Page 79 of Foundling

Attalus nodded. “We’re a good pair, I think. I want not just to make you happy but help you be happy, if that makes sense. I want…to help you.” Hugging her tight, he admitted, “I haven’t been serious about much in my life, agae, but I’m serious about you. My life is yours, Leita, with or without this pact. So use it, keep it. Let me be your mate, your consort. Let me help you.”

“I’m scared, Attalus,” she whispered.

“I think you’d be foolish not to be.” He kissed her temple, promising her, “But we have each other now.”

They lapsed into another silence, but this one wasn’t so painful. Attalus let them both sit in it, rocking them gently back and forth as he dried her tears and crooned for her.

It was important she understood this was right where he belonged. She may sit upon a throne, rule a kingdom, but first she had him. He could be her support, her bedrock, her protector. Whatever she needed him to be, he would rise to the occasion.

He’d never felt so sure of something before. His whole life, he’d been underestimated, undervalued. Twelfth-born, useless, redundant. To her, he would be someone. Important. The chance to be so was a gift.

He tried to explain this to her, to make her see, even when words failed him. They were deep hurts, intimate hurts, ones that ached just from being exposed to air. But Attalus endeavored, if only to prove he meant it. “My whole life, I’ve lacked purpose. With you, I have one. None could be greater than serving my mate.”

Attalus knew that she couldn’t be convinced within a moment. One discussion, one promise, wouldn’t sway her. Her trust, her belief in him, would be won day in and day out, building upon yesterday. It could take all the time it needed, but one day, just as workers hauled stones and labored for years, there would be something new and brilliant built.

He could not only endure, he could build. He wanted that chance.

His hearts swelled to feel her nod against his chest. The smallest gesture, and the greatest, too.

“Thank you, agae,” he murmured before kissing her hair. He understood what a gift she was and what an opportunity now lay before him.

They sat watching the fire for a long while, letting Leita’s tears dry. When it was time for Attalus to rest, he convinced her to lay with him a while, at least until he fell asleep.

It was in the warmth of the blankets and their intertwined arms that she told him, “We’ll need to leave for Fallorian when you’re strong enough.”

He rumbled happily, nuzzling at her neck until he was pillowed comfortably by her breasts and tucked beneath her chin. “Then tell me everything about the capital, the palace, your council. I want to know it all.”

20

Between flying, walking, and long conversations about the faelands, Fallorian, her council, and other matters of state, it took them about eight days to reach the outskirts of the capital. Although it was a slower journey than she was used to, Leita couldn’t deny the merits of traveling this way.

Merry campfires at night, telling stories and listening to the wildlife, as well as breaks at midday to take meals and discuss the landscape. Attalus was curious over everything, wanting to know about this road and that hill. When they reached the Lune River, an afternoon was spent soaking in its bracing waters and catching salmon swimming upriver.

Over another hearty supper, they compared constellation stories and names. So skilled an orator was Attalus, Leita wasn’t sure she could believe half of what he told her, whether the stories were truly Savrakae myth or his own fancies. In the end, it didn’t really matter to her, so long as he filled the night with his rich voice.

As they neared Fallorian, Leita bedded down with him to take a light long sleep. She often laid beside him until he fell asleep, finding comfort in his warmth and solidity. Although she remained awake, those hours spent laying beside him weren’t wasted; as she breathed in his scent and traced his form with her eyes and fingertips, something deep inside her, something vulnerable and new, began to bloom.

Sleeping in his arms was its own joy. She loved to have her back fitted to his front, the warmth of his chest soothing her folded wings. She also loved rolling over to embrace him, wrapping her arms around as much of his shoulders as she could. The great mass of muscle on his back between his wings was of particular fascination; sensitive and vulnerable, she was honored when he told her, “Only mates and fledglings get to lay between wing bases.”

He received many kisses after that along the bases, so many he’d had to beg her to stop unless she wanted reciprocation.

Leita wasn’t opposed, but a tightness in her throat kept her back. Although she’d tried to leave most of her worries behind in that cave, some had stuck like barnacles to her, calcified and stubborn. She told herself the tightness would ease once they were in Fallorian. While she expected surprise and some push back from her council—she’d told them the reason for her leaving, although she suspected some of them hadn’t believed her—that would sort itself out.

Then, Leita would have him in the walls of the palace, a place she could defend. Where the dangers were known.

Out there in the forest, anything could happen.

On the fifth day of travel, they’d spotted another patrol of dragons. Throwing a thick glamour over Attalus, she’d rushed him under the nearest tree. All of them waited, tense gazes turned skyward as they watched the formation circle for too long.

Leita was about to drive them away herself when his hand slid over her waist. “They’re gorgoroi,” he explained, using one of his savraka words she’d never heard. “The anax’s elite warriors. They answer only to him.”

“Then he’s ignored my warning.”

She and Attalus shared a grim look.

The gorgoroi eventually moved on, and so too did their party. They kept to the trees as much as possible, Attalus grumbling as they trampled through dense underbrush to sometimes avoid the road.

When another burr found its way between his toes, the breadth and quality of his cursing was truly astounding.