do nothing yet. Not until he rid Elina of her so-called curse.

  His thunderous mood was not lightened by the slump of Elina’s shoulders or the weary, resigned way she regarded her carriage. At least that was something he could change now.

  Warrick mounted his horse, then trotted the beast up beside Elina as she was being handed up into the carriage.

  “Ride with me, Elina.”

  Instantly the nurse and attendants were all aflutter. Warrick only cared for the yearning that filled Elina’s eyes as she turned.

  She darted a look at Iarthil. “Does he ask me to ride with him?”

  Would the serjeant lie about this, too? Warrick held out his hand to her, making clear his invitation.

  “Oh, but she cannot!” Chardryn cried. “She has not enough energy to ride!”

  “If he holds me, I do not think I will have to expend any energy at all. And I cannot bear another hot day within that carriage.”

  “My queen—”

  “When I tire, Nurse Chardryn, I will return to my pillows.”

  Elina reached up for his hand. Easily he lifted her slight weight, settling her sideways across his lap. Though the short length of her gown would allow her to ride astride, the saddle would chafe bare inner thighs—and Warrick had every intention of burying his head between those thighs when next he was in her bed. That would be no pleasure for her if they were tender and chapped.

  With a happy sigh, she leaned back into the crook of his arm and rested her head upon his shoulder. Her sun-warmed hair had a pleasant blossomy scent that filled his every breath. “Tomorrow I will wear riding trousers.”

  And tonight she would wear nothing. But Warrick only grunted a reply. He could not respond to her here, when Iarthil might overhear and realize Warrick understood what she said.

  She lifted her head when he nudged his horse forward. “I feel as though I’m upon an elephant. This is the biggest horse I’ve ever seen. And, I’m sorry to say, the ugliest. Did they breed a troll to its dam?”

  He could not stop his grin and buried his face against her hair, lest she see his reaction. Nor could he regret his near-laugh when Elina nestled in closer and splayed her hand over his heart.

  All was quiet for a moment, then she gave a shaky little laugh. “Look at what you have done to me. Saving me. Kissing me. Holding me atop a troll of a horse. I’m so near to death. And yet I’ve finally begun to live.”

  So had he. Beginning the moment he’d looked upon her face. His heart had been beating all these years, but he’d not truly known what it had been beating for.

  He knew now. Just as he knew that she was not near to death.

  But everyone who posed a danger to her was.

  Elina the Betrayed

  The Northern Road

  Elina lasted until midmorning. She’d done well until suddenly the rhythm of the horse’s gait had her leaning over and puking onto the ground. Through it all Warrick tenderly held her—though when he laid her in the carriage, his face was stone. Elina might have assumed that expression meant he was angry if she had not seen it so often in her mirror.

  It was anger, of a sort—the rage of helplessness. Of being powerless to change a situation, for better or worse. That was a rage she knew too well.

  He settled Elina onto her lounging bed and remounted his horse, but he did not go far. From her pillows, she could watch him riding alongside the carriage on that troll of a horse.

  “Your tonic, my queen.”

  “I thank you, Chardryn.” Gratefully she sipped, savoring the cool sweetness that soothed her raw throat.

  A sharp query from Warrick made her glance outside. His gaze was focused on her cup but Elina wasn’t sure what he’d asked.

  “Serjeant?”

  “He asks what that is you drink.”

  “A tonic—to give to me energy and strength.”

  “He asks if it does.”

  Elina nodded.

  Warrick’s next response drew a small frown from the serjeant. “He says he will need to know how to make it.”

  “Ask him why.”

  Warrick’s reply raised the serjeant’s eyebrows. “He says it is a custom in the Dead Lands that, in the three days following marriage, a husband must see to his wife’s every need. He prepares your food, your drink, your bath.” His face reddened slightly. “He says that you will need no attendants. His will be the only face you see, his body your only covering.”

  Scowling, Chardyrn placed her hand on the lid of her apothecary chest as if to protect it from invading barbarians. “The tonic is no mere drink. Many of the powders are rare; some of the herbs cannot be procured anywhere nearby and are not easily replaced. And the measurements of the powders must be precise. Too much, and medicine becomes poison.”

  Serjeant Iarthil relayed her response to Warrick.

  His confident answer needed no translation.

  “My family has served the Radiant Queens for generations upon generations, and I have cared for Queen Elina since she was a babe. It is my duty to tend to her health, and no barbarian can possibly—”

  “No one doubts your care for me, Nanny Char,” Elina said gently. “But he will be my husband, my king consort, and we will respect his customs. You will show him how to mix the tonic…and following the wedding, I’m certain that he will allow you to oversee the use of your powders and approve the measurements when he makes the tonic for me.”

  Chardryn searched her eyes. “You trust him with your very life, Your Highness? A thief? The witch’s prophecy might have meant another.”

  “With his own breath, he saved me,” she said simply. “And he might be a thief—but what he stole, he set free.”

  The nurse huffed in response. But Elina knew that sound well. Chardryn had accepted her answer.

  “Teach him to make it in these days before the wedding.” Elina leaned back against her pillows, smiling. “And I give to you permission to use your switch on his hand if he botches the measurements or wastes the powders.”

  Happily Iarthil related that, though by Warrick’s grin he’d caught on to Elina’s teasing tone before it was translated.

  Oh, but he was truly fine to look at. All that bare skin and muscle gleaming in the sun. Never had lying in the carriage been such a treat as now, when she could watch Warrick as they traveled.

  He gave to her a look that seemed both hot and wicked before retrieving a pouch from the pack tied to his saddle. From it he plucked a red raspberry.

  His eyes met hers as he brought it to his mouth.

  Instantly she could taste his kiss, so tart and sweet. She could feel his lips at her breast. And the gods help her, his tongue. Just the barest lick had seemed to draw every inner part of her body into a hot, tight coil.

  “Are you well, Your Highness? Your face has flushed.”

  “We must cool her down,” Chardryn ordered. “Open the fans and stir up a breeze.”

  A breeze soon stirred. But since Warrick withdrew another berry from the pouch, the fans did not help her much.

  “You added too much doxweed! Do you wish for hair to sprout from between the queen’s toes? Oh, you thickheaded brute! Let us begin again.”

  In her tub, Elina hunched down deeper into the water, desperately holding back her giggles. Nanny Char was in the attendant’s tent with Warrick, but much of her lesson could be heard from Elina’s bath.

  Dara’s lips had compressed to pale strips. Elina met her eyes.

  “Do you think she will use the switch?”

  The maid sputtered out a laugh before catching herself. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

  “What is to forgive?” Elina had laughed, too.

  “If I may say, you look very happy.”

  “You may say it all you like, because I am.”

  “I’m glad of it. Not just for Aleron. For you.”

  “I thank you, Dara.”

  They both turned their heads toward the front of the tent when Warrick came inside, carrying her tonic cup.

  Chardryn was close on his heels. “You can’t mix it up far in advance or it loses potency. So once you’ve added the water, bring it to the queen as soon as you can. Don’t be off strutting naked through camp when that cup ought to be at her lips.”

  “Serjeant Iarthil is not here to tell him what you’re saying,” Dara reminded her.

  “You should not be saying it at all,” Elina added mildly. “You have much leeway with me, Nanny Char, for I am familiar with your manner and you used to change my diaper cloths. But even you should not make a habit of calling my king a thickheaded brute.”

  Chardryn flushed at the reproof. “Yes, my queen. Forgive me.”

  “All is forgiven.” And was easily done. She arched a brow and lightened her tone. “Tell me, though—was he truly a thickheaded brute?”

  “Not at all, Your Highness. Though stubborn, for sure. He asked what everything was and what it did. Iarthil could open his own apothecary with what he learned, talking between us. Go on now,” she said with a nudge to Warrick, who had been standing motionless next to the tub, staring down into the bath—which hid nothing of Elina’s nude form or how rosy the warmth of the water had turned her skin.

 

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