This is an ongoing companion piece to be read after completing the Snakesblood Saga. Because it takes place during the final chapter of the last book, it will be very full of spoilers. It’s also unedited first draft fluff… just for fun! Read at your own risk, and expect installments no closer together than once a month.

* * * * *

Firal did not follow. She gripped her skirts tight in both hands and stared at the doors, but they did not open again. The dim windows promised Minna was no longer awake, and for all that the manor sprawled, there was no other staff.

The door would not be locked. He was angry, but he was not cruel—at least, the version of him she thought she knew was not. But to walk inside after being abandoned would be like a scolded dog slinking around with its tail between its legs, and Firal was too proud for that.

Whether she should be, she did not know.

For good or for ill, she held on to that pride with the same iron grip she had on her skirts. She hitched the fabric up high enough to expose her ankles and let her walk freely.

Instead of heading for the door, she sucked in a deep breath of cool night air and circled the house. The path to the back was not paved, but the feet of countless visitors had worn a smooth furrow into the lawn. Overgrown grasses encroached on the dirt trail and she made a note to have something done about it. Rune prized his peace and privacy, but it came with costs, and she would not live in a shabby house.

That indignation lasted only as long as her walk, though, for the moment she reached the low stone walls of the kitchen garden off the back of the house, rationality overtook such heated thoughts.

That she lived there at all was thanks to his generosity, and she had done little to deserve it.

She was no longer wealthy, no longer a queen, no longer a woman of worth notice. Yet he’d noticed.

He’d always noticed.

Worked to drive her away, too—as he tried now.

Firal settled on the narrow stone bench at the garden’s far end and for the first time, she noticed the flowers.

Spent heads bobbed on dying stems, their shape revealing more in the dark than the petals of living blossoms did.

Coneflowers.

Echinacea.

Her eyes slid to the next plant in the row. She had noticed some before; it was hard to miss the fragrance of lavender or the sweetness of fresh basil in her meals. But she had not cooked since her arrival, so she had not paid attention to the rest of the plantings.

Mint made sense for any home garden. Even lemon balm was ordinary enough. But the slender leaves of valerian had little culinary use, and that the plant was well-established made her heart ache.

Yet again, he had planted a garden for her.

He’d never even known if she would see it, yet he’d carved out a space for her in his home.

After all that time, after all his claims he’d given up, that fragile thread of hope was a blinding beacon in the dark.

And she hadn’t been ready. Not for that welcome, and not for persistent feelings. His questions caught her unprepared. Firal buried her face in her hands and inhaled again.

There were a thousand reasons she could have answered with, as there were a thousand desires she could have voiced to the counselor in the Royal City.

Why did fear and uncertainty rob her of words? She’d verbally battled mages and council members for years. None of them had ever silenced her that way.

But those words had been for others. Regarding others. Not regarding herself, her desires, her feelings.

How strange, the way wearing the crown got in the way of such things. She’d grown so used to disregarding herself in favor of what was best for her people. Now that she spoke only for herself, her voice had atrophied.

She rubbed her brows and stared at the back of the house.

The kitchen door would be barred, this time of night, but a touch of magic would open it. She crossed the garden and twisted the flows of air to open the way. Instead of making her way to her room, she slipped down the hallway to one of his quiet sanctuaries. The study was empty, as she’d hoped it would be, but the desk was as well-stocked as ever.

Firal took a fresh sheet as she settled and found a good pen with a brass nib, and the soft scratch of the ink left behind stretched far into the night.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~

The door at the top of the stairs was locked.

Firal had not attempted to open it since she’d moved in. Rune’s private quarters were closed off for a reason—shut off like he was, she mused, keeping everyone out. Some things never changed.

Her fingers tightened on the paper she held until they left wrinkles behind and for a moment, she considered waiting until morning. They would be rested then, without the heat of fresh emotion fueling what would likely be poor decisions.

And it would be another day between them. Another day nothing was resolved. Another day he believed she did not want to be there.

She gripped the door’s handle and focused on the lock as she poured all her frustration into a different power. It had always been easy to touch; heat was one of the keys to life, and in spite of it not being her affinity, fire answered readily at her call.

The handle grew hot as metal hissed and melted and she jerked her hand back as the door swung open. The hinges were soundless, well-oiled, and the room beyond was not as dark as she’d expected.

Step by step, she inched into the loft and found herself taken aback.

The large window directly across from the door had curtains, but they’d been drawn back and tied, and moonlight poured in through the glass. Piles of books and papers encircled the cushioned window seat, and pens with stoppered bottles of ink littered the floor between the stacks. It struck her with such familiarity that it made her reel. It had been the same way in the underground—the space he’d called his own, down the hall from the queen he’d once served.

The rest of the vast room was tidy, if dusty, and with the light that streamed in through the window, it was easy to see him sprawled out in bed.

She pushed the door until it thumped shut behind her and his head jerked up from the pillow.

No sense in putting it off. There was no going back now.

“I wasn’t ready,” she announced as she crossed the room with her notes in hand. “I never performed well when the Masters surprised us with tests. If I didn’t have my notes, I…” The edge of the paper crumpled.

Rune squinted at her in the dark and she recognized the signs of a headache before she spotted the bottle on the bedside table.

Annoyance and disapproval flared inside her and Firal worked to tamp it down. They would get to that. Now was not the time.

She dropped to sit on the edge of his bed and turned to let the moonlight illuminate the page in her hands, then cleared her throat. “I tried to sort these into categories but didn’t have time to sort everything, so you’ll just have to bear with me. Firstly, there’s your intellect. Your cleverness in problem-solving, including magecraft, management of people, and resource allocation was always admirable. I admire your literacy and your competence with linguistics. I am told you speak more than Old Aldaanan and the northern trade tongue, and I am not surprised. You’ve always been a swift learner.”

His brow furrowed and he sat up. The blankets pooled in his lap and she made herself avoid looking at him. He still slept without a shirt.

“Your priorities have always been pleasantly organized,” she continued. “You find value in people’s merits, regardless of their social standing. Our visions for the future, including household expectations and a desire for children, have always aligned.”

“Firal,” he said, his voice husky.

A hint of color rose in her cheeks and she went on. “As a healer, I find tour dedication to physical health appealing, though I… we’ll have to work on that.” Her eyes flicked to the partially-emptied bottle.

Rune rubbed one eye. “Firal.”

She refused to look at him. “You’ve always understood what I need, from ensuring my infirmary is outfitted to—”

He leaned forward and took the paper from her hands. “What is this?”

Heat crept up her neck and she didn’t know if it was embarrassment or anger that she’d been interrupted. “A list of…” Her throat tightened. “Of your qualities.”

His eyes did not glow as he peered at the page and tried to decipher her handwriting. “It’s too long for that to be true.”

“Well, you asked me for my reasons.” With the paper out of her hands, she could do nothing but twist her fingers and wish her hands did not shake. “I wasn’t prepared, so having a full list seemed like the least I could—”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted.

Her heart leaped oddly.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He folded the paper along one of the crease lines she’d put into it and laid it on the table, just beside the bottle. “It was both inappropriate and unhelpful.”

“But it’s how you feel.” Firal wouldn’t let him take that back. It had been too genuine, too raw.

The corners of his mouth twisted.

“There’s no shame in desiring validation, Rune. The counselor will probably tell you it isn’t vital and we shouldn’t seek it, but it’s in the list of expressions she gave us, and I… I need it, too.” She paused to swallow against the lump in her throat. The words tried to stick there; she wouldn’t let them. “The way you saw me—the way you valued and affirmed me, even when I had nothing to offer after the temple cast me out—that was the first reason.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change its value, or that it was what I needed from you. You asked for reasons I loved you, and that… well, that’s one.”

For a time, he said nothing. Then he shifted back, gathering the blankets close to his waist. “We should sleep.”

Firal’s heart skipped and she glanced down at the bed.

In response, he opened an arm in invitation.

“I can’t sleep in this dress.” Her hands went to her back, but she could not reach to unlace the bodice on her own.

He offered a tired hum in response before his fingers sought the laces. It was faster now, without claws getting in his way, and her heart beat harder as he tugged the back of her dress open.

Then he let go.

Slowly, she slid her dress from her shoulders and peeled the sleeves from her arms. She let it fall to the floor and leave her in a pale chemise. With her heart in her throat, she shifted backwards onto the bed and reached for the blankets.

Before she could settle, his arm hooked around her waist and pulled her close. She squeaked as her back pressed to his front and the comforting warmth of his proximity spread through her.

Firal pulled the blankets to her chin and marveled at the familiarity.

“Mmm,” he sighed into her curls. “I missed this the most.”

“Missed what?” Having her in his bed? The notion was enough to make her blush.

But no response came, and it was not long before his breath shallowed to the easy pattern of sleep.

Questions for tomorrow, then. She stared across the pillow and listened to him breathing, savored the feeling of his arm around her waist.

They weren’t there yet, but it was better. Progress. She shut her eyes and willed her racing heart to still, and eventually fell into a soft, dreamless sleep that was only interrupted when morning came.

“Firal,” Rune called from across the room. “What did you do to my door?”

This is an ongoing companion piece to be read after completing the Snakesblood Saga. Because it takes place during the final chapter of the last book, it will be very full of spoilers. It’s also unedited first draft fluff… just for fun! Read at your own risk, and expect installments no closer together than once a month.

* * * * *

“So,” Firal said into the silence of the hall. There were no tapestries to deaden the sound and her voice joined the echoes of their footsteps, magnified by the emptiness of the corridor. She winced at the noise and brought her voice lower, until it was scarcely a murmur. “Did I meet your expectations?”

Rune did not answer right away. He hesitated for so long, she opened her mouth to ask what she’d done wrong. That was when he chose to speak. “For me, yes. Thank you.”

“For you?” She didn’t know whether to smile or frown. “Who did I fail to impress?”

“No one,” he said, so hastily she took the impression he thought he’d misspoken. Perhaps that he’d offended her. “I’ve made Vicamros angry, that’s all.”

The statement was unapologetic. Unrepentant. She truly did not understand the relationship these men had. It was clear they were friends, yet politics always came first. Most men would have fretted at least a little over the idea of upsetting their king, but Rune did not care.

He never had.

“Angry that you introduced your wife?” Firal could not fathom what else he was supposed to do.

“Angry that I didn’t help him gain favor with Loriath’s royal family. They’ve got a tentative treaty worked out, but it’s not what Cam wanted.” He stared straight ahead, though his eyes narrowed a shade. “The Triad is powerful, but he asks too much.”

A dangerous thing to say. What in the world had they been through that left him feeling so free to speak? Firal tucked her chin. “Aggressive trade arrangements are common. I was not always kind when negotiating with Vicamros, myself.”

“You never demanded exclusive trade.”

That was a surprise. “No kingdom would ever agree to that. No matter how big or powerful their trade partner was.”

Rune shrugged. “Well, that’s what Cam wanted. At least for what he wanted to import.”

“Which is?” Firal couldn’t imagine what a king like Vicamros could desire from anyone else. His land holdings were impressive and rich in any resource a ruler could want. It wasn’t like life on the island, where fickle weather could leave fields barren, or where quality iron was scarce enough that only the king could afford good steel.

The corners of his eyes tightened and he did not answer.

Perhaps he had said too much. There had been the incident in the garden, where he’d spoken more freely than he likely desired, and she wondered if the liquor he’d downed still loosened his inhibitions.

Or perhaps he’d had more.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” she said when he gave no reply. “There’s nothing wrong with an ambitious aim, but one must accept their defeats.”

As she had to accept hers. After everything—the dancing, the raw and honest truths, the rare smiles she’d finally pried from him—they had ended the evening no closer. They walked to the Gating parlor together, but with a healthy space between them.

He had not tried to take her hand.

She had already decided she would not pursue affection that did not come willingly. Too much had already been sacrificed, and she would not bridge the gap now.

“Weapons,” Rune said.

Firal blinked.

“Unlike anything made elsewhere. He doesn’t want anyone else to have them.” Though the entire conversation had been in their own tongue, that did not protect them from prying ears, and he lowered his voice accordingly.

She did not know what to say. It did not seem like a secret, but the reluctance with which he spoke of it made it feel as if she was not meant to know. “That would command a very high price.” That price, evidently, had been him.

“Well, he’ll find some way to get it, or he’ll be facing a very different sort of battleground the next time someone marches against his borders.” He shrugged once more, solemn but indifferent.

“That’s the way of things every time a war breaks out. Nothing ever stays the same. Just look at us.” The words left before she thought better of them.

He did not flinch, but his gaze hardened.

He still did not look at her.

Foolish, she chided herself. As foolish as a schoolgirl with a loose tongue.

“Rune—” she began, but he raised a hand to cut her off.

“No, you’re right. Nothing is the same. I can’t hide from that. It follows me everywhere now.” A faint crinkle formed between his brow and she caught the way his hand flexed at his side.

Her heart wrenched. “I didn’t mean—”

“Here’s the parlor.” He strode ahead and one of the Gate attendants bowed in greeting.

The rest of the mages linked power with the attendant and a moment later, the portal meant to take them home split the air.

Rune motioned her forward.

She did not want to go. She wanted to apologize before he took that accidental slight and added it to the collection of hurts he kept bottled up inside, but she did not want to do it with so many eyes around to see.

Frustrated, she picked up her skirts and hurried through the Gate to the manor.

He followed, but he said nothing when the power of the one-way portal dropped and winked out of existence. He did not even stop to speak to her or look her way. All he did was walk to the front steps of the fine mansion he’d somehow come to call home, never looking back.

“Rune,” she called.

He did not so much as slow down.

“Would you stop?” She hurried after him, gripping her skirts until her knuckles turned white.

He stopped on the stairs and turned to look down at her. He was frustrated, maybe exasperated, but it was hard to see the nuances of his expression in the dark.

It had been easier when they were younger, when the shifting colored light that haunted his eyes gave away his thoughts.

Out of all the changes, she thought that one pained her the most. That light was all but gone, and she had begun to think it had less to do with the magic than anyone supposed.

Firal halted a few paces from the stairs. “You can’t keep walking away from me every time a difficult conversation arises. I thought you wanted to discuss those things and put them aside. Isn’t that what the counselor is for?”

“This isn’t a counselor’s office.”

“No, it’s worse. When you’re done airing everything out in her office, you get to walk away.” She fluttered a hand overhead, as if to fan away grievances like a foul odor in the wind. “But we live here. I’m tired of feeling like every room is a bed of nails I have to walk whenever you’re around.”

“It’s not easier for me,” he protested. “You think I want my home to feel like this? There are eyes on us everywhere we go, and I… I am trying so hard to smooth things out, and you can’t even pretend to like me.”

Her hands went slack and her skirts dropped back into place, hiding her slippered feet. “What are you talking about?”

“Convenience. It’s always been about convenience for you. Hasn’t it?”

Her heart thudded hard and then felt as if it stopped.

Rune raked a hand through his hair. He stared at it afterward, then curled his fingers into a fist and let his hand fall to his side. “There were a hundred reasons I loved you. Your intelligence, your spirit, your wit, your determination—everything you did made me admire you. You were always so strong. Unrelenting in everything you did. You decided what you wanted and you pursued it with everything in you. You were resourceful, helpful, generous. Kind to people who didn’t deserve it. Kind to me.”

She stared up at him, a cold sense of misery twisting itself up inside her ribs.

He raised a finger. “Tell me one thing.”

“I don’t—”

“One thing,” he repeated, cutting her off before she could do more than start. “One reason you ever loved me that didn’t involve what I could do for you.”

Her chest constricted until she could scarcely breathe, a bitter pain beneath her breastbone as she tried to find words. A stroke of panic chased words from her head and she found nothing to move her lips.

He stared at her through the silence until it grew too thick to bear, then tore his gaze away to stare into the darkened forests nearby. “That’s what I thought.”

Firal pressed a hand to her chest as if it might settle her racing heart, her eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

He slipped inside and shut the door, leaving her alone in the dark.

This is an ongoing companion piece to be read after completing the Snakesblood Saga. Because it takes place during the final chapter of the last book, it will be very full of spoilers. It’s also unedited first draft fluff… just for fun! Read at your own risk, and expect installments no closer together than once a month.

* * * * *

Firal turned to embrace the white-robed Master mage with a smile. She’d found Sera both warm and amicable, and it seemed the feeling was mutual, for the woman returned her affections with a sparkle in her eyes.

“I never expected I’d see you here for something like this,” Firal said with a downward glance. “Are you here alone?”

“No little ones, if that’s what you mean. Stal is here somewhere.” Sera fluttered a hand overhead, as if her husband’s location didn’t matter. Or perhaps it was more an acknowledgement of how Stal would be pulled in a thousand directions. As the southern continent’s acting Archmage, he would be in high demand by those who thought they might earn his favor.

Firal released her and tempered her smile. “Oh, I had hoped to see the baby.”

Beside them, Princess Meliel cleared her throat.

Whatever delight Sera might have borne for seeing Firal and Rune and perhaps even Vicamros, she clearly held none for Meliel. She still smiled, but it was the cool expression demanded by propriety, devoid of any real warmth. “Good evening, Princess.”

Meliel raised a brow. “Good evening, mage.” The absence of title was a deliberate slight. “Did I hear you correctly? You are somehow involved in trade arrangements for the south?”

Ever the diplomat, Garam drew Sera closer before her temper could flare. “Princess Meliel, allow me to introduce my sister. Sera is a Master mage trained in Lore’s Grand College, matriarch of House Kaith, and wife of Archmage Stal of Umdal.”

A hint of interest curved the princess’s lips. “Is that so?”

Firal restrained a snort. Now she cared; now that she knew the person she was dealing with was somebody, and not just an ordinary mage. She glanced over her shoulder and Rune met her eye with a dry smile that said he found it just as distasteful.

“It is,” Sera replied breezily. “With our mages having full control over the permanent Gates, all trade that takes advantage of them must pass through our facilities. Therefore, Stal and I will have a hand in much of what comes to pass, as we will be in charge of setting safety regulations.”

Meliel’s eyes hardened. “I was under the impression that mages were not to be involved in political matters. After all, every civil war that has happened on this end of the world has been instigated by power-hungry mages.”

“I would consider that an oversimplification,” Sera said.

The princess sniffed. “Perhaps you should educate yourself more, in order to understand why my country might not wish to deal with mages for trade.”

“On the contrary, I would expect I know more about the matter than you.” Sera’s smile returned, but this time, it was cold as ice. “As a mage of Lore formerly in military service to Vicamros, I am a veteran of one of those wars.”

“As was I,” Rune put in. “You certainly had no concerns about my involvement in matters of trade.”

A deep, rosy shade darkened Meliel’s cheeks.

Firal almost felt bad for her. How many times would she find herself with her foot in her mouth?

“I realize things are done differently in the Westkings, as they are different here in the north,” Sera added, “but in the south our mages are responsible for ensuring the well-being of all citizens. And please do note that I said well-being. Safety and organization is our responsibility. Unless you mean to import or export goods that jeopardize the safety of the southern continent’s people, I fail to see how our involvement would be of any concern.”

Rune’s brow furrowed as he put on a look of worry convincing enough to fool anyone who didn’t know him as well as Firal. “I have heard of questionable goods gaining popularity in the Westkings,” he said slowly. “Rumors when I last visited there. I believe there was an incident with dangerous items being smuggled into Orrad, bypassing safety inspections. Were there updates to that situation, Princess? I’m sure you would know more about the situation than I would. I haven’t been back to the Westkings in several years.”

Meliel’s mouth worked a moment before she simply closed it.

“Well, no news is good news, I suppose,” Vicamros put in smoothly. He gave Garam a thump on the back and grinned as if he expected the retired captain to agree with him. “With fortune, your countries will be able to solve the issue without any further disruptions. Of course, if you wanted to negotiate for support from mages trained in the eastern side of the world, then…” He trailed off and spread a hand as if to invite the request he was sure would come.

“It sounds as if you’ll be busy. I’ll leave you to your negotiations.” Rune inclined his head toward Vicamros, almost a show of deference, and started to leave.

The king snagged him by the shoulder before he could retreat. “Nonsense. You’re part of my council, you belong here to negotiate.

Sera snorted softly and slid to Firal’s side to take her arm. “Then we shall leave the council to their business. A pleasure to meet you, Princess. I’m sure we will cross paths again.”

Firal resisted when Sera pulled, but Vicamros was already steering her husband away, and from the resignation in his step it seemed there would be no escape.

“They won’t take long,” Sera murmured conspiratorially. “They’ll frighten her into backing down, work out some temporary solutions, and be back to the stalemate where they’re sitting in no time.”

“Does this happen often?” Firal kept her voice low, though she couldn’t help a worried glance back. She didn’t want to leave her husband’s side; not so soon after what transpired in the garden. Frustration brimmed within her, but all she could do was sigh and hope it would diffuse some of the unpleasant emotions.

“Every few years. Almost regularly enough to plan by it.” Sera winked and her pace relaxed. “Ah, but this gives us a chance to speak. I hoped you would be here. I brought something for you.”

For her? Firal blinked twice. “I beg your pardon?” For all that she found she liked Sera, she certainly didn’t know her well enough to anticipate gifts—or offer them.

“Nothing substantial.” The Master mage beside her waved a hand as if to dismiss any expectations before they formed. “Just something small, one woman to another. Believe me, I understand.” She drew a small box from one of the hidden pockets of her white mage’s robes and held it out for Firal to take as they strolled across the ballroom.

Firal took it and jostled the lid free. Inside, orderly rows of rich orange candies sat cradled by bits of waxed paper. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled, long and slow. “Are these… yam?”

“For fertility,” Sera said, mindful not to be overheard.

For a moment, Firal did not know what to say.

Sera went on so she wouldn’t have to say anything at all. “A large family was always my dream and Stal and I have been blessed to have so many children, but it’s not always as easy as we may wish. I apologize if it seems forward, or perhaps an overstep, but the new Archmage of Lore mentioned your struggle in passing and… well, magic cannot fix everything, but sometimes the goodness of the earth can help where magic cannot.”

The gesture was forward. And it was so genuine and thoughtful that it made Firal’s eyes sting. “It’s not an overstep. Thank you.” Even as a queen, she had been challenged in her desire to see her family grow. She had one child, after all; to nobles, one child was enough.

“It’s my pleasure to help.” A sardonic smile twisted the corners of Sera’s mouth and she looked straight ahead. “Not everyone understands the things we want. The callings we are given. Especially as mages. We’re expected to put family aside, to pursue power with all we have, but what if power is not the longing of our hearts? Just because the things we desire are ordinary does not mean they are not worthwhile.”

A refreshing perspective, to be sure. As far back as Firal could remember, magelings who sought marriage and family instead of permanent mage stations had been looked down upon. “Thank you,” she said, though it meant she repeated herself. She didn’t know what else to say, but the gesture deserved something earnest. She swallowed and made herself speak. “Although I don’t know that such a thing is the biggest concern yet. I don’t know if that’s what our future will hold. If I am to be honest, I’m not sure we have a future at all.”

Sera stopped and turned toward her, face scrunched with puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

Slowly, Firal replaced the box’s lid. “I’m not entirely certain he still wishes for that. For… me.”

For a long time, all Sera did was stare. Then, at last, she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sputtering laugh. “Oh, darling, you have nothing to worry about there.”

A crinkle formed between Firal’s brows. How could she sound so confident? “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

Sera swept a thumb across her eyelid and grinned wide. “Ah, forgive me. I know. I know you don’t. It’s because you haven’t been here, listening to the way he speaks of you when you’re gone. Most women in the Triad could only dream of a man who speaks of them so romantically.”

Romantic? Rune? That was hardly the man Firal knew. “You must be mistaken.”

“Certainly not. I’ve heard him myself, waxing on about the way you illuminate his life and everything is shadowed without you.” The statement came with a grand flourish, and Sera wiped her mouth as if to catch a giggle before it could escape.

“Well that’s not the way he acts,” Firal protested. “Everything he does now is so cold and calculated.”

“Of course it is,” Sera agreed.

The implication she’d missed something left Firal exasperated. “Well, why?”

“Because,” the Master mage said, her tone sweet and soothing. “You’re here.”

As if she could be anywhere else. “And that means?”

Sera’s smile softened and she touched Firal’s arm. “He has so much more to lose.”

This is an ongoing companion piece to be read after completing the Snakesblood Saga. Because it takes place during the final chapter of the last book, it will be very full of spoilers. It’s also unedited first draft fluff… just for fun! Read at your own risk, and expect installments no closer together than once a month.

* * * * *

Firal was used to forcing a smile when she wanted to scream. It drew across her face gracefully, as naturally as if it were genuine, and Lord Kaith offered a tense smile in return.

Rune was not so magnanimous, yet it was clear he tempered his response in how his shoulders tensed and his voice stayed calm. “Found us fast.”

“Didn’t find you,” Garam replied flatly. “Just followed.”

“Which explains why it took so long.” Rune glanced to the aged man’s cane and Firal bit the inside of her lip to keep her commentary to herself. He’d always been like that; needling when he oughtn’t, talking back when he should have stayed silent. How he managed to keep that mouth when dealing with generals, captains and kings escaped her, but she put a hand on his arm to still him, all the same.

“May I ask who requested us?” She kept the question light and sweet as she slid forward, silently positioning herself as the one to be addressed.

Garam noticed, for his eyes took a suspicious gleam, but he still answered. “King Vicamros. His guests have questions about the state of Ilmenhian trade, now that your capital no longer stands. Though I suppose you are the only representative present. You may be the only one who matters.”

A hint of a twitch flickered in the muscle of Rune’s cheek. Offended, was he? Well, perhaps that served him right after he’d spoken that way.

“Is it something we might be able to discuss later?” Firal asked, but Rune shook his head and pulled away from her touch.

He flicked dust from his sleeve and adjusted the collar of his coat, and whatever tension he’d carried before, it seeped from his frame to leave his stance both relaxed and confident. He’d always been good at pretending, and she envied his skill now. “The sooner we get it over with, the better.”

She was of a mind to agree, though on a far different subject. She shelved her disappointment and motioned for Garam to lead the way. “I suppose there’s no point in reminding the princess and her companions that there will be no further trade with Ilmenhith?”

“You’d think that much would be obvious, but they insist.” Lord Kaith gave his head the slightest of shakes. His cane scraped against the stone as he made for the doorway through which they’d only just escaped, its light harsh compared to the cool refuge of night. “I suspect they believe your country may be reestablished here. The king has already explained twice that refugees are to be settled as residents of Aldaanan, integrated into his holdings as citizens under his rule.”

“And is the difficulty of that conversation the primary reason the king sent you to retrieve us?” Firal arched a brow and offered a dry smile.

Garam chuckled. “The difficulty of that conversation makes me suspect he would have preferred to fetch you himself. But no. He sent me because when your husband needs to listen and obey, I’m always sent.”

An interesting tidbit. Firal kept her smile in place and glanced to Rune from the corner of her eye as they walked, but his expression told her nothing. She knew little of the friendships he had forged on the mainland, but his respect for Lord Kaith had been easy to see. That he did not share the same unwavering loyalty for the king he served was curious. “I cannot pretend to know Vicamros well, for all that we have been trade partners since his father held the throne. But it would seem unwillingness to displease allies makes his life more of a challenge than it needs to be.”

That yielded the faintest hint of motion, a downward shift of the corners of Rune’s mouth. A raw nerve, perhaps. She could not blame him. His return to Elenhiise had been demanded in her name, and Vicamros had delivered him without hesitation, in spite of all Rune had done for the Triad. Even as a hero, he had not been safe.

Perhaps the reason he was loyal to Garam and not Vicamros was no mystery at all.

“Well,” she added, as if it were an afterthought, “an unwillingness to displease some allies.” In the end, Rune had been the strongest she’d ever had.

His displeasure softened. “He does what he believes is best. I don’t always agree, but it doesn’t always turn out badly.”

“That’s the spirit,” Garam said. “Keep that attitude while you speak to Princess Meliel, and I’m sure everything will turn out fine.”

Firal repeated the name twice in her head to fix it in place, then picked up her skirts and shuffled ahead of their guide. “She is with the king now?”

He gave a nod. “She was when I left.”

Rune started past, as well, but Garam lifted his cane to delay him.

“Best behavior,” the older man prompted.

“I am not known for that.” Rune pushed the cane down with two fingers.

“I am aware,” Garam said, resigned.

Firal waited until Rune slipped by the barricade to rejoin her. She did not take his arm, though part of her wanted to; if the princess of Loriath wished to see her, she would appear independent and settle things swiftly. That he would receive the justification he sought for turning down another marriage was a useful side effect. She did not know which of the women clustered around King Vicamros was Princess Meliel, but she cut directly toward them with a smooth and gliding pace. The intention in her step kept them from being interrupted, and the king turned toward them with a hint of relief smoothing his brow.

“Ah, your ears must have been burning.” Vicamros injected a hint of humor into his voice, but his blue eyes begged for help. “We were just discussing you. I thought you might have left.”

“Certainly not. The night has just started, after all.” Firal hoped her smile was sincere; she’d been cordial with the king, if never good friends.

Rune settled close at her side, tucked just behind her shoulder, close enough she could feel his warmth. He plucked the lily she’d given him from behind his ear and added it to her curls. “My wife has a fondness for plants. She’s impressed by your gardens, Cam.”

The king’s interest perked. “Is she? You’ll have to speak with my wife, then. The gardens are something of a special project for her. I’m certain she’ll be pleased to tell you more about anything out there. Here, now. Meliel, you recall Lord Kaim-Ennen.”

As if that were a cue, most of the king’s audience began to slip away. All that remained was a dark-haired woman with a slender face, who gave Rune a perusal that was far closer and more lingering than Firal deemed fit. “Indeed I do. It would seem the years have been exceptionally kind to you.”

“Whatever kindness I’ve been dealt, I would sooner credit it to my wife.” Rune rested a hand against Firal’s shoulder, his grip gentle yet possessive.

Firal would have marveled any other time. How could he touch her that way in front of others, yet behave as if he feared her in private?

The king cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Allow me to introduce the two of you. Firal, this is Princess Meliel of Loriath, heir to the throne of Loriath and overseer of trade relations. Meliel, this is Queen Firal of Elenhiise.”

A hard-edged smile curved Meliel’s lips. “Your crown persists, them, does it?”

“My kingdom has fallen in a most literal sense, but our people persist.” Firal faced the challenge with as much serenity as she could muster, though her annoyance had already flared. She lifted a hand to touch Rune’s fingers at her shoulder, knowing the affection would draw the woman’s eye—and possibly her ire. Had she been that eager to leverage a familial wedding to a hero of the Triad, then? No wonder Vicamros had tried to use Rune as a bargaining chip. It was enough to make Firal scoff, and she might have, if not for her sensibilities. Were she home, in her own palace, she might have shared her questions and thoughts. Here, in the Spiral Palace, she would do nothing to offend her host.

“Vicamros has been kind to grant our people permanent residence within the Triad. The people of Elenhiise are hard workers and will be an asset to his empire, no doubt.” Rune cast the king a sideways glance. “A good use for empty lands, as well. Aldaanan has been left untended for some time.”

“Since the departure of the gryphons.” Vicamros nodded. “It’s a difficult region, but if the people of Elenhiise show anywhere near the tenacity of its leaders, I am sure they will thrive.”

Meliel’s speculative eye turned back to Rune. “We were given the impression you were not interested in a role of authority, Lord Kaim-Ennen. What persuaded you to reevaluate that decision?”

Rune answered with a smirk. “You assume my position has changed.”

“Has it not?” She gestured toward Firal with an open hand. “Or was it that I misunderstood, and your aim was higher than I believed?”

“I’m afraid your assumptions continue to miss.” His fingers twined with Firal’s and his smirk endured, so petty that even Firal felt herself rubbed the wrong way.

The princess faltered and uncertainty showed through. “But you have married.”

Firal slid smoothly into the crack. “Rune has always been fond of a more hands-on form of leadership, which is why he served as a general in Elenhiise.” Whose general he had been hardly mattered, nor would someone from as far away as Loriath have any way to learn. “I understand he has filled similar military roles here in the Triad, serving beneath Lord Kaith. But I apologize, it seems our status was not made clear. We have been married over six pents now. Our union was formed while my father still ruled.”

Rune squeezed her fingers, ever so gently.

“Six pents?” Meliel repeated, startled.

“Inexplicably, I haven’t frightened her off yet.” Rune’s other hand drifted to Firal’s lower back, the touch both tender and reassuring.

She leaned into it and savored the warmth. “Well, one needs proper challenges to reach their full potential. Without exercises, one can never learn to deal with frustration.” No one had ever tested her more. “But I’m sure you have your own experiences with that. Vicamros said you are in charge of Loriath’s trade arrangements. I suppose it’s fortuitous that you’ve come to strike a trade alliance now, as that will allow you an early chance at benefiting from the new productivity the Triad will see, what with the new settlement of Aldaanan.”

“Perhaps.” Meliel gave no more than a single glance at Rune. The message had been received and she was moving on. Good. “However, I was more interested in what will happen with your kingdom’s trade. Your island was uniquely positioned as a trade hub, but now it is gone. While our bonds with the Triad are growing, I suspect Loriath would also benefit from making friendly trade ties in the south. Who will be facilitating trade between the northern and southern continents?”

“That would be us,” a new voice interjected, and the whole group turned.

Firal had never imagined she might be so glad to see one of her husband’s former lovers.