Page 38 of Sword & Sacrifice

The clarification offered Silas no relief. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Archer reached for Silas, then closed his fist and planted it firmly on the table. “We were still investigating the lead; in case it was a trap or misdirection.”

Archer hadn’t even left yet, but a crevice had slowly eroded between them. Silas stared across the canyon at Archer, unsure how to reach him when the world was constantly pulling them apart.

Don’t go, he wanted to say. Stay with me. They were purely selfish requests. Nothing in Bellacosta needed Archer’s direct attention. If he stayed, it would only be to keep Silas company—to fall asleep together at night and wake up together in the morning. That wasn’t enough of a reason if Archer’s people were in danger. So Silas forced himself to ask, “When are you leaving?”

“As soon as we pack everything up,” Griselda said, pushing her chair back with a jarring scrape along the stone floor.

Archer didn’t stand with Griselda. “You’re staying here.”

Fury flashed across her face. Weeks ago, Valerian had disguised her with a glamour, smoothing out her wrinkles and giving her a younger, more graceful air. Every growl and glare brought the old, familiar Griselda back to the surface. “Absolutely not! If our home’s under threat—”

“Someone needs to command the remaining soldiers and continue the new recruit’s training,” Archer explained. His flat expression left no room for argument.

Besides, aren’t you injured? Silas was afraid saying the thought aloud would only make her more determined to fight at Archer’s side, but she’d barely walked away from her fight with Alistair. Even now, she stood a little unsteady on her feet.

And if Griselda stayed behind, Silas would feel a little less alone in this mess. She may be as prickly as a bramble bush, but she’d always been brutally honest with him, and she’d always done her best to teach him how to protect himself. Even her growling and brooding might make him feel a little closer to Archer while they were separated. “Please, Gris. I need someone I can trust to watch my back while everyone tries to set fires around me.”

Her lips screwed up in displeasure, but she finally nodded once, relenting. “Fine, I certainly can’t leave you alone with just Darian to run this shit show. He’s good, but he’s not Griselda Holt good.” To Archer she said, “I’ll make a list of who you should take with you and who should stay behind,” then she walked out of the room.

Finally, they had a moment alone to talk about the marriage proposal. With everything else that had just been thrown at them, Silas didn’t know where to start. “About the alliance—”

Archer’s face immediately darkened, silently slamming a door shut on that conversation.

Swallowing his intended words, Silas changed course and said, “I’ll draft a trade proposal for you to take with you. Make sure it’s fair and feasible. We can … we can discuss it when you come back.” Please come back.

The darkness retreated, softening Archer’s face. As if he heard the silent entreaty, he leaned his forehead against Silas’ and murmured, “We’ll sign it the next time we see each other.”

It wasn’t as romantic or binding as a marriage proposal, but it was a promise for the future that Silas gladly accepted.

Chapter Eighteen

Penn sat on a rock, struggling to bandage his injured hand. The fact it was his dominant hand made his work more tangled than a ball of yarn after a kitten played with it. Teeth gritted in frustration, he began to rip it off, intending to start over.

A pair of scarred hands grabbed his, halting his destruction. He refused to look up at the mage. If he didn’t look, he could pretend Valerian had won. That when he’d opened his eyes, they’d both been hazel, proving he’d freed himself from Alistair’s mental hold. Penn could pretend that he hadn’t already seen the mismatched eyes gazing back at him.

The hands were surprisingly gentle as they unwound the soiled bandages and replaced them with clean ones. The left hand still bore its own wounds so the mage’s efforts were hardly better.

“Tell me what happened.” Despite the soft tone, it was clearly an order.

“Which part?” Penn asked. “The part where you lost control of your magic and dumped me into a river? Or when I had to drag you out of it, so you didn’t drown or freeze to death? Or when you almost bled to death? Or perhaps you want to hear about how, when I dragged you back to Niall to seek his help, he tried to kill me. Any of that catch your interest?”

The mage’s thumb gently stroked the sensitive skin of Penn’s wrist, right below where the bandages stopped. “That is not the story Niall told.”

“Then I guess you need to tell me what happened according to your faithful servant,” Penn snapped, spitting out the last two words.

The thumb continued its gentle path back and forth across Penn’s skin, as steady as a metronome. “Niall said you attempted to kill me while I was vulnerable, so he stopped you.”

Penn snorted. So he claimed he won our fight? Did that kick to the head damage his memory? He finally looked up at the mage, focusing only on the hazel eye. “I have done everything in my power to keep Valerian alive. I gave myself to you, I’ve cooperated, I haven’t tried to run or turn you over to the authorities. Why would I waste all my efforts to then turn around and kill you?” He raised his hand to the mage’s throat, pressing his thumb against the prominence. “If I wanted to kill you, if I was willing to hurt you at all, everything would be so much easier.”

The mage gazed at him. There was no spark of magic or attempt to defend himself. He arched his head back slightly, as if to give Penn better access. “You won’t kill me.”

Penn squeezed his eyes shut. “No, I won’t.”

The mage’s other hand slipped behind Penn’s head to tangle in his hair. “You won’t betray me.”

The moment stretched on as he waited for something. Licking his lips, Penn whispered, “I won’t betray you.” With his eyes closed, he could make the vow to Valerian alone.