He smacked his lips and tsked. “Blasted Edith said the drink would find my kin, not land me in the brumal den.”
His cryptic words wouldn’t have made sense a day ago, but after using magic herself to arrive at Vesper’s side, she understood. What she wouldn’t give for another dose now. When last she’d saw the goblin, he was searching for his cousin. Edith must’ve used the same spell for Dregs. But why would it have brought him to this place?
Dregs waved a hand, trying to shoo a path through the stags. “Have you seen any goblins, dead or alive? Could be just one, or as many as five . . .”
Before Lyra could answer, threatening growls and panicked nickers rumbled through the stags, cutting the conversation short. The leader lowered his head, and with a throaty neigh, charged the goblin. Dregs yelped and lost balance on his tall heels.
He smacked the ground and the lead stag led the others to attack, claws out and antlers lowered for goring. The sickening sound of grunts and ripping cloth filled the cave. Lyra snatched her lacewing cloak and whipped it on, commanding the nightsky fabric to lift her in the air like before. The move landed her on the lead stag’s back. The creature reared but she hugged its neck tight, her stomach rocking. Her aching fingers and hands cramped. They wouldn’t be able to hold for long. Dregs cried out again.
Desperate, Lyra pressed her forehead beside the stag’s ear, sending soothing thoughts. We’re not here to harm you . . . We’re here to help your prince . . . your king. Vesper, she offered, hoping as a night creature it would hear her somehow. I need to get to Prince Vesper . . . Nerezeth’s evening star. Her throat cinched tight on a silent sob.
Enough, the word tapped her mind on Vesper’s voice. Her heart leapt upon hearing him, though he wasn’t speaking to her: No harm shall come to these two. They’re here on royal business.
The stag stopped bucking. It panted, its ribs expanding and compressing where Lyra straddled it. The other stags gathered round with ears perked, also attuned to their king’s voice. Dregs, no worse for wear other than a few scrapes and bruises, crawled out from the circle of legs and tails and clambered onto an outcropping of rock where he groused about his shredded clothes.
Lyra slid from the stag’s back and dropped the lacewing cloak at her feet, looking around her, seeking him. Vesper. She sent up the thought, hungry to hear his voice again.
“Up here.” His answer, aloud this time, echoed and drifted from the heights where he and his horse took the long, winding ledge down alongside her trail of flowers. There were three silhouettes waiting at the top, not yet following, with two horses alongside them.
Dregs leapt from his rock and scrambled forward. Standing back, Lyra gathered the saddlebag and held it to her chest like an anchor to keep from floating away on a flutter of nerves.
Did Vesper remember how she touched him? Kissed him? Or did the sorceress save him, leaving only the memory that Lyra abandoned him in the moon-bog to die?
As Vesper arrived, Dregs bowed to him. Vesper laid a hand on his head. They shared a whispered conversation, then he sent the goblin toward the cave’s entrance where Vesper’s companions still waited, too high up to identify.
Vesper dropped his horse’s reins as the ledge leveled to the ground. He shrugged out of a fur cape dotted with snow and let it crumple in a heap behind him. With the hood gone, several strands of dark hair fell into his face—as unruly as Scorch’s mane ever was. He wasn’t dressed as royalty now, but as the man she saw in his tent at camp, the man who sat with her in the moon-bog, trying to convince her of his identity. A light-colored shirt and black leathery breeches conformed to lean, muscular lines and showcased a graceful stride as he approached—all limps and physical limitations gone. The burnished depth of his skin was healthy and flawless, aside from the scars he would always have as reminders.
He was cured, but by whom?
Lyra’s pulse sped, hammering in her wrists and at her collarbone. The stags cantered around her in a stampede. Even the weaker ones joined the fray, though plodding slower. Their passage swished the jagged hem at her ankles. They surrounded their king with soft nickers of greeting. He fussed over each of them as one would a beloved child. Then, upon his mental command, they parted and returned to the pile of glowing flowers.
Vesper watched her, unmoving. Lyra waited, too. It was like starting over—standing on this altered bridge, trying to find her footing, wary of the rapids that waited to swallow her should she move too fast and slip off.
She attempted to hide her trembling hands by tightening her hold around the saddlebag. Then, remembering it belonged to him, she held it out.
“So, you’re just willing to give those gifts up without a fight, after how hard you worked for them?” His deep, husky voice echoed off the walls. Blue light flashed across his face, his long lashes shadowing the emotions in his eyes. She didn’t know what he meant; didn’t know how to read him in this form. Was he teasing? Angry? Even without seeing his gaze clearly, she knew it was as inscrutable as a raven’s. She was vulnerable beneath it, stripped down to her shorn head and lacy rags.
Say something, he prompted in her mind.
She struggled for a response. Everything was too big for words, too life-changing. She finally settled on I am afraid.
He tilted his chin. Of this moment?
She shook her head. Of you.
He frowned, as if taken aback. Why? You know me to my bones. And I’m safer now . . . no hooves itching to trample. No flame threatening to char.
She squeezed the bag against her chest. You can hurt me more as a man than you ever could’ve as a horse.
Ah. What if I make an effort not to be such an arrogant jackass in this form? Will that help? He raised his eyebrows teasingly.
She huffed a surprised laugh, relieved. Of course he wasn’t angry. He was unsure of where things stood between them, like her. But they’d been here already—connecting beyond their differences and the inconceivable circumstances that had thrown them into one another’s paths.
Reaching into the saddlebag, she dug out the apples. She dropped the bag and took a step forward with palm outstretched, the fruit balanced atop her scars.
He took a step toward her, lips twitching in an almost-smile. So that’s how it’s to begin again . . . first you rescue the beast, then you hand-feed him.
A flutter of nervous energy bounced through her stomach. So, it was she who had cured him!
Careful, you might never get rid of me this time. His flirtatious taunt circled around her thoughts.
I’m counting on it, she answered, lifting an eyebrow, though her upturned hand trembled slightly.
You do realize, I have orchards teeming with apples in the arboretum. Or perhaps you weren’t there long enough to notice.
Orchard apples have nothing on these. Effortlessly now, she reprised her role from their past. I made them special for you. She took another step, noting his height and how small she felt now that he wasn’t laid out on a dais. It was baffling—that he would seem larger than life, even as a man.
He clucked his tongue. I think you seek to tame me, just as you have my gatekeepers. He glanced at the stags grazing on the flowers she’d picked.
I don’t wish to tame you. I seek a partnership. Her fingers squeezed the apple, then reopened. To be your eyes in the darkness. To be your hands should you ever get trapped. To be your ears when you’re flying too high to listen.
A pained frown crimped his brow and she almost regretted saying it, but then he smiled, and she knew he understood: Although that door was closed to them now, they’d always have the past to share. And if anyone treasured memories as much as she, it was this prince who had lived two lives.
He rubbed his thumb across the whiskers at his jaw. I’ll gratefully accept the offer of your eyes, but I’ve other things in mind for your hands, and pretty words to speak into your ears. No more writing them in notes. He took another step. But first, you must be fierce enough to embrace me—body and soul.
Her palm stopped trembling and she stretched her arm as far as it would reach. I’ve already proven my fierceness is a match for yours, beastly brawn. She awaited the expected response, for him to demand she walk the final few steps.
Instead, he closed the gap between them and caught her wrist, turning her hand to toss the apples to the ground. That you have. Now I’ve something to prove to you.