"I have always enjoyed visiting Surclere," she said slowly.
"I saw that."
"We walked through the field where the Kellian were created."
His eyes narrowed. "It is not a lack of connection with Surclere which makes you reluctant."
A neat side-step of the importance of Surclere to his people. It was home to her family, but the birthplace of the Kellian race. And loving Illidian meant no longer pretending she was not involved in the issues surrounding the Kellian.
"A voice on the Council." She considered the tedium involved, then said in weary half-sentences: "Hardly likely discovered those records just tonight. Known of Tiandel’s arrangement for weeks, but held off until saw whether Seb or I survived? Suppose the Queen considers it a means control me. Seen enough of me to know would take an oath seriously."
"You don’t want to give it."
She tried to shrug, which didn’t really work, and she blinked hard at all the different parts of her which protested. "To someone who treats those who protect her with such bare tolerance? No, I don’t want to swear an oath to her."
"But you are going to."
He read her so well. "I think I’m talking myself into it. Because I want Surclere. Because I–" She flushed and that made her dizzy. "Because I want you. Because it would be useful. Would you rather I didn’t?"
"I see the value in it." He didn’t sound entirely convinced, and diverted her attention by touching a hand to her forehead. "It’s not something for now. Go to sleep. I will be here when you wake."
"I know," she said, and marvelled at the certainty of her words, along with the thread of fear which underlay them. "I don’t think I can stand you not to be," she admitted. "Not yet. I never imagined being so consumed by anyone. Can – can we be this?"
He was slow to answer, finally saying: "There is no value pretending that I won’t struggle with what you can do. But I have a sense of rightness with you which has nothing to do with your heritage." His fingers brushed her forehead again. "We already are this. I will not run from it."
He was going to make her cry. But a particularly tiresome possibility had occurred to her. "Can we get married? Soon?" She wished she was strong enough to do anything, to be able to hold him as she wanted. To lift her head.
"When would you like to hold the ceremony?" he asked, obligingly.
"Tomorrow."
"Perhaps better when you are capable of standing through the vows."
Kellian laughed with their eyes. She was fascinated that she could see how obviously happy she’d made him, for all his expression barely changed. He touched the side of her face that didn’t hurt, and she could feel that quiver in him again. He could not have told her more clearly that he wanted her.
"Prince Justin seems an inoffensive sort of creature," she said, wishing the thought hadn’t occurred to her.
Illidian didn’t even blink at the apparent change of subject. "I’ve heard no harm of him."
"Nor I. Still, I’d like to limit the amount of time people have to realise how convenient it would be if I married him."
It hadn’t occurred to Illidian. He froze, then turned slightly away from her, taking a breath. She could see the veins stand out in his throat. Illidian’s opinion of the Queen obviously matched Rennyn’s own: a pragmatic woman.
But he recovered with the next breath, saying matter-of-factly, "When you are able to stay awake through the ceremony, then," while his hands closed possessively over hers again.
Rennyn curled her fingers through his, reassured. Forewarned, he would arrange everything. Not perhaps the most romantic setting, but she preferred it to facing the threat Prince Justin posed. Since Illidian still wanted her, she’d be damned if she’d let political expediency get in the way.
So a marriage. And playing teacher to Seb and Kendall and Sukata. Hunting her Wicked Uncle and defending the Kellian and fixing up Surclere. So much to do, with little room for the sloth she’d long planned.
"I would have been bored, anyway," she murmured, and slept.
Map of Tyrland
