Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

As the sun rose over the City of Scholars, Vaasa’s fingers shook as she reached for the high sage’s iron door knocker.

Pounding twice with metal against wood, Vaasa got one second before the door swung open to reveal a hulking figure who commanded every inch of her vision.

Reid and she locked eyes, and Vaasa could have sworn he shuddered in relief.

His mahogany hair was pulled back in a leather strap, and he wore the same signature purple and black sashes he’d worn at their wedding. The warm brown skin along his exposed chest richened with the morning light, which further brought out the burnt-gold tones of his hair. As he turned his broad shoulders back to the room, Vaasa had to catch herself from inspecting him closer, from swallowing every new detail instead of facing the others.

Vaasa had avoided this office for weeks now. Decorated exclusively in green and brown, the sun-drenched room held scrolls and tomes all neatly settled in their proper spots. The bookshelves against two of the four walls were each decorated with trinkets and baubles resembling the ancient artifacts this particular sodality was best known for. Looming along the back wall was a marble statue of Una, the Icrurian god of history, justice, and wisdom. He held an enormous shield in one hand and a book in the other, piercing eyes sharply sculpted of red clay. Eyes that seemed to stare directly into Vaasa’s soul and whisper liar, liar, liar .

Stepping a little to the left, Reid moved enough so Vaasa could finally see inside to the two others.

The high sage froze at the intrusion, and the foreman of Dihrah, wearing the same formal adornments as the day prior, looked up. Through his wire-frame spectacles, he looked up and down at Vaasa and smirked.

Hands clenched tightly, the ornery woman shot up—

“Cliona,” Reid said, addressing the high sage by her first name. “May I introduce my wife, Vaasalisa, heiress of Asterya and consort of Mireh.”

Shock tumbled briefly along Cliona’s face, her pale skin going ghost white, but her expression contorted to humiliation and rage by the next second. Without a doubt, the extent of Vaasa’s lie must have crossed the woman’s mind; she’d managed to enroll in the sodality and study for weeks without anyone realizing who she was. Without Cliona knowing another foreman’s consort lived beneath her roof. Standing erect and pinching her brows, she said, “Reid, I—” She stopped and narrowed her eyes at Vaasa.

A slew of options pulsed through Vaasa—to apologize, and seem weak; to hold confident, and appear sneaky; to be honest, and therefore vulnerable. Vaasa raised her chin, choosing sneaky and in control over anything else. Yet she didn’t have the opportunity to speak.

“I wanted my wife to know everything she needs to in order to lead confidently at my side,” Reid said as he placed his hand upon Vaasa’s back, their eyes meeting only briefly enough to indicate that she should follow his lead.

Unconvinced, or so it seemed, Cliona looked between Vaasa and Reid as if measuring their distance.

“I was told there would be no better place,” Vaasa said as he watched her every twitch. “But I felt I would not see reality if anyone knew who I was. I wanted to earn my knowledge, as the rest of you do. That is why I kept my identity a secret.”

Knowing what she knew about these people—their pride in their academics and deep-rooted belief in merit—Vaasa knew she’d struck home. Particularly when the high sage’s hands unclenched. Gray hair braided around her head in a coronet, the birdlike woman pushed back a falling tendril and pinched her lips.

Koen of Sigguth, the foreman of Dihrah, intercepted the woman’s attention, pulling it away from Vaasa and Reid, sealing their excuse. “It was under my suggestion and protection, Cliona, that Vaasalisa came here to see for herself the way all people are given the opportunity to learn,” the smooth talker said with an ever-so-innocent push of his glasses up his nose and a little tilt of his easy grin. “It is so different from her upbringing, you see, and I only wanted her to experience firsthand what our people feel under your tutelage—autonomy, trust, and possibility.”

Cliona raised her chin with pride. “Well, I assure you that is what she experienced here under my close supervision,” the high sage said. Then, turning sharply to Vaasa: “Isn’t that correct?”

Vaasa nodded, looking up at Reid as if she was attentive to him, and then back to the high sage and the sprawling desk behind her, the bookshelves and locked tomes. “Of course it is correct. I have truly enjoyed my time here. Thank you.”

This was the first time she’d ever met the woman, but what was one more lie?

Reid, with such gentleness she could almost believe it real, said, “I am glad to hear of it.” Looking up and away from her, he commanded the attention of the room once more in a way that scraped against Vaasa’s nerves. “I’m afraid I must ask Vaasalisa to return to Mireh now. I’ve had weeks without my wife, and it’s time she fulfills her role at my side.”

Vaasa wanted to laugh, or perhaps puke, but she smiled like she didn’t want anything else in the world. “I’ll need to retrieve my things.”

The foreman of Dihrah dipped at the waist to honor the high sage, and then started through the door. “I’ll be back soon. Thank you again.”

“An honor,” Reid told the woman, and Vaasa repeated the sentiment, clinging to Reid’s side as if she felt some sort of safety there. Regardless of the discussion they’d just had, Vaasa felt Cliona’s burning gaze as she stepped out of the room.

Reid didn’t say a thing to her as he bid the foreman of Dihrah goodbye, the two seeming friendlier than Vaasa expected of two competing politicians. Koen stepped forward and they gripped each other’s forearms, then embraced.

That was unusual.

She swore she heard Koen whisper, “Good luck.”

Turning to meet Vaasa’s gaze, the foreman of Dihrah stood tall and proud. “Consort.” He dipped his head before disappearing around the corner and leaving the two of them alone.

Koen could have easily outed them both just then—why hadn’t he?

Perhaps Reid could hear her thoughts, because he muttered, “My mother and his father were raised together. He is the closest thing I have to a brother.”

“Be wary of brothers,” she muttered before turning to plunge deep into the dormitories.

Acolytes stared wildly at her as the foreman followed each of her footsteps. Reid walked close behind her back, defensive or maybe in fear she would run again.

She wouldn’t.

Sliding into her room, she clicked the door behind her shut, leaving him to wait outside.

What was she doing?

Back against the wall, she took one calming breath and feared if she let herself get too out of control, she might unleash the consequences.

Two breaths.

Three breaths.

Rushing to her bed, she pulled out the only clean clothing she had suitable enough to arrive in Mireh and began to change.

The door next to her pushed open, and Reid, with his giant body and graceful prowl, slipped into the room.

Vaasa’s spine straightened, and she hissed as she covered herself with the robes.

Back against the door, Reid stared at her, and luckily, no one else had followed him inside.

“Was I not willing and engaged enough for you?” Vaasa asked, remembering his demand of her in the library last night and trying to pretend she hadn’t just been lost in a bit of panic. That she wasn’t half naked underneath this fabric.

That same infuriating amusement danced in his eyes—the ones she’d looked upon as he lay sprawled in that damn bed. “Good morning to you as well, wife.”

“I am not your wife.”

“In the eyes of my gods, you are.”

Vaasa gripped the robes to her chest tighter. “We never consummated our union.”

“What an outdated Asteryan concept.”

Vaasa paused. If their ceremonies were not dependent upon a consummation, what were they dependent on?

Reading her expression, his wolfish smile grew with his victory. Prowling forward and into her space, the two of them near her tiny mattress, he asked, “Is that what you need, Wild One? To be in my bed?”

“Enough.”

“Will you bring the knife?” he mused.

“It is the only way you’d get me there,” Vaasa snarled, stepping up to his chest as a reminder that she did not fear the space his body took. She figured he already knew exactly the threat he bargained with, but if he needed a reminder, she’d give him one.

Brows rising, Reid chuckled at her audacity. The ire that pulsed through Vaasa at the curve of his goddamn mouth could level mountains. “Hmmm,” he murmured, turning and ceding space, or maybe telling her that he had no foul intentions. Regardless, she could breathe correctly again.

“I’m not done,” she barked. “Can you wait outside?”

Making sure his back was to her, he reached out his left hand and rolled it in a circle, gesturing for her to continue.

Fine.

Slipping into a lightweight pair of olive breeches and a beige shirt, she tucked the flowing top in and tried to look presentable. She went as quickly as she could, buckling a leather strap around the breeches so they held up and slipping her knife into its sheath. Around her thigh, she secured two more blades.

“Finished?” he asked.

“Finished.”

Leaning up against her empty dresser, he tilted his head and took in her appearance, only lingering upon the knives for a moment. “You cut your hair.”

Refusing to lift her hand to the wavy black locks that now barely brushed her shoulders, she nodded.

“I like it.”

“I don’t care what you like.”

He snorted. “You’re going to have to pretend to like me when others are around.”

“I’m a fantastic liar.”

“You don’t say?”

Vaasa stared him down.

Displaying the intelligence she knew he possessed, Reid of Mireh once again reined in his amusement. He moved closer, body just in front of hers, forcing her to lift her eyes to look at him. He spoke low, like he was scared someone would hear. “You want this arrangement?”

There it was again. Choice on a silver platter. The damn thing that had saved his life.

Maybe she should have killed him. Maybe she’d be screwed if she had.

She breezed past him, aiming for her satchel on the dresser. “You haven’t told my brother?”

Brow slightly furrowed, he shook his head.

“Three years,” Vaasa said. “Enough time for me to expel whatever this magic is and for you to win a nation. When we both deem it acceptable, we’ll dissolve this marriage.”

“Agreed.”

“You will not take me in your bed or expect anything from me, other than what we give to others in public.”

“I do prefer my head attached to my body.”

“Then do not give me a reason to remove it.”

Grinning, he stepped forward. “We could be friends, you know. There is no requirement that you hate me.”

Vaasa had no interest in friends. They would only complicate the swirling emotions in her chest and make the magic that much more palpable. It was easier to feel anger than to feel anything else at all. She stuffed the last of her belongings into her satchel, right over the tome she had stolen, and clasped it shut. “I don’t need friends.”

“Very well. You take your time coming to the conclusion I already have.”

Stepping toward the door, desperate for this discussion to be over, Vaasa asked, “And what’s that?”

Reid beat her to the door, placing his hand upon the knob to open it first. “That we are well matched.”

She gaped at him. “Well matched?”

The door swung open, and Reid winked, taking the two blades that she’d secured around her thigh from his own arsenal at his belt.

Surprise and, admittedly, respect welled in her. She hadn’t even felt him steal them.

Dipping to his knees in front of her, he wrapped his hands around her thigh, fingers pressed to the golden buckles on the leather strap. Her heart started to pound. “I told you. You underestimate just how much I enjoy a good game of blades.”

He slid the knives back into their holsters, hands consciously holding steady against her breeches. They wrapped to the back of her thighs.

“I have missed you, wife,” he murmured, just in time for her to see two sages and a small group of acolytes, all with jaws dropped at the sight of the foreman of Mireh and his apparent consort.

With a wicked grin, Vaasa ran her hand over his cheek and then dipped to the underside of his jaw, the pad of her finger scraping against the bump of his scar. The one she’d given him. “Take me home,” she said.

His eyes may have shuttered at the audacity of her words—to claim his home as hers in mockery—but she didn’t care an ounce for his feelings or sensitivities.

A game of blades he had asked for, and a game of blades he would receive.

Rising to his feet directly in front of her, he whispered, “Pretend you love me, Wild One. And make it convincing.”