How long Yvenne cried, she knew not. But these were the marks that this night would leave—the ragged wound of her heart, the raw ache of her throat. Those would last far longer than his touch.
She should never have hoped for so much.
CHAPTER 36
MADDEK
In the bed, Yvenne’s face was pale, her eyes raw. As if she had spent part of the night crying.
With a heavy sigh, Maddek crouched beside the bed. He hated to wake her. Yet dawn neared and he already had extra distance to cover before catching up with the army. He ought to have sent her here with Banek and remained at the camp, yet he had needed this night with her.
And it appeared that she’d needed it, too. Hers were not the only tears shed this night, he knew. Many warriors would ride into battle soon, and not all would return. Many would say words that needed to be said, not knowing if opportunity would come again.
For most, it would. Zhalen would not defeat the Parsathean army. The numbers he’d brought to the Burning Plains were but a small fraction of those riding against him. All that Yvenne knew. Yet there would likely be warriors lost, and her soldiers . . . even Maddek was at risk.
Maddek knew not how to ease her fears except by returning.
Softly he kissed her, waking her gently. As always, she came out of sleep with a single blink.
With his hand cradling her cheek, he told her quietly, “We are ready to ride out.”
She sat up on a shuddering breath. “Already?”
He kissed her again in answer. Her hands caught his face, her lips trembling against his.
So sweet this was. Sheer emotion he could taste in this kiss. If he could but stay here longer, Maddek would try to draw words from her tongue that matched all that her kiss said.
Yet first he would make certain that she never suffered at her father’s hand.
Drawing back, he told her fiercely, “I will bring you his head.”
She gave a quivering smile. “Perhaps his heart, too.”
“I will bring both upon a pike, so you might shoot your arrows through them.” His thumbs brushed down her cheeks. “But your soldiers, I will do all I can to keep them alive—and bring them here, too, as they will rejoice to see you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, and he kissed her yet again. From outside came the snort and stamp of waiting horses—and warriors.
Reluctantly he released her. “I will send word as quickly as I can.”
On a shuddering breath, she nodded. Never had leaving a tent been so difficult. So difficult that when she called his name, and he turned to find her limping toward him, nothing could have moved him another step away from her.
Her eyes were bright and shadowed both, as if she held back the painful tears that thickened her voice. “Nothing should be left unsaid. Is that truth?”
What had she left to say to him? All that he’d felt on her kiss? So similar it seemed to what burned in his own heart—which was not gentle but fierce, so fierce that he feared that his might blow out her spark if he did not take care.
But if her fire already burned like his . . . then he had not as much to fear. “It is truth.”
It was not a fire that burned as she stopped in front of him, though her chin was lifted and her fists clenched. Not since her moon night had she looked so utterly fragile, so ready to shatter.
“Then I need to say . . . you can have your freedom from me.”
He could make no sense of that. “What freedom?”
Her chest lifted on a small, agonized breath. “From any obligation you feel to marry me. When you return with my father’s head, the agreement we made will be complete. We will have our vengeance. I’ll claim my throne, and you can then choose a bride who you believe is more suited to you.”
Was this a jest? “You are suited to me.”
“You do not truly believe that.” It was a ragged whisper. “Because never did you think that I might be speaking the truth. Because you tell me that, in time, your mother would have approved of me. Yet we spent three turns of the moon together in my tower, Maddek. More time than I have spent with you. Yet still you refuse to believe that it might be truth. You believe so strongly I have lied, that you tell all of Parsathe that I have spoken it. And so after my father is dead . . . I will return to Syssia as a queen, but no longer a bride.”
No air seemed to fill his chest. Instead it roared in his ears, and he shook his head, denying what he’d heard. Refusing to believe that he’d heard it. “You will not marry me?”
“No,” she said on broken breath. “I will not.”
This he could not believe. Already she’d spoken a vow. “To Vela, you swore that you would take no other.”
“And I will not.” Her eyes closed but not before he saw the gleaming there.
“You carry my child,” he said. An unfair weapon it was, but a warrior made use of what he had. And he was desperate enough to use anything.
“It is too early to know for certain.”
Maddek was certain. “It has been one and a half turns since your moon night and you have not bled.”
“I have never regularly bled.” Her eyes opened, and the new resolve he saw in them was a blade through his heart. “But even if I am with child, we need not marry. Many Syssian queens do not. And I will not deny your right to her. She will know you as her father and spend her time between our realms. She will be the best of Parsathe and Syssia—and we will still have a strong alliance.”
“Marriage will make it stronger.”
“But it will also be strong without it. We are both resolved to the same purposes: to strengthen the alliance and to kill my father. He has arrived here, as you hoped he would, so your vengeance is at hand. Whether I am your bride or not, I know you will help me build a new alliance. The only reason I have to marry would be for my own happiness . . . and I have no hope of that.”
No happiness in a marriage with him? Gutted, Maddek stared at her. Those were not words from a sharpened tongue, for she sounded dull and hollow, as if her chest were as empty as his.
“Why?” he asked hoarsely.
“Because I did not lie to you!” she burst out. “I have never lied to you! If I did not believe your word, how insulted would you be? Do you think that because I am not Parsathean, my heart and honor are not torn apart by your disbelief? And not only did you say this to me when we were alone, you have told all of Parsathe that I am a liar! And you seem not to care that it is your own untruth that you spread, simply because you will not trust my word. Would you tell our children, too? Should I spend the years trying to explain to them why their father does not respect me enough to believe everything I have to say—or even to listen to what I have to say? What happiness would I know in such a marriage?”