Chapter 7

"Will he make it?"

A familiar voice cut through the cozy fog of my sleep. I wasn't sure how long I'd been out, but my eyelids were heavy and weighed down. It would take too much effort to open them.

"He will, through no fault of his own." That one was different: rough, older, annoyed. "If he hadn't pushed me away and he'd let me work on him, it wouldn't have been so touch and go."

"He's a military commander." That voice came from right next to me. I knew it well. Jelenna. "You can't drag him away from the battle."

"He almost died."

"But he didn't. That's good enough." Jelenna's voice was close. A physical sensation cut through my grogginess. She was squeezing my hand. I forced my eyes open.

As my vision coalesced, it revealed a simple but clean wooden building. I was laying on a thin straw mattress, and Jelenna sat next to me. Cyrus and Manod stood at the foot of the bed.

"I don't intend to lose him." Cyrus' was insistent and desperate.

"Then get him to be less stubborn and—"

"Hello?" My airway was on fire as my breath squeezed through, ground glass in my throat. My side ached.

Cyrus turned to me. His face was haggard, and he was even paler than usual. His hand clenched the wooden footboard of the bed. His knuckles were white.

"Skye?" Jelenna asked in a casual tone that was definitely forced. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm sore. Woozy. What happened?"

"You took an arrow to the side, and you wouldn't let me heal you, foolish boy." He might have been trying to take me to task, but I liked this grumpy side of the normally kind priest.

"I…" In a flash, it all came flooding back. The pain. Cyrus and the crown. The words of the attackers. I tried to push myself into a sitting position, but my elbows wobbled underneath me.

"Don't, Skye. I've got you." Jelenna put an arm around my waist and pulled me up. She positioned the pillows against the headboard to support me.

"Thank you." I made eye contact with Cyrus, who was staring down at me with wild eyes, like I was a live rattlesnake. "I heard what they said."

"It was a lie, it had to be." There was fire in Jelenna's voice. "No one could take out a company of Archers without Skye or myself finding out."

"Truly?" Exhaustion had taken whatever was left of Manod's typical politeness. "You would actually accuse us of—"

"You concocted some kind of story with them—"

"Stop. The two of you need to go." It still hurt to speak, but I forced the sound out. This felt important.

Jelenna made a face like she'd swallowed a fly. "I'm not going anywhere—"

"I want to speak to Cyrus alone."

Cyrus' expression clouded with confusion. He glanced at Jelenna, and then Manod. The uncertainty was in deep contrast to the wry persona he cultivated. I liked seeing him thrown off guard.

"Now."

Manod rolled his eyes and stalked away. Jelenna squinted at me.

"I'll be right outside."

"I'm fine, Jel." She walked toward the exit, eyeing Cyrus as she went.

When she closed the door behind her, Cyrus and I considered each other in silence. I gestured toward the chair next to me. He sat down, setting his face in a blank, still mask.

"They were attacked by my Archers."

Cyrus nodded and touched the circlet on his head with his right hand. It was no longer a fiery crown, but once again a simple black band. The gesture seemed unconscious. Maybe it grounded him.

"Yes," Cyrus replied. "The crown of Ashfuror is the Crown of Seeing. With it, I can observe places far away, and sometimes it will even show me the future, if the outcome is certain enough." Cyrus sighed. "I can also tell if someone is lying."

I closed my eyes. "I knew it was true when I heard him say it."

"Why were you so sure?" Cyrus asked.

"The man described my older brother Athard. The blonde hair, the gold cape, there was no mistaking him. And…"

I didn't want to say it out loud.

"And you wouldn't put it past him to raid a town for supplies." Rage and compassion warred on Cyrus' face.

"That's what makes me so angry." I grasped the sheets of the bed between my fingers. "It's not a question of procuring supplies. Greatfalls has no need of them. It's just an excuse for cruelty. And the outright killing…"

I didn't know what else to say. Cyrus sat there with me in silence. I was grateful for his presence, although part of me worried that he might use this against me later. Or against my home city. If Jelenna was there, she would have warned me not to trust him, but I had sent her away for a reason, so that we could speak openly.

He brought me out of my rumination with a question. "What did your grandmother tell you of the treaty?"

I studied him. His face was kind, but I couldn't hold back the suspicion that had sprung up. He had knowledge that I lacked. I wasn't sure I wanted to reveal my own ignorance, but lying wouldn't help me in this moment.

"Not…Only that there was precedent for the marriage," I said after a moment. "That it had been used before to repair the relationship between Greatfalls and the Lords of Fyr."

"It's more set and clear-cut than that." Cyrus' face tensed as if he was afraid of my reaction to what he was about to say. "When one of the parties attacked, or made some sort of incursion into the other's territory, it was a way to avoid devolving into outright war. The aggressor would give a child of their ruling family to marry into the enemy's sovereign household, and the two powers would consider the matter settled."

My mind started to put together the pieces. It had been slowed by pain and exhaustion, but it was still working.

"It was something like this," I said, "a raid or something. The thing that broke the treaty and triggered our betrothal."

"Yes. Archers from Greatfalls raided a town forty leagues north of here. They didn't kill anyone, but they might as well have. They took every last bit of food and water."

I felt heat churning in my gut, angry and restless. I wanted to ride back, to confront Athard, to do something . Instead I was injured and far from my home. There was nothing I could do.

Cyrus put his hand on my forearm. My muscles twitched at the feel of him. I willed myself to relax. We had never touched before. His skin against mine was warm and comforting. It was unexpected. He spoke in a soft, clear voice.

"What will you do about your brother?"

I closed my eyes and kneaded my forehead with my fingers. That was the question, wasn't it? If I was honest with myself, it had always been a question, simmering underneath every fight we'd had over the last decade.

"I don't know." I breathed out, forcing myself to let go of some of the weight of the problem. "He is the oldest, and will be Prime. I have no standing to challenge him. Grandmother could change the order of succession, but that's never been done, at least not in our family's history. I've never gotten the impression that she'd go so far as to disinherit him, even if he often displeases her."

"And you will be leagues away in Ashfuror."

"Yes. I don't believe for a second that Grandmother knew in advance about the raids. She wouldn't sanction something so foolish. But when she dies, Athard will become Prime. Who knows what will happen then."

Cyrus squeezed my arm, and he stared at me, his eyes moving back and forth as if he was scanning me, trying to make a decision. When he spoke, his voice trembled slightly.

"I…I know that we have no reason to trust each other. But you are my betrothed, and I don't take that lightly. I have no intention of marrying you and then breaking the treaty. I've always wondered if my marriage, whoever it was with, could be real, could be a true joining and not just an act of politics. It's silly, maybe, but ever since I found out, as a child, that I wouldn't get to choose my spouse, a part of me has always held out hope that, somehow, there'd be love there. Maybe not at first, but eventually…"

I stared deep into his eyes, trying to detect some lie, some sign of deception. I didn't find any.

"I am scared." The words left my lips before I could stop them. Perhaps it was whatever potion Manod had given me, or the effects of being so near death, but I needed to be honest with him. "I, too, had hoped that if I married, it would mean something. But I have never…never been with..."

As I struggled to find a way to tell him how inexperienced I was, Cyrus leaned closer to me. I could smell the mix of soap and leather on him. Something about it sent a shiver through me, unmoored me, but it wasn't unpleasant.

He whispered. "I know we don't know each other. Not really. But we could try."

My breath caught. I couldn't find words to reply. Cyrus stared at my lips with longing.

"May I?"

I nodded.

He brought his lips to mine. It was so soft and gentle at first, but that didn't stop my body from reacting. I felt a shock travel from my lips down to my torso and my pelvis, and instinctively I brought my hand up to the nape of his neck, pulling him in closer.

He took my touch as a signal, deepening the kiss. What had been chaste turned ravenous. I felt the blood rush to my face. Was this what I'd been missing out on? It was all-consuming, my brain lost in a sea of floating pleasure.

When he pulled away, his absence forced a moan from my lips. He smiled at the sound.

"You almost died, sweet Skye. I think you've had enough excitement for one day." He brought his hand to my cheek. "If we are to be married, you should be my partner and my equal. You won't be alone. Whatever comes, whether it's your brother or something else, you face it with me by your side."

I swallowed. No one had ever spoken to me with such care, such certainty. Maybe my mother, but my memories of her were cloudy.

Because she'd been murdered by Cyrus' father.

A pang of grief shot through my chest. Nothing I'd felt since this whole thing began had been simple, and the specter of my parents' deaths had loomed over it all.

Concern crowded Cyrus' features. "Are you in pain?"

"Yes." It wasn't a lie. That's what I told myself, anyway. "It's fading now."

"Good. Get some rest."

He bent down to kiss me on the forehead, and before I could stop myself, I flinched. Thinking of my parents' deaths had stirred up my ever-present suspicion. Hurt flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, defensive mask.

"We won't continue on until I'm satisfied you can travel without pain," he said, his voice flat and emotionless.

Sadness surged inside me. I had wounded him. I hadn't intended to, I just couldn't escape the scars of my own history. They always lived there, right under the new skin.

"Cyrus, wait—"

The door slammed shut as he exited the cottage. I cursed my own inner struggle. I'd never convince him that I wanted to be by his side if I pulled away from his touch. I was frustrated, and more. Guilty, that I had ruined an unexpected tender moment between us, and deeply conflicted about how he'd made me feel.

When he kissed me, something inside me gave way. A wall that had been up since the moment of my parents' deaths finally started to crumble.

And I didn't know if it was real.

***

Somehow I convinced everyone that I was well enough to ride the next day, although Cyrus kept a constant eye on me as we went. Jelenna was no better. Every time Blaze whinnied or snorted, she'd whip her head to check on me. Her eyes squinted in the morning sun, and her reflexes were on a hair trigger, as if I would fall off my horse the second she stopped paying attention. The only one who was nonplussed was Manod. Evidently the old priest was confident in his handiwork.

After about an hour, I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled Blaze up short and jumped off in one fluid motion, landing in a crouch. I won't lie, the move wasn't painless, but it was worth it.

Both Cyrus and Jelenna yelped. They were off their horses and on top of me in seconds.

"Enough!"

They took a step back, both of them stunned.

"I am fine," I said, adding some steel to my voice. "I am healed. Stop acting like I'm going to bleed my guts out at any moment."

Jelenna and Cyrus looked away, guilt flashing across their faces.

Jelenna spoke up first. "You took an arrow to your ribcage, Skye. You were bleeding out. It could have pierced your lung."

"Yes, and now I'm better. Right, Manod?"

Cyrus and Jelenna glared at the gray-bearded priest, who shrugged.

"I told you he was healed."

"You almost died." Cyrus' voice was soft. He was trying to hide his fear.

I walked over to him, taking his hands in mine, and kissed him on the cheek. His eyes widened at the gesture.

"I'm sorry," I said. "But I feel good." I glanced over at Jelenna, who had frozen at the display of affection. "I promise."

She shook it off and jumped back on her steed. "If you say so."

I turned back to Cyrus. "Can we please go?"

He nodded. I walked back to Blaze, patting him on the neck, and then pulled myself back up. Nobody else moved. They still were treating me like I was a ceramic vase balancing on the hump of a camel.

I urged Blaze forward, setting a quick pace. They could all catch up to me if they wanted to.

Over the next hours, the land on either side of us rose up, until soon enough we were riding through the bottom of a canyon. The rocky protrusions grew taller until they became full sandstone cliff walls, and there was a faint sound of rushing water, although we never reached the source.

"Where is the river that carved this canyon?" I asked Cyrus, who had been riding by my side for the last hour or so.

"In the days before the drought it was strong and wide, connecting Ashfuror with Inwic to the northwest. All that's left of it now is a bubbling brook. It shrinks farther with each passing month of summer. Next spring, the melting snow will swell its waters, but unless the weather breaks, it won't be nearly enough."

Cyrus' voice was scarred with deep exhaustion. He had been carrying the burden of drought and famine for years now, and it weighed heavily on his shoulders. I wished that I could alleviate it somehow. Maybe I could.

"What do you want from me?" Cyrus' head snapped to me at my question. "As your husband."

"I don't understand."

"Will there be something I can do? Can…can I help? I can't sit alone in a castle looking pretty."

"First of all, it's not a castle. It's a large building. Very simply appointed. There's nothing to distinguish the palace from the offices and apartment buildings around it. Although there is an old family manse, on the shore of the Eastern Sea." Cyrus pursed his lips. "I haven't been there since my father died."

"I would like to see it." Cyrus frowned, but I kept going. "You can't work all the time."

"I'm an emperor, in everything but name. I constantly have decisions to make. Plus, this…" He gestured to the circlet that rested on his brow, gray and inert. If I hadn't seen it for myself, shining with fiery magic, I would have thought it an ordinary, if well-crafted, piece of stone. "It pulls on me, when I'm needed. I can't exactly up and leave."

"Oh." I didn't know what to say. I wasn't exactly one to take time to rest myself, but Cyrus was more strung out and exhausted than I'd ever been.

"But to answer your question, you should do whatever you'd like. You could join the military command in some way, if that interests you. Or be an advisor. Or you could find something else."

I didn't say anything. It suddenly struck me how out of place I would be in my new home. I'd never been to a city other than Greatfalls. What would it be like?

"I had always thought, if I married, that my spouse would rule by my side."

Cyrus' words jolted me from my thoughts.

"But I'm not even from Ashfuror."

"No." He chuckled, deep and low, and the sound sent tingles running throughout my body. "I had imagined that you would be someone from my own city. Even for them, the path to acceptance might be too great."

"What do you mean?"

"This crown gave me authority, even as a teenager. It allowed me to hold on to the rule of Ashfuror after my father died, despite my young age." His tone grew more serious. "My father stored the crowns of the toppled Lords of Fyr in our vaults. If Stahkla accepted my spouse as a Lord of Fyr, if he allowed them to bond with one of his artifacts, then the people would embrace that person."

Cyrus slowed his steed to a stop, turning to me.

"But bearing an artifact always comes with a cost, and no outsider has ever been accepted by the God of Fire and Metal. Still…it would be nice. To be equals."

My brows furrowed at his words. I had never even considered that any romantic partnership of mine wouldn't be between two equals.

"Yes," I said, unable to hide my anger even as I kept my voice monotone. "Nice."

"Of course, this is only about fulfilling the treaty," Cyrus said, rolling his eyes. "No need to think about such things. You can spend your days reading and working on your needlepoint. Perhaps you could throw a lavish dinner once in a while."

With that, the sarcastic tone was back, and the glimpse of what I thought of as the real Cyrus was gone. He picked up his pace, moving away from me.

"Cyrus."

He didn't acknowledge me. I had somehow hurt him again, impenetrable Dark Lord that he was. I leaned into Blaze, nudging him to keep pace so that I was parallel with Cyrus.

"Please."

"It's fine." He kept his gaze trained ahead of us. "I forgot myself for a moment. I forgot that we are strangers. That you hate us."

"Cyrus!" My voice rang out in the canyon, and he pulled himself up short, turning to me, his eyebrows furrowed in irritation. "A week ago, I had no idea that an arranged marriage was even a possibility. A week ago, I thought you were a faceless monster. We are strangers. I don't know if love is possible here. It's enough that our marriage will bring peace."

His face was inscrutable. I reached for the courage to continue.

"I don't hate you." My voice came out in a ragged whisper. This level of vulnerability was foreign to me, and my throat tightened at the attempt. "I hated the idea of you. But you…I don't know you. I...I want to find out more."

The corners of Cyrus' mouth turned up a tiny bit. "You are something else. Maybe you should be the heir of Greatfalls."

I laughed, but my chest tightened with anxiety at the thought. "I've never wanted to rule. I hate the expediency, the manipulation. It's not my way to hide ugly actions behind pretty words."

"That's why you would be a good ruler. You'd be straightforward, and people would trust you." Cyrus was smiling now, and I blushed at the compliment. "Leading is not fun. But I've always thought it might be easier with someone at my side."

The yearning in his voice made me want to comfort him, to give him everything he could want. At the same time, running from this was enticing, escaping the complicated feelings this man inspired in me.

"Trust me, I shouldn't be the Prime," I replied. "Besides, if I was the heir, you'd be marrying Athard right now."

"Don't even bring him up. Being Lord of Ashfuror is heavy enough without adding that dead weight. I've only met him once, and I already dislike him." He tapped the circlet resting on his brow. "Besides, I've already got this to worry about."

I regarded the circlet atop his head. Was it a metaphor or was he being literal?

"I don't know what you mean."

"Stahkla requires much in exchange for his gifts, and—"

The harsh croak of a raven made both of us turn our heads to peer farther into the canyon. I rested my hand on my bow.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Bertio." Cyrus closed his eyes, faint amber wisps leaking from the obsidian stone on his head and weaving together to form the Crown of Seeing.

"Is it danger?"

He opened his eyes. The royal symbol atop his head pulsed with energy. "Come."