Corvan stops on a rocky outcrop that gives us a commanding view of the landscape below.
In the distance, I see a herd of hulking black shapes moving slowly across the snowy plain. They look like cows, only they have long horns and long coats of shaggy fur.
“Karakin,” Corvan informs me.
I’ve never heard of such creatures. There’s so much beyond the borders of Ruen that I don’t know.
The river rushes down a slope, through smooth boulders and over sculpted rock basins. The clear water turns into white-peaked rapids before the slope flattens out, feeding it into a wide mouth filled with flowering reeds. After the reeds, the waterway opens up into a turquoise lake surrounded by ancient pines. The water’s so clear I can see the perfectly preserved logs resting at the bottom.
Faint tendrils of mist rise from the lake. How is it warm in the middle of winter?
At the far edge of the lake, there’s a crescent-shaped beach of fine white sand. Beyond it rises a village of circular huts with walls of whitewashed clay and roofs made from cured animal hides.
Plumes of smoke drift lazily into the blue sky, emerging from central chimneys.
The village is bigger than I thought; it has to contain at least fifty huts. The walls of some are decorated with vibrant painted patterns composed of geometric shapes in shades of green, ochre, red, and black.
“That’s Niize,” Corvan says softly, the wind catching his words. “Home of the Khatur.”
“It’s so peaceful here, and incredibly beautiful. I can hardly believe my eyes. It’s chilling to think that you were at war with these people not too long ago.”
Corvan’s expression is distant and unreadable. With his eyes hidden behind the dark lenses, his face looks like a beautiful mask. For a strange moment, I almost feel he’s unreachable. “As I said, the war was a great folly. The Khatur are fierce defenders, and they will fight to the death to protect what is theirs, but they have a different philosophy when it comes to existence.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“Balance.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t completely understand it either, but we aren’t at each other’s throats anymore. There’s no more killing, and that’s all I care about.”
“But there must still be bad blood. People say the war was the bloodiest and most terrible one ever fought on our lands. What stops your men and the Khatur from killing one another out of revenge?”
Corvan smiles, revealing his fangs. “Me.”
I give him a long, hard look. “That’s a great responsibility to carry.”
“Then perhaps you can understand why I’m still here in Tyron, doing my very best to do ordinary things; be an ordinary man.” He takes a deep breath. “The only problem is that your blood drives me absolutely mad.”
I can feel the intensity of his wanting. A wild part of me craves the feeling of his lips against my skin; the exquisite bright-and-sharp pain of his bite. “Then why didn’t you send me away?”
“I won’t lie. At first, I thought to do just that.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because when I tasted you again… the second time… I knew without a doubt that I could never let you go.” He takes a step forward and puts his hands on my waist.
I don’t resist. There isn’t a thing I can do to stop him, and neither do I want to.
A gentle breeze swirls around us, tugging at the ends of my hair.
Corvan simply leans in and kisses me on my lips; gently, sweetly, sending a pleasant ripple through me.
“Just as well we’re betrothed, then.”
“Just as well,” he murmurs. “Now, I must warn you. Khaturian customs are very different from ours, but as long as you’re with me, you have nothing to worry about. Just follow my lead, all right?”
“Fine.” Why does it feel like my blood is humming? Why is my heart beating so fast? It isn’t just Corvan’s presence—although he’s enough to drive any woman mad.
It’s the feeling that something profound is going to happen, and when it does, there’s no going back.
I’m so far away from home.
But really, I’ve never had a home. My father is cruel; my stepmother’s a stranger.
I have no home but here, in the arms of a man who I barely know; and yet right now, I feel closer to him than anyone else in this world.
Why does it feel so precarious?
“We need to know what you are,” he says, his deep voice wrapping around me, pulling me into a trance. “The answer lies in your blood. Why it’s so sweet to me; why you reacted so strongly to mine. Why you have abilities beyond our comprehension. Tell me, Finley. Don’t you ever wonder why your father never speaks of your mother?”
My chest tightens. My breathing intensifies. “What would you know about that?”
He lifts his dark glasses, revealing his eyes.
His gaze softens.
He’s never looked at me so tenderly before.
Why then, am I afraid?
“Finley, what I’m about to tell you might not be easy to hear, but it’s important that you know.”
“You know something,” I whisper, suddenly reminded that I hardly know this man. Is he using me? “You knew, and you didn’t tell me a thing. You had ample opportunity to do so. What are you playing at, Corvan Duthriss?”
Trust hangs between us by a thread, threatening to be swept away by the wind.
“Finley, I’m sorry.” He tips his head in apology. “It isn’t my intention to hurt you or keep secrets from you. Never that. But you were sent to me for a reason. My father’s behind it; he knows something that neither of us do. It’s no coincidence that you manifested magic back there. I thought Lucar Solisar might know, but he’s as ignorant as I when it comes to my father’s true intentions. He did, however, reveal a certain truth. An important one.”
“My mother,” I whisper. The sun above is so bright. The sky is so clear. The snow glitters brilliantly. But my thoughts are being suffocated by something vile and noxious.
Your mother didn’t want you, Finley. You were a mistake. She never wanted to be tied to me. But it doesn’t matter now. She’s dead.
Why have I never had room in my heart or my mind to acknowledge her existence?
To even wonder what she was like?
And now, when I try to imagine what she could have been, it feels like a very old wound, scarred over, is being ripped open.
My mind slowly starts to shatter. There are a thousand different fragments inside, like broken glass; painful memories that I’ve buried deep inside me, with the intention of never seeing them again.
I’m staring at Corvan’s face; at his tender eyes, filled with concern, but I’m far, far away.
I’m eight years old again. I’m in the great hall of Ruen Castle, sitting on the floor, and Lucar is there, and he has a cane in his hand.
My legs are covered in welts and bruises. The skin is broken in some places. I can barely walk. Gritting my teeth in pain, I look up at the man who claims to be my father.
I refuse to cry. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Stupid girl,” he snarls. “I told you never to go into that room.”