Page 120 of Foundling

Instinct to make it better, make it right jumped up her throat, too, superseding everything else.

Before she could decide what to say, what would best alleviate his worries, Attalus said, “We’re together in this, agae. As bonded mates are. We face this life and all its challenges together. Your burdens are mine to shoulder with you.”

Leita’s throat ran dry. “I…I can’t share this burden with you.”

His gaze sharpened. “What burden?”

She didn’t want to admit it, feared even saying the words aloud. If the truth the faelands had shown her in the pool remained in her mind only, perhaps it didn’t have to be real. What if giving them voice somehow made them so?

The unrelenting weight of the magic pressed down on her, squeezing the breath from her lungs. Perhaps it wanted to remain unsaid, too. A secret between the two of them, bound together as they now were, Queen, magic, and land. The sacred cycle.

But her azai looked upon her with such love and concern, she didn’t want to deny him. Leita wanted to say something, if only to ease his worry, but the words wouldn’t come.

“You can’t help me in this, azore. It’s something I alone must bear.”

“You’re not alone,” he insisted, voice heating.

“I am, I…”

Holding her head between his hands, Attalus implored, “Bear what, Leita? Tell me. Let me help you.”

Her lips peeled back over her teeth, her every worry and sorrow lodged between her ribs. Fresh tears overspilled her lashes, and she gripped tight to his robes to keep from falling apart.

In halting words, she admitted what the faelands had shown her. The memories, the truth. How the power could be disseminated to those fae strong enough to bear it—the royal line. Which was now almost extinct.

“No sisters or cousins, I’m alone. Why am I always alone?” Leita’s head fell to his chest. “I don’t want to be the last, Attalus.”

“Shh shh shh,” he soothed, rocking them back and forth. “You’re not alone, agae, that I promise you. I may not be able to carry the magic for you, but I’ll carry what I can. Let me ease your load.” He lifted her chin, pushing her hair back from her damp face. “I’m not the only one. You have friends and allies who will shoulder this with you.”

Leita knew that rationally. The days before Ondra’s deceit had been so rewarding, finally finding her footing. To have that all taken away, to feel pushed back to near her beginning…

She rubbed at her chest, wishing she could ease the pressure. “It pushes on me here. Like hands pressing on my chest. Since connecting with the faelands, it won’t relent.”

Sensing her rising panic, Attalus gathered her hands and squeezed. “Share everything else with me, then. Your fears, your feelings. Trust me, Leita, to carry you.”

Her breath hitched. Trust me. Why was that the hardest to do, even with her own azai?

“But you’re angry with me.”

“I was. I want to protect you, agae, especially from the dangers I brought to your door.”

Swallowing down the worst of her fears, Leita did her best to breathe, to calm herself. She meant it when she said, “I do trust you, Attalus. Just not your brother.”

A sorry excuse for a smile momentarily lifted his lips. “That’s wise.”

They lapsed into another silence, Leita not knowing how to give him what he asked for. She trusted him with her heart and happiness, but this world was a cruel one, and she didn’t trust that it wouldn’t try to take away what it’d given her. Gods, goddesses, and the fates themselves could be fickle, and Leita refused to play a pawn and risk her mate.

Gloaming came on slowly in the late summer, and it was only when streaks of orange and pink limned the sky that Attalus stood. He carried her to their bed and helped her change from her gray executioner’s robes.

They held each other while Leita fell into the relief of a long sleep, all her fears beside them as bedfellows.

29

Leita had to give it to Araxos Anax—his timing was exceptionally horrid. Not two days after Ondra’s execution, a lone dragon was spotted soaring over Fallorian again.

Before Attalus could shift—and Leita stop him—the dragon dropped its charge and banked hard, flying swiftly south again.

Down through the air careened a flaming mass. “Fireball!” cried the guards, warning everyone to take shelter.