Age of War (The Legends of the First Empire #3)

Persephone had contemplated the proposal a great deal over the winter, so much so that she’d refused to meet privately with Raithe, even though he’d attempted to see her dozens of times. During council meetings where all the chieftains were present, she made a point of avoiding him. Persephone couldn’t afford to be alone with Raithe, not even for a second.

Over several cold months of contemplation, she determined that Nyphron was right. Their union wasn’t merely advantageous—it was necessary. Persephone also realized that, despite everything, she loved Raithe. Probably since the day I met him. Back then it wasn’t an option. Reglan’s death was so fresh, and they faced so many troubles. I made excuses. He was too young; he didn’t believe in me, didn’t believe in fighting; his dreams were childish, selfish things. But even though he knew he couldn’t win, he would have fought the Gula champion for her. And he was still there, still training men in Alon Rhist. He hadn’t seen her in months, but the man hadn’t left. I’m running out of excuses. And she missed him more than she ever expected she would. Strange how infrequently I thought about Raithe when he was here, but how important the man has become in his absence. Thoughts of love had always been a luxury before, frivolous and indulgent, but now she had to think. She needed to decide, and that decision led her to a comparison. Nyphron made his argument, which, while sensible, felt cold and empty. In his absence, Raithe couldn’t defend himself; he also couldn’t ruin the growing appreciation that bloomed in a rich soil of selected memories that became all the rosier in light of Nyphron’s calculated arrangements. All of her mental debates, all of her reasons to choose the Fhrey, sounded foolish against the powerful backdrop of longing that, instead of diminishing as she had hoped, had grown stronger.



At first, she had been ridiculously busy. Now, she didn’t dare allow herself to see Raithe, to be alone with him. The winter had made her weaker. This couldn’t be a selfish decision. That was a girl’s choice. She was a woman, and the keenig. Her own happiness couldn’t get in the way of that.

Persephone looked back at him with a concerned frown. “Do you…do you even like me?”

Nyphron drew his head back in surprise. “I…is that important?”

“I think so, yes. I’m not saying you have to be in love with me. I’ve seen Fhrey women and guess you find me somewhere between ugly and grotesque. But for a successful marriage, I certainly think a genuine, if only general, affection of some kind is necessary.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I believe I can honestly say I have enjoyed your company this past winter.”

“Oh, well, that is…that’s wonderful. I hope you didn’t strain yourself with that admission.”

She turned away and crossed the parapet to the south side. Leaning on the wall once more, she stared out at the Bern and Urum River valleys without seeing either. These climbs were so much more enjoyable alone.

“You seem upset.”

“Me? No. Not at all.” She refused to look at him. His blank, bewildered stare was too infuriating.

Why am I so angry?

Nyphron was being forthright and honest, offering her a very sensible arrangement that would benefit nearly everyone. To her knowledge, there had never been a Fhrey-human marriage. Such a thing would go a long way toward eliminating misconceptions and establishing respect between the races. That was the real battle, the real war that needed winning.

So why does it hurt?



Persephone remembered the first time they scaled the Spyrok together. She recalled laughing with him when, after climbing those thousand steps, they couldn’t open the door to the balcony because of the late winter snow. They’d just sat there, slumped on the top step cursing the gods. She remembered how he’d lent her his coat, putting it on her so thoughtfully, and how he’d caught her when she slipped on the ice, and held her hand as they crossed the rest of the bridge on their way to the general assembly for the midwinter address. His hand had felt warm; it had felt good; it had felt like…

I thought…I thought maybe he…

“Do you still need more time to decide?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, and then, biting her lip, she sucked in an unsatisfying breath.

Spring was supposed to be a time of new beginnings or renewal, of love and the joy of rebirth. Instead, spring was just a time of waiting, and death was on its way.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


Monsters in the Dark


He was handsome, brave, strong, and sixteen. Neither one of us knew what we were doing. We did not care.

—THE BOOK OF BRIN

Tesh wiped the sweat from his eyes. Sebek had beaten him again, but just barely. Tesh had also very nearly lost a hand. The better he got, the nastier Sebek became.

“You’re still watching my blades too much, Techylor,” Sebek told him. The Fhrey wasn’t sweating, not even out of breath. “The story is in my eyes.”

“Your eyes lie.”

Sebek grinned. “Noticed that, did you?”

“Nearly lost my hand because of it.”

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