She had taken mortal wounds that would have killed even their kind and was up and riding around with a mischievous smile just days after taking to the sick bed.
Now, the odd, near insane look he had seen in the stallion’s eyes after they’d found him just the past day, even that made sense.
When an animus sought out another magic-welder, be it human or fae, it was because it sensed a bond-mate.
These two had bonded. Tyriel had been the stallion’s focus and the two of them together had become something more than anybody realized.
And now, Kilidare sensed the thin, fragile threads that held Tyriel to life.
* * * * *
“I thought you said the bloody horse was going to heal her!”
Jaren narrowed his eyes as the swordsman stepped just a little closer and snarled into his face just a little louder.
“You push your luck, human,” he said warningly.
“We are wasting our time. She needs healing–and we’ve already sat here all of yesterday and all of last night. Will we wait another day and night as well?” Aryn demanded, reaching out and grabbing Jaren’s tunic. The soft, molded leather bunched under his hands and Aryn yanked him forward. “Remember your word to her. You swore to kill her if her hesitation cost another her life? If yours has cost Tyriel her life, I’ll be holding you accountable.”
“You,” Jaren said dismissively. “You, a mere human, will hold me accountable. I quiver with fear.”
Aryn bared his teeth in a grim smile before he stepped back.
Jaren tightened his hand around the knife he’d drawn, refusing to show any surprise at the man’s speed.
Aryn sensed it, though, and laughed. “No longer quite so human, if you listen to Irian. Even Tyriel mentioned that a time or two. Seems I’ll never been wholly anything again. And a mere human…? I’ve never been just that.”
“Mere? Perhaps not. But…still human. Very, very human.” The assassin’s blade flashed in the watery, thin light of late evening, the blade wickedly sharp as Jaren tossed it into the air, caught it without looking and tossed it again, eyes on Aryn in a way that said he was considering burying it in the swordsman’s gut. “And if you continue to push me, I’ll shove this blade so far up your arse, you’ll puke it up with that swill you called a meal last night.”
“No, you won’t.” Aryn’s thin smile took on a sharp edge. “And we both know it.”
“Do we?” Jaren cocked his head. “And why do we both know that?”
“Because you adore Tyriel—and you know she’s in love with me.” Aryn held out his hands, spread wide in front of him. “Fuck me if I know why, but you’ll never do a thing to bring her more pain.”
The simple certainty in Aryn’s voice served very well to poke a hole in Jaren’s agitated anger. “You’re a prick, Aryn.”
Then he sighed and looked away. “No. I won’t kill you. At least not for annoying me.”
He tucked away his blade and lifted his hands to his hair, combing the thick length into sections, then expertly starting to braid it. Eyes staring off into the distance, Jaren started to speak. “We spoke in anger the last time we were together—rather, I spoke in anger. Though our last parting was not a pleasant one, my Princess knows me well. Doubtless, she knows how foolish I feel. I would move the stars from the sky to save her, and she knows this. I’m doing what I know is the best option for her—for now—though the mounts move swiftly, it’s a rough ride to Averne. I want to know she’s strong enough to make that trip.”
“You think she grows strong enough by lying in the forest with a horse?” Aryn snarled.
Kilidare made an indignant, very un-horselike noise in his throat, but didn’t move from where he was, still curled around Tyriel.
Irian chose at that moment to whisper reprovingly to Aryn alone, “The Nameless One chooses odd bearers for His powers. Is it our place to judge those bearers?”
Jaren coolly said, “He has healed her ills before. I will take all chances, any chance to save her. However—”
A heartrending shriek tore through the air. Followed by the sound of weeping, gut-wrenching sobs that filled the air.
Tyriel had woken.
Aryn felt like he’d run for days, although he and Jaren had just been beyond the treeline, Tyriel still in their eyesight as they spoke.
He fell to his knees in front of her, lungs burning and eyes wet, as he stared at her bent and hunched frame, her arms wrapped around her knees as she rocked herself, sobs tearing out of her.
Kilidare stood to the side, shifting on his feet, head low, keening sadly in his throat. Her back—narrow, dirty, scarred—shook with the force of her sobs.
Aryn’s nails bit into his skin.
He hadn’t made Tainan pay nearly enough.
Can we fetch his dark soul from hell and do it again?
It was an absent mental question, but he’d grown used to the enchanter, a near constant mental companion, providing silent commentary even to those random thoughts.
But there was only silence in his mind.
As Aryn reached out a hand to brush Tyriel’s hair back, he realized he was alone. Completely. Irian was not there at all.
“Tyriel.”
Chapter 17
That soft, deep voice rolled over her skin like a caress, but it wasn’t real.
Simply couldn’t be.
“Tyriel, sweet, open your eyes and look at me,” he whispered roughly as a callused, warm hand gently stroked the side of her arm before moving away.
She scuttled away from the touch. It was Tainan. Of course it was. It was always Tainan. Him or one of his monstrous guards.
“Love, he’s gone. Dead. He cannot touch you ever again, I swear.”
Gone? Dead?
She shook her head. It was too much. That voice was lying, sounding too much like the one she longed for, telling her things she had hoped and prayed for. It had to be a dream.
“You’re not here,” she whispered, her dry throat turning the words to a bare rasp.
“I am. Sweeting, open your eyes.” The voice was firmer now and two large, warm hands worked their way into her hair. They didn’t pull or yank, although there was a slow, inexorable force—nothing painful, but he didn’t stop up he had her chin lifted.
Stubbornly, she closed her eyes. If she didn’t look at this newest torment, it wouldn’t hurt as much when it all ended.
Oh, why wouldn’t death just take her?
“No!” he bit off, voice hardening. “You are not going to die and leave me, Tyriel. Do you hear me?”
Now his hands did tighten.
She flinched.
But instead of turning cruel, the man brought her against his chest. “Shhh…I’m sorry. I won’t yell. I won’t snap at you. I’m sorry. But you can’t say things like that. You’re breaking me, Tyriel.”
Why did he have to sound so like Aryn?
“I am Aryn.” He nuzzled her cheek. “Please…just look at me.”
She didn’t want to. But whatever magical compulsion Tainan had concocted this time, it was strong and she couldn’t resist the urge any longer.
Lifting her head, she opened her eyes and felt herself pinned by a gaze of such impossible blue.