Page 160 of Heimlock

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi.” My eyes scan her bright face. “You know, the first time I saw you, I wanted to do this?”

Kyrielle tilts her head, nose wrinkling in thought. “When I couldn’t get a drink at the bar?”

“Exactly. So you’d finally be the same height as everyone else,” I tease.

She bites my chin. “You’re so rude.”

Holding her close, I dig my nose into the base of her neck where my mark shows. Instead of responding, I close my eyes to listen for her heartbeat. It’s steady and strong. When I move my mouth against her throat, the speed picks up. I smile softly.

“What are you doing?” she says so quietly that the wind almost eats it up.

“Memorizing.” One of my hands holds her plump ass cheeks, with the other grazing along her spine. “So if my life ever flashes before my eyes, this is the last good memory to savor before death steals it all.”

She sniffles. “You are one of the best people I know, Trinte Gleanscale.”

Creamsicle hair ruffles against my face in the wind. “You are the best of me, Kyrielle Veritas.”

Her lips come to my neck and fingers sift through my hair. “When you win, you’re absolutely fucking me on a mountain.”

“Naturally.”

A horn sounds from the other side of the snow mound. Tension jerks her body. I lift my head and press my lips against hers. Stain the taste in my brain. Her tears wet the kiss, a blessing of aching love turned physical. It feels like I’m being torn in half, knowing how afraid my choice has made her.

Breaking the kiss with too much regret, I wipe away tears from her wind-chapped cheeks. “Thank you for loving me, Kyrielle.”

“Thank you for letting me love you.”

The horn sounds again. I shift her back in my arms so I’m cradling her. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

60

Letting go of Trinte is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done a lot of hard things.

With one final kiss and quick goodbyes to everyone else, he walks over the rope to the center of the circle. His father already waits, eyeing his son with the kind of hunger that makes me queasy.

But Trinte is proud, with shoulders back, hands relaxed, and head held high. My body aches to chase him; to join him. Foolish, but a wish anyway.

Teale meets them at the center, sorrow a crushing weight in her expression. Racidious stands to her left, hands clasped behind his back, staring at Trinte, who glares right back, his bulky mass taut with tension, fists clenched.

The crowd quiets until the only sound is crunching snow under boots and claws. The five of us huddle together, with Orliana on one side and Talia on the other. Fynn has an arm around Orliana’s waist and his hand is on my arm. Strong and steady; two things I don’t feel.

“Welcome Weyr Wingside to the Gleanscale Cairanin. It has been a long time since this tradition was witnessed, and it is quite unfortunate for it to be under these circumstances.” Teale’s throat works before she can continue. “The accused will now face his challenger.”

My heart skips a beat as Trinte turns to face the crowd, eyes immediately finding me. He clears his throat, now scanning the crowd. There are so many people here, most looking intrigued.

“Weyr Wingside, I called the Cairanin for a single moment born of many other moments. Rivers are built by rain drops and the current has led us here.”

He’d never admit it to anyone else, but Trinte’s been practicing this speech for days. He claimed to need the Weyr to fully support him, and Dragons love a little showiness.

Trinte turns toward his father again. “Racidious Gleanscale, you’re hereby accused by your progeny, Trinte Gleanscale, to a Cairanin for the crime of incest and abuse of your kin.”

The crowd gasps. I’m taken aback at how confident and commanding he sounds, even though I know those were some of the hardest words he’s ever said. In front of a crowd of hundreds, all of whom will undoubtedly gossip about this for years to come.

But he doesn’t want there to be a single question or moment of speculation.

Teale turns to her brother. “What say you?”