She was fumbling distractedly at the heavy undercoat he wore when he finally broke free of her mouth, long enough to cast a dissatisfied glance at Seb’s bed. Rejecting it, he picked her up. The door was a minor obstruction, then out into the hall, a right turn to the stair where she’d once seen him sitting, and up to the next level of the barracks. Another door, a dark room and then one made vivid by moonlight. Rennyn had no idea if anyone had seen them: he’d kissed her the entire way.
But he paused when they reached his bed, and set her carefully on her feet again. The window was wide and unshuttered and the high, full moon set him burning: eyes white disks, hair cold flame, fingers tipped with diamond. He was watching her face, and though it was nearly impossible for her to make out his expression, she thought he was stepping back from the urgency of his first response, giving her a chance to change her mind.
She was vaguely aware of fear. Partly of doing anything which would make him stop, of embarrassing herself. A little of a thing she’d never done. But most of all of hurting him more. She hadn’t expected any of the Kellian to want anything to do with her, after she’d told them the truth. Faille, most of all, she’d expected to hate her. She’d been trying to come to terms with that ever since she’d realised that she’d started to more than trust him, and still could not quite believe that he had come to talk with her once he knew that the Kellian could not leave behind their origins. Reaching out had been an impulse, and perhaps she wouldn’t have done it if she’d thought the implications through. This threw aside common caution, and in its way was the most selfish thing she’d ever done.
She brushed a finger along the vertical line to the right of his mouth, barely visible against opalescent flesh. She was close enough to feel the heat of him through her shirt, and the quiver which ran the length of his body when she touched him. She should never have come near him.
Rennyn lay watching Faille dress. The first time she’d seen him wearing anything other than a variation of his uniform, he was buttoning a charcoal grey shirt above loose leggings. Preparing himself for the dungeons. He looked thinner without the layers of uniform, ropey muscle stretched over a long frame, lean and spare.
She felt so greedy, and painfully protective. Possessive. Ironic given how very much she didn’t want to consider herself anyone’s owner, how much she objected to the idea of inheriting people. A different kind of possession, she supposed. They hadn’t spoken at all, not since she’d touched him. She hadn’t dared, didn’t want to complicate the night with any possibility of commanding him, though she was sure more than a few would suggest or suspect exactly that. It had also seemed more natural, letting actions speak for them, pushing aside the shock of the day’s revelations. He’d been so hungry for her, the totality of his response overwhelming.
He noticed she was awake and crossed to sit on the side of the bed. Rennyn looked up at him, wondering what she could possibly say, and in the pause he reached down and traced the tip of a lock of her hair coiling on the sheet. There was a black band about his wrist, and she recognised her hair ribbon, the ends neatly tucked under tightly wound loops. That made her want to cry, but she settled for gripping his hand, the calluses of a swordsman hard against her skin.
"I don’t know your first name."
"Illidian."
She smiled at the absurdity of herself who had never asked, and he curled his fingers through hers, then bent and kissed her. Saying goodbye. He didn’t need to tell her anything else, not what it would mean if she didn’t succeed, not what he hoped they might do after. They couldn’t speak of that yet, so he just kissed her. And left.
For a long time Rennyn stayed where she was, keeping her thoughts on the previous night instead of the future. Eventually she rose, found her clothes neatly folded on a chair, and wandered around exploring. Three rooms, the bedroom very sparse and clear, but the other two devoted to books. Philosophy, history, science, memoirs, travel journals, plays, poetry, fictions. An extensive selection of the better works on magic, and a larger one focusing on Eferum-Get. The books covered every wall except one, which held more than twenty swords, all different lengths and edges. A small shelf by a window seat wasn’t ordered by subject, but instead held a disparate collection of books, covers worn from frequent handling. It was like seeing inside his mind.
None of them was anything she had read, not one. She only knew magic and the mission of her family. It was the whole of her life. What would it be like, after? She’d never dared to make real plans, and her mind recoiled from dreaming of what she and Illidian Faille might do together. The chance that she would be killed was too large. The chance that he would be wasn’t much lower. Even if they survived, her inheritance would always stand between them.
And that only if he forgave her for the things she hadn’t yet told him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The marshes west of Asentyr started as freshwater and ended salty. The last breach point was well toward the centre, where the water was brackish and black and the reeds thick. Most of it was hardly more than knee-deep, but below was sucking mud, and anyone wading risked sticking themselves firmly in place. Long Sentene coats were quickly abandoned, and movement was either awkwardly accomplished in flat-bottomed boats, or involved getting very dirty. Power-hungry levitations were carefully rationed, for all the Sentene mages felt they would need their full strength.
There were no conveniently large areas of dry land where a traditional circle could be constructed, let alone a camp, and the Sentene had been working for weeks on the technical problem this presented. Rennyn was faintly astonished by their solution. Not that they had sunk pylons and constructed a platform, but that it was so large. Enough for dozens of people to move about freely. There were a scattering of smaller artificial islands surrounding it, an archipelago of wood doubled in size again by the boats used to travel across the swamp. Like ocean-going ships, the main platform had wards built into the boundary. Wards were more energy-intensive than the circles placed around fixed locations, but they were quicker to establish so long as you had the power to feed them. The platform was safe for sleeping, and difficult to attack.
It was also extremely crowded. Determined and anxious people, busy preparing spells and weapons, discussing strategies, resting, eating, stretching. They still managed to leave a clear space around Rennyn. Intellectually, they might understand that she had not created these circumstances. That didn’t make them any less angry with her: for concealing what she knew, for not warning them. For being the owner of their friends.
It didn’t help that she’d made it clear, during the uncomfortable meeting yesterday, that the question of how she would reach the throne room, how she would survive the day between the attunement and Solace’s arrival, was something she still wasn’t going to discuss. Her position hadn’t changed: the easiest way to protect herself was to be difficult to find. Travelling with an escort was like painting a target on her back.
"Counting the hours?"
Captain Medan. He’d become designated babysitter, perhaps because Lieutenant Danress no longer seemed able to talk to her.
As he settled his bulk against the wooden railing, Rennyn shrugged. "I’m surprised how close this is to the incursion point." They would be able stage much of their attack directly from the platform.