Tempered Hearts (Hearts of Valentia Book 1) (17 page)

He sighed, already exhausted. Far too many people were invested in his bedroom activities. Was it always that way with nobility? None overtly spoke of it, yet it seemed to matter more than any other thing that might occupy their time. He shook his head and dismissed it for the moment. There was a journey to be had, and ruminating on relationship issues wasn’t going to get it started any faster.

He passed Vennic on his way back to his horse, his eyebrow arched in a question Darius wasn’t about to answer at that moment. Waving it off, he mounted up beside Arden, meeting her smile with one of his own.

“Shall we, asahana?”

That familiar blush crept into her cheeks, triggered by his nickname for her. “Lead the way, kendala,” she murmured as she adjusted her position in her saddle.

The word settled over him with a warmth to drive out the last of winter’s bite. He tried to freeze the memory of her that way, looking out to the road, a healthy glow to her cheeks and hope in her eyes. He wouldn’t say that he’d ever been a dewy-eyed youth, and he relished seeing what he lacked in her. A moment more, and he flicked the reins. With luck, new memories awaited him in the days to come.

Chapter 17

Arden

The closer it got to sunset, the more nervous she became.

Arden was fine at lunch, mostly. A bit sore from the hours of riding, but not terribly so. When they stopped to water the horses mid-afternoon, that was when she started to worry. Her legs were a bit wobbly, but she managed to cover it up easily enough. She smiled through it and pretended she was fine.

When they neared the first campsite, she wiggled her toes in an effort to get the blood flowing in her feet again. She was determined to power through it, not about to be a burden to everyone. A few men had ridden ahead with Vennic to start setting up camp before the rest arrived, and she was more than a little relieved to see several tents already up and a fire built in the center. Darius secured his horse, then came back to retrieve her.

Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t fall.

He held out a hand, reaching up to catch her waist with the other. She smiled and took the offer, begging her body to hold on for a few minutes more. Gritting her teeth, she pulled her leg over the side and slid down.

DON’T. FALL.

She locked her knees into place and refused to falter. Fortunately, her landing was propped up by Darius’s strong frame, pressed close to her as she stared up at him in mild surprise.

“Sure you’re all right?” he asked with a wink.

She grimaced and lightly pushed him away. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

“It’s not an easy adjustment to make, this constant riding.”

Lifting her chin, she sniffed a little. “Not eight months ago, I rode back and forth between the surrounding villages and Aerenhall all day on my own, several times a week. I might be a little out of practice since then, but I’m hardly a novice, kendala.”

He released her hand with a chuckle and a shrug. “Then, by all means, Your Highness,” he bowed low, sweeping a hand towards their tent, “your palace awaits.”

Her hips and thighs protested every movement, but she refused to walk bow-legged. She was sure she looked incredibly stiff as she minced her way through the encampment, but her cloak likely hid the worst of it. Pushing aside the tent flap, she frowned at the pallet of furs spread out for their bed. The moment she was down, she knew she wouldn’t be able to get up until sunrise.

“Tired already?” he murmured in her ear, and she jumped.

She batted him away and continued her assessment of the accommodations. Her trunk was off to one side, which would do better to sit on than the bed as far as getting back up went, but a few other things sat atop it, such as maps, a water skein, cups, and…

“What’s that stick for?” she asked, confused by the one-inch thick piece of wood.

Darius choked. “Vennic!” He yelled over his shoulder. “Not funny!”

A single laugh returned from outside as Darius stepped past and removed the item, tossing it into camp. “Sorry. His idea of a joke. A poor one. I think he’s spent too much time with Ehlren.”

“What’s the joke?”

He waved it off and walked backwards towards the wagon. “Never mind it. I’ll get dinner.”

At a loss for what to do with herself, she wandered the interior, studying the infrastructure of the tent. It wasn’t put together the way she was used to seeing, the domed roof braced by two long, curved poles crossed in an X at the center rather than a square frame. Even the stays were tied differently than the tents they set up in Aerenhall for the wounded and displaced. Perhaps it was an elvish construction, as theirs had all been human-made. It seemed much more efficient, and left the inside more spacious.

“It’s an Ansere’th design,” Darius said, handing her a plate of fire-roasted meat and root vegetables, a hunk of bread resting on top. “They’re faster to set up and pack smaller. The poles are hollow sections, strung together by cord. When pulled taut, they arc together like this. Let out the slack, and they collapse for easy folding.”

She shifted her weight, uncomfortable on her feet. “That’s a brilliant idea. Far better than what I’ve seen before.”

She picked up the bread and took a bite from it, surprisingly famished, but still reluctant to plant herself anywhere. He watched with keen interest, but she ignored him.

“Why don’t we sit?” he asked. “I think I heard the men talking about a card game after dinner, and Vennic brought his lute. We could join them when we’re done.”

Stars take him, he was trying to call her bluff, but she wasn’t about to admit defeat. “Sounds lovely,” she said with a bright smile.

He took her plate and motioned for her to sit. Trapped, she picked her way to the pallet and lowered herself to her knees, careful that her cloak hid most of her awkward descent. Finally, she managed to seat herself with legs straight out in front of her, head tilted up at him as she held out a hand for her food, the other firmly braced behind her.

His damnable smirk didn’t fade so much as widen, but he didn’t say a word.

“So,” she picked at her food with one hand, her plate on her lap, “tomorrow we reach Haveniem, yes? The pits of Corvath the Unyeilding?”

“Correct.”

After taking several bites of carrot, she waved her fork at him. “Is it true, the legend about his third wife tossing him into one?”

“The descendants swear it is, but it isn’t as though they ever found a body to prove it.” Darius took a long drink of water. “Not that anyone’s made it to the bottom to check, but I think it’s a fair assumption to say more than one body’s gone down that way with no one the wiser.”

“You’ve been there before?”

The cup paused halfway to his lips. “Yes, but it’s not a very nice story.”

She chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “Who’d you toss in?”

He choked on water, nearly dousing his food with wet spray. “What makes you think I—”

A look from her was enough to prompt his heavy sigh. “Fair enough. A rather nasty slaver by the name of Yarrold. He’d been rounding up Genda’ri in the northeast and shipping them over to Danumbar. I tracked him to Haveniem and demanded he cease all operations and return to Elonva for trial.”

“And he refused?”

“Quite violently, yes.” He stabbed at a potato. “He lost his footing, and I lost my best knife at the time. All things considered, I felt it was an even trade.”

Her face bunched up as she studied him, not quite sold on the story.

“You don’t believe me?”

She shrugged a shoulder and picked at her food. “Stories are stories. There’s hardly anyone around to refute what you say.”

He chuckled. “You can always ask Ehlren when you see him again.”

“Hardly an impartial party.”

Setting his fork down, he gave her the most curious look. “You honestly doubt me, don’t you?”

“Well…” She wrinkled her nose apologetically. “Maybe a little.”

“You think I’d lie to you?”

She cringed. “I wouldn’t say lie, exactly. Embellish, maybe, but not lie, no.”

“Why?”

She blinked. “Why what?”

“Don’t you think I’m capable of being a violent brute?”

He sounded almost… insulted? It was very confusing. “Honestly, I…” She sighed. “No. I can’t see it. I’ve heard stories about you, of course, but once I met you…” Her words seemed to be doing more harm than good, judging by his pinched expression. “That just isn’t who I see when I look at you, I guess. You’re too…” She dropped her gaze to her plate, poking at the meat.

“Too what?”

She smiled softly to herself, but couldn’t look at him. “Too careful. I can’t imagine you being out of control of any situation.”

It was silent a moment, but then she heard him choke on a laugh. Within seconds he laughed so loudly she thought perhaps he didn’t understand her properly.

“That wasn’t meant as a joke,” she grumbled at him.

“And that’s exactly why it’s funny.” He wiped a tear from his eyes. “Asahana, I must apologize. You’ve been utterly, completely fooled.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Put a sword in my hand and point me in the direction of a monster, and there’s no question about my confidence.” He brandished his fork in the air, then waved it to a stop in front of her. “Put me in front of pages of laws and judgments needing signed and land disputes to settle, and you might as well have a dog make the decisions. If I’m any good as king, it’s only because I have excellent instincts when it comes to advisors. Anyone that tells you otherwise can be our new court fool.”

She pushed his fork away with hers and smirked at him. “Then I suppose it’s a very good thing I’m happy to give you orders.”

He met her grin and leaned in. “Only if you’re able to stand when you give them.”

“I will stand when I feel like it, and not a moment sooner.” She turned her nose up at him, not about to admit defeat.

As she moved to spear another carrot, he snatched her plate away, bolting out of reach before she could grab for him.

“Then if Her Highness would like to finish her meal, perhaps she would indulge me in a small demonstration?”

Stupid pride burned in her gut at double strength; once because she refused to give in to his childish argument, twice because she would rather starve than show him how utterly useless she was. She closed her mouth, deciding she was better off disarming him than trying to one-up him. He already admitted to being a poor player of subtle court games, so why not use her strength?

She shifted her weight and set her hands in her lap, putting on the patient smile she used when her mother was being particularly irrational. “If I’m not mistaken, queens typically don’t give orders on their feet. Do you think me less than any other queen that I should be forced to stand?”

“Ah,” he mused, only mocking her a little. “Taking up that mantle already, are we?”

“Are you really certain you want to pursue that subject, kendala?” Feeling prickly, it was time to show him how cutting words could be when properly applied. While her legs might not’ve been overly cooperative, her tongue was as sharp as any sword. “I don’t recall that being a topic you’re overly fond of. You know I can’t be queen until—”

He held up a hand, stopping her. “You’ve made your point, Arden. I like my pride intact as much as you do yours.” He stepped forward and handed her the plate. “I concede the argument.”

Her shoulders relaxed, and she did her best to shake off the slimy feeling she always got when she stooped to that sort of manipulation. She avoided it when she could, but it was either admit she was a weak, overzealous fool who needed coddling, or poke at his wound a little.

As she was still a little stung herself, she opted for poking. Her conscience wasn’t particularly happy about it, however.

Darius had been given the crown by virtue of his birth. Arden would only earn hers by providing him with an heir. As there was no telling when that might happen, if it ever did, her title would always be a vulnerable spot for him. She might not be an assassin or a battle-hardened mage, but her wits were weapons just as deadly as any they possessed. At least in that much, her mother taught her well.

Still, no matter what their circumstances, she didn’t wish to hurt Darius. She took the plate from him, slightly ashamed to meet his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

He tilted her chin up to look at him. “Remind me never to play Fortune’s Folly against you, asahana. I’d lose my shirt for certain trying to call your bluffs.”

She took a deep breath and nodded, glad for his forgiveness. “Best keep that to yourself. I’ve a mind to take Vennic for more than a few coins if given the opportunity.”

Darius laughed and stood, retrieving his empty plate from the floor. “I greatly look forward to seeing that. I assume you’re tired from the journey today and aren’t keen to join the others around the fire tonight?”

In all honesty, she was exhausted, though she would’ve gone had her legs allowed it. “If you wouldn’t mind making my excuses?”

“Of course. Will you be all right alone for an hour or two?”

She nodded.

The smile he gave her was almost sad it was so wistful. They both knew he expected her to be asleep when he returned, and she expected him to be as disinterested as the night before.

The tent flap closed behind him, and her heart sank.

She’d never felt so alone as she did in that moment.

Darius

As he retreated from the tent, his smile faded. Arden was putting on a brave face, but he wasn’t at all convinced she was all right. Anyone familiar with traveling by horse for long distances knew the toll it took on the body. By the way Arden was walking, he’d be amazed if she could move at all in the morning.

Her physical condition wasn’t his only concern, however. The hurt in her eyes when she mentioned not yet being queen told him more about how she was dealing with everything than anything else she said all day. But even if he thought he could work himself up for such activities, she was certainly in no condition to endure it. She was correct about him being too careful, but perhaps that was only where she was concerned.

It was in that brooding manner he joined Vennic and their company around the fire. The horsemaster was absently strumming his lute when Darius planted himself on the log beside him. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he stared into the flames as the men around them talked and played dice games to relax.

“Has she admitted to needing help yet?” Vennic asked.

“Not in the slightest.” Darius grinned and shook his head. “Likely she won’t until her legs give out on her completely.”

He stopped playing and dug around inside his cloak, producing a small brown pot. “If you can convince her to use it, I brought along hanja root salve. A little of this will ease the pain.”

Darius took it with an appreciative nod.

“An accompanying massage would be even better for it.”

He grimaced. “Careful, Vennic. That’s dangerous territory.”

He strummed another cord, beginning a new song. “I’ve no idea what you mean. Any healer would give you the same advice.”

“Along with some dragonheart powder in a stamina tea, I suppose?”

He chuckled. “I know better than to suggest you need anything like that after traveling with you for so long.”