Everything outside the tent went silent.
Holy Mother’s mercy, would they charge in here, tie her up, drag her to him? Nothing and no one moved, only the sound of several men breathing indicating their presence outside.
You are a princess of Silen. Be brave.
Pulling her shoulders back, she stepped out from behind the tent canvas, into the entryway.
No less than two dozen men ringed the tent, weapons drawn, all of them abandoning further searching, by the looks of it.
At the center, Tarquin Belmonte’s amused eyes settled on her, his thumb tucked into the belt binding his long white officer’s coat. He grinned. “The pride welcomes you home, Your Highness.”
Chapter 24
A softness tickled against Veron’s bare skin, and his eyes still closed, he reached down. They hadn’t been able to find pillows, and Aless had fallen asleep with her head on his stomach, but—
The weight of her head wasn’t there. Perhaps it was her hair tickling him.
But when he grasped a handful, it was fabric. A blanket.
He opened his eyes, reached next to him.
The bed was empty.
Aless was gone.
“Aless?” He sat up, looking around the bedchamber, blinking. His clothes were still on the floor, his boots in the corner, but hers—
Hers were gone.
He sprang from the bed, raked his hair back. She’d only gone to relieve herself, or perhaps for another bite to eat. Supper had ended abruptly, after all. He sank back down, his head in his hands.
It was just all of these problems with the Brotherhood. When Nozva Rozkveta had last gone to war, Ata had left. And now that war circled them anew, it dredged up old insecurities. That was all.
But as the minutes ticked by, Aless didn’t return.
He swept the room with frantic eyes, and there, on the table, lay one of her books, open. He darted to it, set aside her quill, and read…
I love you.
She… Was this a—
No, she wouldn’t—
But as he brushed his fingertips across the ink, across one line written in her mother’s book, there was no other reason Aless would have done this.
Except to say goodbye.
She’d—she’d left. Without a word, she’d left him.
To do what? The trade? Surrender herself to the Brotherhood, who would do who-knew-what to her? The Brotherhood despised the Immortals, and the dark-elves among them, so what would they do to a human married to one?
They won’t kill me, she’d said. I’m certain of it.
She’d staked her life on it, on Tarquin, a man who’d unleashed harpies on her, ordered a witch to collapse tunnels in a queendom she’d been in. A man who might rather make an example of her than protect her.
He grabbed his clothes off the floor and hastily threw them on, dragged on his leathers and his boots, strapped his vjernost blades onto his belt.
She’d gone to that man, turned herself over, trusted Tarquin Belmonte.
Tonight, she’d been all smiles, affectionate, seductive. They’d spent the past couple of hours loving each other, together, one, no more fears or restraints between them. He’d fallen asleep wrapped up with her, tangled with the woman he loved, and despite the war at the gates, despite everything, he’d never felt so whole. He would have trusted her with anything, with his life, with his family, with his homeland.
And she hadn’t even trusted him with her plan. Had shoved aside the trust they’d built together, their bond, and had left without a word. She wanted to trade herself to the Brotherhood, which might not even release Gavri or Valka, if they were even still alive. And then Tarquin Belmonte would shackle her, take her away, use her to achieve his hateful ends.
Holy Ulsinael, he’d been the one to tell her she didn’t truly see people, see the consequences of her actions. Ever since he’d mentioned it in Stroppiata, she’d made genuine efforts to look beyond herself and what she cared to see, and to look at how she affected those around her and the larger consequences. She’d worked time and again to change that, sometimes to the point of recklessness, like in the ring in Dun Mozg.
Had she thought of the impending war tonight and decided she couldn’t bear the consequences of inaction?
Mati had told her she’d had no say, to remain in their quarters, but… when someone told Aless there was no way out, she made her own.
And she’d expected him to agree with Mati and obey instead of helping her with her plan… And if that’s what she’d thought, she hadn’t been wrong.
Disobedient, reckless, rebellious, selfless, brave, heartrending Aless.
Please be safe. Please.
On his way out, he grabbed his bow and quiver, then burst into the hallway.
Mati would—
No, Mati would order him to stay here. As much as she liked Aless, she wouldn’t allow him to interfere with negotiations or risk being captured for leverage.
But once the Brotherhood had Aless, there might not be any more negotiations. Tarquin could launch the assault, or—or take Aless and leave. Or Aless could be killed, sacrificed to spark the war irretrievably.
Mati had ordered him to stay in his quarters, but orders or no orders, the Brotherhood would not be taking Aless anywhere. Not while he drew breath. He’d let Ata leave once and he hadn’t followed—as a child, wouldn’t have been able to follow—but he would not let Aless go. Mati could rearrange his face later and he’d accept it, as long as he could bring back Aless.
He strode down the hall, headed for Heraza Gate. Already some of the palace’s residents were emerging from their quarters, and there wouldn’t be much time before all of Nozva Rozkveta awoke to the whitening glow of the Bloom.
Passersby greeted him as he traversed Central Cavern, and he offered pleasant replies—perhaps he’d seem less suspicious, even jogging down the walkways.
Near the entrance to Heraza’s tunnel, a group of people huddled tightly, Yelena and—and—
“Gavri,” he called out, and she raised her head, her face marred with bruises, blood, and a black eye.
“Veron!” She ran to him, with Yelena and Valka following. “Aless is still out there—”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Is she safe?”
She blinked, shaking her head. “I-I don’t know. Last we saw, the Brotherhood was coming after us, and she went in the opposite direction—”
He released her and passed—
“Veron,” she said from behind him, “when Valka and I were scouting, when we got caught… two other armies were en route. Human armies.”
Looking over his shoulder, he stopped. Two human armies? “Whose? Brotherhood reinforcements?”
“We were apprehended before we could investigate further, Your Highness,” Valka answered.
Had Aless’s father arrived after all? But what about the second army?
A loud series of thuds echoed through Central Cavern from the earthmover tunnels—a hammer knock. Dun Mozg’s.
Yelena grinned. “My mother has arrived.”
“Your mother?”
That grin widened. “If it is a fight the humans want, then Dun Mozg stands with Nozva Rozkveta, to the Darkness and beyond.”
Then Nendra had come with troops and weapons. And the entire queendom would soon be awake and bustling with battle preparations—all while the Brotherhood held Aless. Even if her assessment of Tarquin was correct, would his army refrain from harming her if their backs were pressed to the wall?
Armies had arrived, with some hungry for war. If nothing changed, there would be unthinkable loss of life.
“We have to stop this,” he bit out. “Someone has to find out the identity of these two armies. Open negotiations with them.” Someone like him. If it was indeed King Macario, then perhaps he could sway the Brotherhood to release Aless and to surrender, before any of this came to battle and deaths.
He strode through the tunnel to Heraza Gate.
“Veron,” Yelena shouted, “you have orders. You can’t just—”
But he did anyway.
Chapter 25
In the lavish officer’s tent, Aless sat still in the chair, following Tarquin’s every movement as he poured tea service for two next to the massive map of the area sprawling over the table. A marker sat below Nozva Rozkveta—the Brotherhood, surely—and two others, one far to the south and one to the west. What did they represent?
A tall, lanky young man with long, straight black hair stood at attention at the tent entrance in a white officer’s coat, watching her with a hard, hazel gaze.
“Don’t mind Siriano, Your Highness. Neither he, nor anyone here, will hurt you.” Tarquin put a spoonful of honey in one of the cups and stirred it without a sound. “He’s a mage captain from the Belmonte Company and loyal to a fault.”
Loyal to whom? To Tarquin? To the Brotherhood? Certainly not to the Crown, if he was allowing anyone to keep a princess of Silen captive.
Also, Tarquin had said mage captain. Was this the geomancer who’d attacked Dun Mozg?
Tarquin slid the cup toward her before bringing his own up to his nose and inhaling deeply.
“The best Kamerish black tea comes from just outside of Ren,” he drawled. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
The only quality of this tea that interested her right now was how badly it would scald Tarquin Belmonte if she threw it in his face.