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If I find the river and can map it from beginning to end, I might be able to pinpoint a general direction to walk. Then I can put Thieran’s claim that he can sense me anywhere to the test.
I’ll ask Nevon more about the realm’s rivers at dinner. He’ll tell me almost anything if I lean close and flirt well enough. I’m woefully out of practice in the art of flirting, but it seems to be working where he’s concerned. And it has the added benefit of twisting Thieran’s face into a pinched scowl.
Serves him right for touching me so intimately when he brought me back from Meren the other day. He did it only to unsettle me, and I hate that it worked. Almost as much as I hate the dreams I’ve been having about him ever since. Of his lips and his hands and his...
I squeeze my eyes shut against the thoughts. No. I absolutely will not go there. That’s what he wants. To distract me. To keep me here. And it won’t work.
Spinning away from the wall to head back to my rooms, I stop short at the unmistakable sound of metal on metal. Rushing back to the window, I peer out, able only to see a bit of the smooth balcony below and the grass beyond.
I’m beginning to wonder if I imagined it until I hear it again. It can be no other sound. I’d recognize it anywhere.
Moving quickly down the hall, I try to place myself in the palace. Around the next corner and ten paces down the passage is a door leading to the expansive balcony. Maybe I’ll be better able to determine where the noise is coming from once I’m outside.
The air is cold in the looming shadows of the palace, slapping against my face and stinging my eyes, but I’m too afraid to miss finding the sound to go back inside and get my cloak. It rings out again, followed by a grunting shout, and I follow it along the wide stone to the stairs at the far end.
Taking them down, I follow the edge of the palace, quickening my pace when I hear the clang again, louder this time. As soon as I round the corner, I discover the cause of the noise.
Four men face off in pairs in the center of a grassy patch framed on all four sides by a low stone wall. Thieran, Railan, and Nevon, with a man I can only assume is the third judge since he’s a mirror image of Railan and Nevon both.
All the men, lean and broad, heft long battle swords. Thieran swings his in a flourishing figure eight, finishing in an attack position, and I find the entire thing far more attractive than I have a right to. A fact that only serves to irritate me further.
Crossing the yard to the ring, I wave to Nevon when he spots me and send him a flirty smile. He returns it, jogging to the wall as I approach and holding out a hand to me. I lay mine in his big palm, and he instantly leans down to kiss the back of it.
“Come to watch us hack at each other, then?”
“Only if you promise to put on a good show.”
His grin is wide and boyish, though I imagine he’s many centuries old. “Of course we will. Won’t we, boys?” he asks, turning back to the others. “A good show for a pretty lady.”
“I’m not interested in putting on a show,” Thieran says with a growl. “For her or anyone.”
I boost myself onto the wall, dangling my feet over one side and gripping the edge with my hands. “If you’re not good with a sword, my lord, just say that.”
Railan bites back a laugh at my challenge while Thieran’s lip curls back over his teeth. He brandishes it again, and I ignore the flutter in my belly as he circles Railan.
Railan is patient, but Thieran is more so, circling and circling until suddenly he strikes at a dizzying speed. Feinting to throw Railan off balance, Thieran lands a blow on Railan’s bicep that actually draws blood, the wet of it soaking into Railan’s sleeve.
At my soft gasp, Nevon pats my hand. “Don’t worry. We heal fast. And my brother’s had worse.”
There’s not much of a pause before they’re circling each other again. It’s Railan who goes for the strike this time, but Thieran is faster, spinning out of the path of Railan’s blade at the last second and bringing his sword down against Railan’s side.
The judge steps quickly to the left, but not before the tip of Thieran’s sword dots across his abdomen, drawing more blood. I’m not sure if Thieran is doing this for my benefit or if he’s always this bloodthirsty in practice, but he flicks a glance in my direction before his ice-blue eyes dart away again.
“Nevon.” I let my voice carry. “Are you as good with a sword as our Lord Thieran?”
Nevon stands straight at the goading tone in my voice. “Of course. Maybe even better.”
Thieran tosses his sword from one hand to the other and back again, the muscles in his forearms flexing, and the flutter in my belly resumes.
“But I’ll need a favor from you, dear Elora.”
I drag my gaze away from Thieran’s intense one and smile down at Nevon, eyebrow cocked. “A favor?”
He taps his cheek. “A kiss to carry into battle.”
“It’s not battle, you twit. What the fuck do you need a kiss for?” Thieran snaps.
Because I can hear the irritation in Thieran’s voice as clearly as I can hear the wind in the trees, I lean over and press a kiss to Nevon’s cheek, his grin widening.
