Chapter
Thirty-Five
Galantia Present Day, Deepmarsh Castle, Malyr’s rooms
sat up in Malyr’s nest of blankets, quickly grabbing my shift from where it had slipped between pillows, and held it against me as if it could ward-off the sudden drop in temperature. ThisI situation was so strange, so unlike any before with no Sebian to take care of me. Should I leave now? Wait until Malyr sent me away? Which one?
From the hearth beside the tub, Malyr grabbed an iron pincer, poking through the ashes in search of the hot stones buried there. One after another, he lifted them and dropped them into the tub, letting them drown with a hiss so they may reheat the water. As if nothing had happened. Merely a little interruption that had delayed his bath.
Looking around and feeling lost, I rolled my aching shoulders. Perhaps this was where this love ended, in the collision of painful passion and deranged desires, only to slowly trickle back into Malyr’s honor-bound hate.
But the moment I got up and turned toward the door, the deep rumble of Malyr’s voice stopped my feet. “No.”
I clasped my shift tighter to my chest and looked over at him. “No?”
Pincer returned to the hearth and, with his eyes fixed on the tub, he gestured me over. “Get in the hot water or your muscles will be sore tomorrow.”
I stared at him, flabbergasted. He was… concerned about me waking stiff and sore? The gods fetch him, this man never failed to confuse me by being a walking, breathing conundrum.
I dropped my shift and walked over, where I took his outreached hand for stability as I lifted my leg over the edge of the tub. My toes sank into the steaming water, ripping a moan from me at the pleasant warmth and the scent of herbs rising from the surface.
Malyr arched a brow at me. “Too hot?”
“Should it bother you if it was?” I croaked, my voice hoarse, and lifted my other leg over the edge before I sank into the water’s soothing embrace. “Or is burning me one of the many other ways you will not kill me?”
A twitch hushed across his lips, so distorted by the shadows that I couldn’t say if my comment annoyed or bemused him. “Apparently, I cannot be bothered to kill you at all. Did I not say as much only moments ago?”
Words spoken during passion that only slowly returned to me, now that I had full command of my lungs back, each confession more shocking than the one before. What if they were all true?
Malyr turned his naked self away from the tub and toward the hearth, presenting me a backside shaped to masculine perfection as he reached for firewood, which he tossed into the flames. For the first time in my life, I drank in the sight of his broad shoulders, his firm buttocks, the way the flames reflected on the plains of muscles on his sweat-glistening stomach as he turned. Valleys of deep shadows furrowed between them, interrupted only by the lines of scars that marked his entire body to about mid-thigh.
It robbed nothing of his beauty, and only accentuated the power of a man in his prime, the virility he exuded. That was something he shared with Sebian. Both of them about the same significant height, but where the pathfinder always carried a hint of aloofness in his posture, Malyr’s was straight and proud, at times even stiff. All attests to his royal upbringing, though he possessed none of the visible arrogance that often came with it.
His knot of hair bobbed at the top of his head as he rounded the tub to stand behind me, where he gave a pat on my shoulder, gesturing me to scoot forward. The moment I did, he climbed in, letting the water’s surface rise higher along my breasts the deeper he sank. His long legs framed mine. His arm came around my middle, pulling me back against him, and not letting up until my head rested against
his chest.
So strange… From a stool that stood beside the tub held a silver cup, a folded letter, and a basin—filled with herbs, soaps, and flasks of oils—and he grabbed a sea sponge. He dunked it into the water before us, kneading it until it soaked and softened. Then he gingerly pressed it against my throat, but that didn’t keep me from gasping at the pain that flared around the tendons lining it.
“You still feel me there,” Malyr rasped and squeezed the sponge, letting the warm water trickle down and soothe sore flesh. “A decent man would sink his head in shame.”
“But you’re n—augh!” A cough barreled from my lungs, punching swollen flesh on its way out.
Malyr noisily sucked an inhale through his mouth, dropping the sponge in the water in favor of reaching for the cup on the stool, which he held out before me. “Drink.”
I took the tooled cup and placed the metal rim by my lips, letting small droplets of sweet wine wet my rough, parched trachea. “You’re no decent man.”
“No, I am not,” he said. “I cannot help but feel a sense of pride, eagerly awaiting the blossoming of my marks and bruises.”
He fished the sponge from the water. Brought it back up. Squeezed. Malyr tended to an ache that he himself had inflicted with such tranquilizing gentleness, the pain itself faded under the soothing comfort of his touch. The ardor that radiated from it seemed incongruous against it, yet it was there, a shimmer of love beneath the shadows of pain.
I returned the cup to the stool. “I’ve had worse.”
“Mm-hmm.” The sponge glided down between my breasts, circling the skull in understanding before it went below water. “Soon, you will travel to Tidestone. Asker already chose the deathweavers and fates who will accompany your carriage to the village Elken, where I arranged for you to have a day’s rest.”
“Thank you.” My muscles softened under the constant swells of warm water he squeezed from the sponge, caring for a wound not yet seen, but very much felt whenever I spoke or swallowed. “Long travels by carriage are exhausting.”
“So I was told. Your father’s men will escort you from Elken the rest of the way since he will not allow Ravens anywhere near Tidestone.” He slowly trailed the tip of his finger down the side of my throat, letting the dull pain flare. Another squeeze sent liquid warmth over the area, soothing it away.
It was an odd sensation, as if he was saying I love hurting you and I hate that I hurt you all at once, his touch the most delicious contradiction. “You best not get caught, little dove. Your dowry didn’t make a dent in the expenses of the wedding preparations. Already, Ravens are arriving at Deepmarsh from all corners of the realm, eagerly awaiting three days of feasting, drinking, and merrymaking.”
“I still haven’t seen my wedding gown.”
“I have,” Malyr whispered with awe in his voice. “The gown is… magnificent. A neckline shaped of shadowy branches, decorated with chips of aerymel forming a nest for your scar before they twine down along the corset. Seven thousand black feathers decorate the train, and more are added each day, one plucked from each Raven arriving at Deepmarsh. The shoulder piece is entirely made of shifting shadowcloth, forming the illusion of a moving set of black wings, the edges lined with my plumes. And, um… these arrived today.” He took the folded letter from the stool, letting the parchment darken between his damp fingers as a bright feather emerged from the crease. “I have yet to decide if it should be added to the dress or not, unity be damned.”
I took in the feather, not so much white but more of a creamy alabaster, though the hue could have come from the warm light of the nearby fire. Some of the vanes had come apart, and the downy patch toward the bottom of the shaft appeared rather sparse. Behind it, on the parchment, letters in Old
Vhaer slithered across in black ink.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Lord Corvun’s feather, former ravenguard to my family, who deserted the battlefield during the siege on Valtaris to hide among humans,” he ground out. “Old age and sickness keep him from attending the wedding in person, or so his letter says. It might as well be the fact that I ought to see him hang.”
“A ravenguard? But…” I squinted as if it might return color to its vanes. “It’s creamy.”
“As is his hair. Used to be, anyway; although, it is safe to assume that age has now turned it white,” he said. “Corvin is a white raven, little dove.”
“I’ve never heard of that before.”
“They’re exceptionally rare, but animals with the same condition have been reported among other birds, foxes, even a wolf, if rumors can be trusted,” he said. “Corvin is a deathweaver, his shadows
like the smoke of burning straw. Poor fliers. Weak feathers, their vanes easily damaged.” With a sigh, he put the letter and feather back on the stool. “Darien will insist on using it on the dress in lieu of the geese feathers he’s had servants pluck. A single white feather among an ocean of black.”
It sounded beyond beautiful… For a second, I closed my eyes, picturing myself wearing the gown. Drop for colorful drop, the image expanded with rough outlines of blurry people and places, creating a backdrop for a possible future. A castle, a realm at peace, rich harvests. And there I sat, on a queen’s throne beside Malyr, while I held my husband’s hand, donning black feathers that perfectly matched the midnight hair of the little boy sitting on my lap. One who gleamed up at me from gray-brown eyes, causing such a twinge in my heart, longing filled my chest. Could we ever be that?
I slowly turned as not to send any water over the rim of the tub, and faced Malyr’s curious expression, his head slightly cocked the way his ravens sometimes did. My fingers lifted from the water, leaving droplets on his forehead that ran down his temples while I stroked my nails through his strands. They made quick work of opening the leather that tied up his knot, letting Malyr’s hair cascade down, returning that solemn, guarded look to his features.
When I partitioned four strands, he jerked away from my touch, head tilting just a little as he lifted an almost accusing brow. “What are you doing, little dove?”
Touching him for a purpose other than to ward him off, but to seek a connection with him that might lead to such a future. “Braiding your hair. It won’t be—”
His hands shot from the water, letting it splash before they gripped my wrists, but not painfully so, stalling my efforts. Yet he said nothing. Only stared at me, his pupils flitting about my face, his chest lifting faster at how his breathing had suddenly altered. Perhaps this was too intimate, too affectionate, too close to that shimmer he so rarely revealed?
But it was the shimmer beneath the shadows I was after, so I didn’t let his reaction deter me, and gathered the strands against the way he held my wrists. “If you turned around—”
“I will not.”
“Fine, have it your way,” I said, lifting the first strand over the other, which caused his grip to loosen. “It’ll be your head carrying a crooked braid, not mine.”
Malyr stared at me for another three weaving motions. At the fourth tug on a strand, his stare wavered, only for his eyes to flutter shut on a moan as his hands slipped off my wrists and returned to the water. Did he enjoy this? Me touching him?
“My mother braided my father’s hair every morning,” he said, his voice suddenly deeper as though weighed down by pleasure. “I remember… stumbling along the corridor, the sun coming through the tinted glass of the windows, casting blue flickers on the stone floor, and into my parents’ bedchamber. And there she sat in tranquil silence, every morning, grooming his hair.”
Perhaps it was the intimacy of that memory that had made him jerk back at first. “Your parents loved each other?”
“Very much so.” A moment’s silence as his eyes opened and locked with mine. “My father was a… a harsh man, and my mother his soft counterpart. Fate always makes it so, creating the perfect bond that runs deeper than death.”
My fingertips tingled each time I ran them over Malyr’s scalp to gather up more hair, his strands so straight and strong, there was something almost spellbinding in manipulating them. “Tell me of Valtaris. I’ve never even seen drawings of it.”
“Imagine sways of hills, perfectly situated to offer plenty of sun to the crops that grow there.”
Beneath the water, his palms settled on my hips, running a path to my buttocks, up to my waist, and
back again. “Grapes as well, making the sweetest red in all the lands. Their flattened peaks abut the base of the mountain on which stands Valtaris, a sprawling city that stretches over the entire range. It takes a day and a half to walk the tarred road from one end to the other. Beside it, buildings rise as many as three-stories high, built of white travertine and topped with shingles of aerymel.”
“I’ve never seen such a thing as black shingles.”
“It is stunning, how they sparkle. The sun heats the shingles, which keeps the city pleasantly warm even in winter, when we lift the wind walls. In summer, we lower them, letting the breeze dance through the city and take away the heat.” Reverence returned to his tone. The same one when he’d spoke about Naya, so full of love and longing. Until he swallowed it down with a visible bob of his throat, letting his voice return, somber and austere. “It is all lost to the shadows now.”
“Can you tell me where they came from? The shadows?”
He took a slow, deep inhale, letting one hand run up to cup my breast. “I can tell you that no deathweaver is strong enough to command them, no void alive empty enough to take them in. Valtaris is forever lost.” He sighed. “And so, I must take Ammarett in its stead.”
I lifted the braid, grabbed the leather tie from the edge of the tub, and wrapped it around the end.
“And crown yourself king.”
“And crown myself king.” His eyes held mine captive as he stroked his hand over my waist, tugging me toward him. His lips parted as if he marveled me, yet there was the slightest shake on his head. “You should turn around.”
My skin pebbled down my upper arms at the sudden grating in his voice. His fingers dug into my waist, contradicting his words, as if animosity and affection warred between his head and hands. His gaze dropped to the crown of his cock that poked out from the water’s surface, plump and swollen for me, the way one corner of his mouth twitched reminding me of what he’d said earlier. I should redden your hide for making me desire you the way I do.
“And what if I want you to look at me?” What if I sat myself on his cock and pressed my thighs tightly against him, leaving him no choice, lest he would drown me in this tub? “To forget who I am and start seeing what we could be, if only you allowed it?”
Something flickered in his eyes, or perhaps it was the reflection of the flames from the hearth, but they darkened at the next moment as his hand lifted from the water, undoubtedly to bodily turn me around. “You would not survive the kind of pain I would need to inflict on you to indemnify such a betrayal to my—”
I hooked my hand around his neck, rose onto my knees, and worked myself onto his lap with such speed, water splashed in all directions and flooded over the edge. It wasn’t a planned move, how I grabbed his cock with my other hand, positioned it at my entrance, and slid down his hard shaft with a
wanton boldness that shocked me.
Shocked him more.
Eyes wide, Malyr released an almost agonized groan when I humped my hips against him, guided by sheer instinct. His hands gripped my waist, trembling there for one rolling motion, two, three. At the fourth, they pressed me down on his cock just as his pelvis thrust upward, lifting me slightly out of the water, only to lower and let me drown in pleasure.
“Damn you, Galantia,” he snapped, gliding one warm hand up to my throat, giving a single squeeze in warning. “Don’t make me hurt you even more tonight.”
I forced down a swallow, bracing for impending pain before I leaned forward with the next roll of my pelvis, letting my throat sink deeper into the ache of his knuckles. “Then hurt me. Hurt me… but look at me.”
His fingers curled around my trachea, released, tightened again, only to slip to the back of my neck. Malyr gave a yank, pulling my face to his. Our lips collided in a kiss that made my stomach cave, only to fill with wicked pleasure at each shared rhythmic roll of our hips. We came together at each thrust, letting our breath become one in the moans we shared, but our eyes remained open,
vigilant.
Hate. Bitterness. Loathing.
It all ceased to exist in the space where his gaze connected to mine, transforming into something vulnerable and painfully raw, a shimmering tide of unspoken words and hidden sentiments, a tumultuous dance of shadows and light, flickering and blazing within those icy depths.
And it continued to flicker as he kissed a path from my chin to my scar, his eyes locked on mine.
His arm tightened around my back. His tongue trailed a wet path along the raised outlines. His lips placed kisses into the unmarred areas of the skull and wings. I hate that I hurt you.
Until he set his teeth to it.
I love hurting you.
There was a moment of inaction, not so much hesitation as it was Malyr allowing me to prepare for what was to come. Allowing me to see it in those two-colored eyes that held me captive, an icy rim around a flicker of warmth. He bit down on my scar with such force, pain stabbed straight into my core, driving up my pulse until it throbbed between my legs.
The pleasure that washed over me was so exquisite, I cried out when I came. “Malyr…”
Malyr followed, hips jerking so uncontrollably beneath me, the rivulet of blood that ran down my chest trembled toward the left before it flowed down over my nipple. Yet he kept his eyes on me, as if he wanted me to see what he could not say.
There was no hate.
Only a shimmer.
When his bloodied mouth dislodged from my chest, I cupped his cheek and spread the crimson over his bottom lip, not at all surprised when his tongue darted out to lap at it. “You said you watched me from the underbrush in the past. When was that?”
“A long time ago,” he said, and gave a suckle on my bloodied finger. “At the beach behind Tidestone, the day Lorn and I escaped the dungeons.”
So they had escaped together, just like I thought, which explained the connection they’d forged over it. “How did you escape?”
“By wanting to die and not caring who would die alongside me,” he said, his tone so flat and somber, my heart ached at the level of agony one had to endure to reach such a point. “By letting my shadows pour out of me uncontrolled, embracing death. But they didn’t kill me, nor Lorn. I managed to grab the keys from the jailor’s breeches where he’d hung it on the gate right beside his blackened corpse. Together, we ran for the cliffs.”
My throat thickened. “That’s where you saw me.”
“Saw you playing, running, and laughing while I bled, hurt, and fevered nearby,” he said. “It seemed so… unreal, unfair. Made me furious beyond measure.”
Planting hate at his core for me that had only grown over the years. “Maybe we are truly fated only to end in emotional tragedy…”
“Little dove,” his whisper came with a salty kiss to my lips before he straightened and placed his
own by my ear, “love is tragedy.”
I hate that I love you.
