Page 14 of Where We Belong

“Captain. Begin.”

Chapter 17

Aiden

So, I pile and heap, I assemble and raise,

on foundations I laid from nought,

Eira looks incredible. As per. I told her I required assistance with my arrows, which she laughed off with a teasing compliment, insisting I hardly need her help. She is half right. I could manage alone, though it would take twice as long and still would not be half as good as hers. However, I am not in her workshop solely for the crossbow. It is the release she gives my mind. Even if I cannot have her in all the ways I think about every night when my thoughts drift into forbidden territory. A treacherous, deeply inconvenient habit. At the very least, I can offer her peace until someone worthy appears. Though I am certain such a male does not exist. The thought sparks an ache in my temple, and the corners of my mouth pull down. A slightly damp cloth hits me square in the face.

“Where have you gone?” She asks, her voice like the morning birdsong.

A rare chuckle escapes me. “My apologies.” I fold the cloth neatly and set it back on the cluttered counter. The bell above the door chimes just before a messenger in white robes bows.

“Urgent, Your Highness.”

Isn’t everything. I accept the parchment sealed in purple wax and set it aside, exhaling slowly once we’re alone again. Not now. Not with her. She wipes the sweat from her brow with a clean cloth pulled from her dragon hide apron, then pushes back a few loose strands that have escaped her thick, dark braid.

“Any more news on the treaty?” She nods towards the discarded paperwork, remoulding the arrow from the heat and steam radiating from her delicate fingers.

“Ember Court seems pleased with their new terms, but you never know with them.” I adjust myself on the small stool. “Obsidian wishes to put permit checkpoints on their transport tunnels. We will agree. This is from Cinder Cliffs.” I sigh and slide the ribbon from the paper, breaking the seal. Two hands clasping a book: one withered and bleeding, the other blooming with vines. Etched across the cover reads Knowledge is dominion.

I skim the lines, my tongue resting against my lower lip. “They have refused to share the ritual. Their stance is that, as the information concerns the Princess directly, the knowledge belongs to her alone. Until she petitions for it herself, they will not comply.”

“But she can’t, she’s being held hostage. That’s not — can they do that?”

“No.” I toss it down. Then nudge it into perfect alignment with the table’s corner. “It is a delay tactic based in philosophy, which is difficult to combat by law. It will take some time to respond.” Which I am certain they will combat with even more philosophy. If they are forced to hand this over, it will set a precedent, and we could compel them to surrender far more. The gods apparently gave them an affinity for knowledge for a reason; the rest of us are unworthy it seems.

She worries her lip as if unsure whether to speak, “There’s been a lot of whispering. I hear the soldiers outside when I’m working.”

I grit my teeth. Not at the gossip. At the thought of Eira being one of only five females living and working in a barrack filled with thousands of Volker. Handsome, strong, and undoubtedly admiring her beauty and charm. It would be considerably more convenient if I could keep her with me at all times. Perhaps I should construct a large cage within my quarters. Another cloth finds its way onto my chest.

“Hello?” She teases.

“Tell me more about these males showing up at your door,” I say, raising an eyebrow, placing the second folded cloth on top of the last one.

“Oh, stop it, Aiden,” she chuckles. I love the way my name sounds flowing from her heart-shaped lips, if only I could make her scream it.

“Jealous much?” she teases.

“Indeed.” I force a grin and return to shaping my crossbow, summoning steam to my fingertips. Her eyes are sternly fixed on her work, maroon creeping up her cheeks.

“I shall rephrase. Tell me more about all the traitors in the barracks.”

“They’re not traitors, Aid.” More wisps of hair fall onto her face. “I think everyone’s just on edge, you know? We’re one wrong move away from unrest, and everyone is looking to the King to fix it all. Then there are those who don’t even believe in The Creed anymore and want her rescued to rule after the King passes instead of...”

She looks guiltily down at the arrow, the obvious sting in the air. I do not care what those here think of me, especially brutish soldiers who grew up yearning to swing a sword. I only care for the opinion of one.

“And you?” I ask, meeting her deep eyes.

“I’m not sure what I think about freedom, but I’m with you. On top of those parchment theories being, well, barbaric. What if she dies or kills us?”

I nod, my mind flooding with images. Life Above, our people merging with the humans. No longer being hunted for sport. Eira at my side. Fresh air and freedom. To the untrained eye it may seem I have it all, but I would be lying if I said I hadn’t wondered what might remain between us once the basin is broken and that burdensome crown no longer hangs over me. The clangs and clinks of the cluttered drawer she one-handedly rummages through grate against my mind. I rub my ear on my shoulder to drown out the noise. She mumbles an apology and moves things around the drawer a little slower.

“How do you find anything here?” It is not usually this bad, though Eira is not the tidiest. Weapons clutter the workstations, ash cakes the floors, and brooms of varying sizes stand in the corner. Perhaps they are for decoration. I have tried to show her over the years how to put things away as she goes. She never did get the hang of it.

“I find everything just fine. Your army is equipped, is it not?” Her voice bounces around the cupboard she is now buried in. “The mess makes sense. You just need to know where to look.”