ILTKAZAR, THE UNDERDARK
27 UKTAR
Icelin’s hand trembled. Ruen reached up, took her hand, and brought it to his lips. “Why?” he asked. “Because I’m an insufferable, overprotective, taciturn rogue?”
“Because you’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
“You can’t have many men to compare me to in your experience.” He smiled briefly, and the expression sent warmth through every part of Icelin’s body. “I am everything you’ve ever accused me of,” Ruen said. “Every flaw, it’s true.”
“And I know that I’m the last woman in the world that should be asking you to love me,” Icelin said. “To look past what you feel when you touch me.”
“That’s doesn’t matter,” Ruen said.
Her brow furrowed. “You mean you can stand to touch me, even knowing what you’re going to feel?”
“I mean I love you,” Ruen said. “I have for some time.”
Icelin grew suddenly lightheaded, a similar feeling to what she experienced when the wild magic roiled inside her, but this time there was no pain, only confusion, fear, and the small beginning of what might have been joy welling up within her. “What do you … how long?” she stammered.
“For a couple of months,” Ruen said.
“Since we left Waterdeep?” Icelin was having trouble concentrating. “But you never said, you told me you didn’t feel that way about-”
“I know,” Ruen said. “I lied. I thought it was enough to give you back your life, save you.” He looked away. “I was afraid.” He made a fist at his side, but Icelin kept hold of his other hand. She wouldn’t let go.
“Kiss me,” Icelin said, stepping closer.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Ruen said. “I want you to be happy.”
“Oh, gods, man, do I have to ask you again?” Icelin rolled her eyes and glared at him with mock severity. “Of all my many conquests, you’re by far the most difficult.”
“Am I?” Ruen framed her face in his hands and kissed her. Icelin wrapped her arms around him, pressing her body against his. He held her tightly, touching her, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids. Now that he’d finally started, he seemed content to go on holding and kissing her forever.
“Ruen,” Icelin said haltingly, running her hands over his chest.
“Yes?” Ruen said. His lips traced her jaw.
“It occurs to me … that we have … too many clothes on,” Icelin murmured.
“A stunningly insightful observation,” Ruen replied. “We should remedy the situation immediately.”
“In Haela’s temple garden?” Icelin pulled back, smiling against his lips. Somehow, though, she thought the goddess would approve.
The sounds of music, shouts, and raucous laughter drifted faintly from the plaza. The wedding guests were gathering for the ceremony. Icelin felt cool, moist air touch her bare skin as Ruen lifted her shirt over her head.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much.” Icelin kissed him again, and they didn’t speak again for a long time.
Later, Icelin listened to the sound of falling water and marveled at the fact that she was lying on cold stone, with only a pile of clothing, her cloak, and Ruen’s body heat to keep her warm. She had no interest in moving, of course, so she put the cold out of her mind. Ruen seemed just as content, for he hadn’t moved or spoken since they’d made love, except to stroke his index finger gently over her hip and thigh beneath the cloak. The rhythmic motions lulled Icelin into a half sleep, but the sound of music and laughter drew her awake.
“Ingara’s wedding,” she murmured. “We shouldn’t miss it. Sull will be looking for us, too.”
“You’re right,” Ruen agreed. “But we’d best get dressed first.”
“Age and wisdom-that’s why I love you,” Icelin said. She fished her shirt out of the pile of discarded clothing and pulled it over her head. Thoughts of Ingara’s wedding led her to think about the Blackhorn family and the battle ahead. Since they’d come together, a peace such as Icelin had never known had settled over her, but their immediate future was still uncertain. “Where do we go from here?” she asked.
Ruen paused in the act of pulling on his boots. “We stay and fight or we leave the city after the wedding,” he said. “Garn told me there are still secret ways open to the surface. They’ve sent some children and elders from the city by those routes. We’d be relatively safe using them.”
“I don’t want to run,” Icelin said, “but there’s a good chance that if we stay to fight, we’ll die.”
“A very good chance,” Ruen said, never taking his eyes from her face.
Icelin smiled at him wistfully. “Isn’t this the kind of thing adventurers are supposed to do? Live on the edge of death and take on impossible causes for riches and glory?”
“There’s no treasure to be had, and we’ll likely die alone and unmarked,” Ruen pointed out with a gallows smile.
“I suppose I can live with that, too, as long as you’re there beside me,” Icelin said. “I’m not chasing death,” she added.
“I know.”
“But if I do die, it will have meant something,” she decided, nodding to herself. “Yes, I think my parents would have agreed.”
“A wedding first,” Ruen said.
“Yes.” Icelin went to him and kissed him. A part of her still marveled that he didn’t pull away.
They emerged from the garden together and crossed the walkway back to the central plaza. Icelin’s mouth dropped open when she saw the size of the crowd that had gathered. The plaza was completely full, the crowd spilling over onto the surrounding bridges over the river. They packed into any open space, waiting to get a glimpse of Ingara and Arngam.
And the king, Icelin realized. Mith Barak stood on the raised dais with the master armswoman, Joya, Garn, Obrin, and a group of dwarves that Icelin didn’t recognize. They must have been Arngam’s family.
“This is more than just a wedding,” Ruen said, echoing Icelin’s thoughts. “The city gathers to hear the king speak on the night before the battle.”
“What will he say?” Icelin wondered.
“Whatever it is, we won’t hear it,” Ruen said. “We won’t get near the center of the plaza.”
Icelin looked up at the surrounding buildings. One of the shops near the temple had a stone lip running around it about fifteen feet off the ground. She led him through the crowd until they stood beneath the lip. “I have an idea,” she said. She stepped closer to Ruen and put her arm around his waist. She gripped her staff in her other hand and murmured the words of the spell. “Hold on,” she said.
The magic took hold, and they levitated above the crowd. Ruen grunted in surprise and tightened his grip on Icelin. “This wasn’t what I had in mind,” he said.
“Why not? You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” Icelin said teasingly. She raised an eyebrow when he didn’t respond. “Gods, you aren’t really, are you?”
“No,” Ruen said tersely as they halted before the stone lip. He hoisted himself onto the shelf and helped Icelin up beside him.
“You’re lying. I can tell by that look of irritation. Oh, this is too wonderful.” Laughter bubbled up inside Icelin. “Shall we go a little higher? We could sit on the roof, you know. It’d give us a wonderful view down into the plaza.”
“This shelf is very narrow,” Ruen said, taking hold of Icelin’s waist. “I’m not sure the crowd would react in time to catch you if you fell.”
Icelin squeaked and shot him a mock glare. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “A truce, then. But I won’t forget this weakness of yours, Morleth.”
He sighed. “Of course you won’t.”
Icelin started to reply, but across the plaza, Ingara and Arngam had stepped up onto the dais. “Gods,” Icelin murmured. “She’s beautiful.”
Dressed in the suit of armor her beloved had made for her, Ingara looked every inch the warrior queen as she stood before her king and bowed. Her long mahogany locks had been meticulously plaited. On her head rested a mithral helmet. Three obsidian horns curled from the top and sides. In her hands, she carried Vallahir.