A Breath of Sunlight Page 14

  He wasn’t sure he could survive the pain of loss a second time.

  Yet, a part of him wanted to give in fully to the connection between them, even if he risked finding a blade between his ribs.

  The drums beat louder as he wound through the thick trees until he found a well-worn path to the village. Chattering and laughter reached his ears. The delicious scents of honey cakes, sweet apple curd, and plum pudding beckoned him closer. When he broke through the trees, a large smile grew across his face when the entire village transformed before his eyes.

  Tents dotted the space, some vendors selling sweets, some trinkets, and others fortunes. A long pole with ribbons fluttering from the top stood in the middle of the village, with a couple dozen people dancing along to the music.

  Ribbons and flowers and skirts twirled about, transporting him to another time. A happier time. A time filled with less burden and heartache.

  He allowed the magic of the night to sweep him up, to take his burdens and replace them with levity. All his anger and frustration and heartache melted like copper ore. Without another thought, he jumped into the throng of dancing, wrapped an arm around a young lady’s waist, and twirled her in circles. His smile grew wider when she laughed in delight.

  At least until her gaze landed on her face. Her smile immediately vanished. “Prince Calle,” she breathed.

  “Not tonight,” he replied as he spun her again several times until her smile returned. He glanced about, hoping no one had heard her, but everyone else seemed too fully immersed in the festivities to recognize his face.

  What he wouldn’t give for a glamour to hide his identity. Where was Joel when he needed him to weave his magic of illusion?

  He passed ladies around the dance floor, twirling and dipping and spinning. His feet remembered the movements. His ears recalled the music. As torches lit up the darkening skies, a new hand slipped into his.

  He inhaled sharply as he thought he recognized the touch. He glanced down to find his beautiful harpy gazing up at him with determination despite the uncertain hunch of her wings. He tightened his grip on her hand as if she might slip away like water. But she didn’t try to pull away. In fact, she moved closer to him.

  “You have your weaknesses, and I have mine,” she said, repeating her words from a couple weeks earlier. For a moment, he thought she referred to being near men, but he quickly realized the weakness she referred to was dancing.

  A grin split across his face. “It’s not too hard. I’ll show you.”

  Slowly, he slipped his arm around her waist and continued to grip her hand. Heat flamed hotter in his blood as if he stood near a billowing torch. “I’ll go slow. Just follow my lead.”

  When he stepped forward, he pushed against her gently to urge her backward. Her wings fluttered as she stared down at their feet. They moved at an unhurried pace, even as other dancers twirled past them, and the tempo of the song increased.

  One step. Two steps. Twirl. One step. Two steps. Twirl.

  And then her gaze fixed on him.

  His mouth dried as he stared into her eyes. The light of flickering fires mingled with the golden specks in her irises, so dazzling as to pin him to the spot.

  Though her hand remained touching his, she spread her fingers, so they rested lightly against his. Palm to palm. Finger to finger. Curiosity entered her expression as she stared at their hands. Along with something warm. Likely the same warmth that echoed back in his own heart.

  “We stopped,” she said, pulling him out of his daze.

  Indeed, they stood directly beneath the pole of ribbons, no longer dancing, but standing much closer to each other than only minutes before.

  Someone bumped into his shoulder, and he stumbled forward, barely managing to catch himself against Skaja. Perhaps the middle of a crowded dance floor wasn’t the best place to create sparks with a harpy.

  He held onto her hand as he led her toward the vendors. Although he didn’t have much money, and what he did have wasn’t entirely his, he wanted to give her an experience she’d never forget.

  He didn’t release her hand as he bought her honey cakes and a bottle of wine. The night passed in great conversation, laughing, dancing, eating, drinking, and merriment. For the first time in six long years. He was happy. Immensely happy.

  And it was too late to prevent himself from falling for the beautiful harpy who brought the sunshine back into his life. He owed her everything. Absolutely everything.

  Skaja felt as if she floated on air, gliding into a warm, bright ball of sunlight. Her head felt light, her heart giddy as Calle pulled her along by the hand into the quiet embrace of the trees. An irrational, foolish desire took hold of her when she realized she would follow him anywhere.

  What a foolish, very unvalkyrie-like notion.

  Her wings flared on either side of her, giving away her attraction and interest in the fae prince. Although she was no expert in the goings on between a man and a woman, she would be blind to miss his lingering glances and constant touches.

  Heat nestled into her cheeks when he guided her over slippery rocks, across a languid stream, and over a fallen log. For a moment, they faced each other, close enough to catch the faint trace of his earthy scent. All she wanted to do was make a bed in his scent and lie down in it.

  “We’re almost there,” he said, breaking her out of her daze.

  But she quickly reentered the foggy haze when he placed his hand on her lower back and guided her into a clearing filled with green, inky grass dotted with pearly white flowers. Moonlight rippled across alabaster petals, giving them a silvery glow.

  The warmth from Calle’s touch fled from her back the moment he retracted his hand and sat on a smooth, charcoal rock. Hesitant feet warred with the desire to move mountains for this man. He was giving her a choice—join him beneath the starry sky or return to the safety of the cottage.

  A sense of longing struck flint against her heart. Perhaps this would only end in disaster, but it was a disaster worth experiencing.

  In the end, she joined him on the rock, and he rewarded her with a warm but triumphant smile. He opened the bottle of wine, took a swig, and swished it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing.

  “I think I was spoiled at the palace. This isn’t quite as good as the golden goose wine at court.”

  He passed her the bottle, and she took a sip. The wine passed over her tongue, and she detected more sour than sweet, with a slightly bitter aftertaste. “Is everything in your kingdom gold and silver?”

  “Well...” He grinned and shrugged as they each took another turn drinking from the bottle. “Mostly. Did you know certain types of magic have a color? Mine is—was—gold.”

  When their shoulders touched, her heart stilled in surprise before racing faster than a valkyrie’s blade. This was...pleasant. Exciting. And a little bit nerve racking.

  She took a long swig from the bottle and welcomed the flush of heat that followed. It made her feel warm, safe, and a little bit reckless. Perhaps a dangerous combination.

  “Are you going to reply to your mother?” he asked suddenly. Sobriety fought against the liquor’s influence, and so far, it was winning.

  “I don’t know.” She stared at the blades of dark grass dancing in the gentle breeze. She wanted to leave it at that, but her desire to draw closer to Calle had other plans, and her heart spilled out instead. “All my life, I hated my parents. I now know it was under false assumptions, but the hurt is still there. I’m not sure how to come back from a lifetime of pain.”

  “Understandable.” He rested his forearms on his knees, but the action only put more of her arm in contact with him. She didn’t want to move away, but rather leaned into him. “I hope someday you might give them a chance.”

  Me too...

  But she didn’t say it out loud.

  “You know... That golden goose wine is starting to grow on me. How much is left?”

  When she reached for it, he held it out of reach. “You’ve had more than half the bottle already.”

  “I have not,” she argued. “You are hoping to hoard a little more for yourself.”

  She reached again, her wings flapping slightly to give her more lift. She placed one hand on his shoulder and continued to reach, all while he chuckled at her vain efforts. How were his arms so long?

  But when she turned her head to complain, the words died on her tongue when she found herself mere inches from him, nose to nose. His amber gaze softened, and she felt hers follow suit. She knew she should hop off the rock and put distance between them. She knew she shouldn’t give into the urge to lean closer. But when he cradled her face in his hand, her good senses flew out the window.

  “Skaja,” he whispered moments before his lips brushed against hers.

  A waterfall of emotion rippled through her. Surprise. Giddiness. Warmth. Need. Her hands felt along the contours of his muscles through his tunic. His hair grazed her fingers as she moved to his shoulders.

  Clink.

  The wine bottle touched the rock as if he set it down, and now both his hands tangled in her hair. His fingers left fiery trails of hot embers in their wake. His kiss scorched her lips and filled her with undying heat. The desire to explore, to touch, to kiss enveloped her, the need so great it shocked her into breaking the kiss.

  Her breath felt heavy in her lungs as she stared back at him in the moonlight. She wasn’t sure what to do, what to say, so when her hand lifted to slap him across the face, it did so on its own accord. But he caught her wrist mid-strike, much to her horror. She hadn’t meant to do it.

  “Ha ha!” he laughed. “I saw that coming from miles away.” He grunted and jerked away suddenly. “Ow! Skaja, why?”

  Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “It wasn’t me.” But
then she spotted the fist-sized rock that had struck him lying at their feet.

  Blindingly fast, she jumped to her feet, drew her daggers, and snapped them open just as several knives whizzed out from the cover of the trees. Clink, clink, clink! She batted them away as if they were stones while standing protectively in front of Calle.

  Battle cries shook the gentle air, turning the clearing into a war zone rather than the romantic glade it had been moments earlier. A dozen men burst out of the trees, some with bows, others with knives and swords.

  “Run!” She pushed Calle’s shoulder and he stumbled forward. Together, they raced through the trees, leaped over rocks, and splashed through the frigid river. Icy water soaked her boots and dress. She never slowed her pace.

  Her gaze darted to Calle’s belt. Another wave of dread soaked into her to find it barren. “Where’s your sword?”

  “I don’t have it,” he wheezed, out of breath already.

  “Calle!” she shrieked. “Always, always have a weapon!”

  “I have the one in my boot.”

  “You think that measly thing is going to help?”

  She scanned the way ahead while simultaneously glancing behind her shoulder. Her pursuers weren’t very fast, but just quick enough that losing them wouldn’t be easy. One of the men nocked an arrow and pulled back the string. She pushed Calle out of the way. The arrow soared right past him where his shoulder had been moments before.

  “Hold your arms out,” she instructed.

  Her wings spread out on either side of her, lifting her into the air. She hooked her arms around him. When she attempted to pull him upward, her wings screamed at the effort. Twice more, she attempted the feat, only to gasp in a lungful of air. She dropped back to the ground.

  “You’ve gained too much weight since the Pits. I can’t carry you.”

  Their pursuers raced closer, now starting to catch up.

  “Go!” he panted as he trudged through a thick layer of mud while she allowed her wings to help lift her over it. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  She cast him a disbelieving stare as she hurtled over a smaller runoff stream. “If you think I’d abandon you, you are an idiot.”

  “Then let me be an idiot for once.”

  “Once? You’ve been an idiot more than that already.”

  His next sentence came out as a wheeze. “Just go! Those are Arlo Stokes’ men.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed in determination as she moved closer to him rather than darted in the opposite direction. She would sooner die than allow him to return to the Pits. Although she wasn’t sure if it was herself or the blood oath speaking, she knew she would fight for him to the death.

  The trees broke ahead into what looked to be a clearing. If they could get past it, they might be able to lose the men behind them.

  They raced out of the forest, only to be met by a steep cliff that dropped off into the sea. Violent water battered against sharp rocks below. The only way out was either down or to face the enemy.

  Knowing she wasn’t strong enough to carry Calle, she spun around with both daggers drawn. She stood protectively in front of him.

  “Please.” The devastation in his tone gave her pause enough to glance over her shoulder. The brand on his forearm glowed an angry red. “I can’t lose you. I can’t...do this again.”

  Like most times, she ignored him and widened her stance, ready for the oncoming bloody brawl. Arlo’s men finding him wasn’t a coincidence. But she didn’t know how magic worked. She couldn’t even begin to guess how they’d been discovered.

  Her grip on her daggers tightened when the men rushed out of the trees. They slowed when they noticed they were trapped. More men followed. And more. And more. Until several dozen trapped them against the cliffside. Most of them wielded swords. A few carried spears. A couple handled bows, arrows nocked but pointed at the ground.

  If she were alone, she would have already charged forward and taken out the archers, and then those closest to them. But she didn’t dare leave Calle defenseless. Not with only a knife to protect himself from the enemy.

  She eyed the swords in the enemies’ hands. Calle wouldn’t be defenseless for long.

  A chilling voice cut through the thick tension and bloodlust, enough for the blood in her veins to curdle. “Did you really think you could escape?” Arlo Stokes laughed. He stepped out of the crowd, slow and unhurried as if he thought he’d already won the battle. “Do you even know what your slave brand does?”

  Behind her, Calle glared. The tick in his jaw gave away his fear.

  The slave master continued, “Locating you wasn’t easy. Wherever you were hiding out, a magical ward protected you. But once you stepped out of the ward...” He clapped his hands together. The crashing sea almost drowned out the noise.

  “What do you want?” Calle growled.

  “I thought it was obvious.” Arlo grinned wickedly like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse. “My slaves don’t run away and get to live. Besides...the Sun King has paid me a handsome price to make sure you’re dealt with. He’s no longer interested in keeping you in the Pits.”

  Calle produced the knife from his shoe. Despite the brave action, a chorus of laughter rushed over them.

  Skaja couldn’t help but smirk at the audacity of these men. If they could only see her valkyrie tattoo in the dim light, none of them would think twice about laughing.

  She only had seconds to act before chaos would ensue. She spread her wings blindingly fast. One of them hurtled into Calle and knocked him off balance. He stumbled over the edge of the cliff.

  And landed on a safe ledge against the cliffside.

  Arrows began firing in her direction. She leaped into the sky to avoid being hit, arced back down, and sliced one of the archers across the throat with her blade. She stabbed, sliced, kicked, and punched her way through the mass of men. Only after she’d killed six of them did they get over their initial surprise and fight back.

  Metal met metal, creating a symphony of screeching weapons. Her daggers ripped across flesh. Blood spurted and spewed in all directions, speckling herself and the enemy. She jumped and ducked and wove in and out of her attackers.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Calle climbing back over the edge of the cliff as a couple of men moved in his direction. She ducked beneath the arc of a spear. The moment her fingers curled around the handle of a sword lying on the ground, she tossed it toward Calle. He scooped it up and joined her in the fight.

  The two of them fought side by side. Effortless. Predictable. They knew how the other fought, what the other would do next.

  With a start, she realized there was no other person she would rather fight beside. If he died tonight, she would die with him.

  Despair washed over Skaja when many more attackers arrived behind the ones they had defeated. They weren’t going to make it out of this alive. Even she had her limits.

  “Caw!”

  A crow landed on Calle’s shoulder, startling everyone into lowering their weapons for a few moments. The prince gasped and glanced behind him. She followed his gaze to find a swarm of black feathers headed in their direction.

  “Caw!”

  “Caw!”

  “Caw!”

  An angry chorus of cawing and flapping feathers created an ebony cacophony in the sky. The birds flew fast.

  With the intent to attack.

  She moved forward with the hope to break a line through Arlo’s defenses and escape, but Calle’s hand closed around her arm. “Do you trust me?”

  After a pause, she nodded.

  “Then keep fighting. The birds won’t touch you.”

  Men screamed the moment the swarm descended upon them. The flash of silver weapons mingled with the flurry of black feathers. Through the thick cloud of crows, men carelessly swung their blades to fight the creatures, only to hurt one another in the process.

  This time, Calle led the way and she followed. They met blade against blade within the screaming chaos. She hurried and scooped a fallen bow from the ground and strapped it as well as a quiver holding a single arrow around her shoulders.

  However, the moment she straightened, a curtain of dread and panic closed over her eyes.

  Calle was gone.

  She sprinted over slick blood and crow carcasses. Only...her feet passed straight through the birds. They weren’t real. They were illusions.