“Did you know?” I demanded. Lucien wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Did you suspect?”
“I’d hoped it wasn’t true,” Tamlin said carefully. “And now that Rhys suspects, there’s no telling what he’ll do with the information—”
“He wants me to train.” I wasn’t stupid enough to mention the mental shield training—not right now.
“Training would draw too much attention,” Tamlin said. “You don’t need to train. I can guard you from whatever comes our way.”
For there had been a time when he could not. When he had been vulnerable, and when he had watched me be tortured to death. And could do nothing to stop Amarantha from—
I would not allow another Amarantha. I would not allow the King of Hybern to bring his beasts and minions here to hurt more people. To hurt me and mine. And bring down that wall to hurt countless others across it. “I could use my powers against Hybern.”
“That’s out of the question,” Tamlin said, “especially as there will be no war against Hybern.”
“Rhys says war is inevitable, and we’ll be hit hard.”
Lucien said drily, “And Rhys knows everything?”
“No—but … He was concerned. He thinks I can make a difference in any upcoming conflict.”
Tamlin flexed his fingers—keeping those claws contained. “You have no training in battle or weaponry. And even if I started training you today, it’d be years before you could hold your own on an immortal battlefield.” He took a tight breath. “So despite what he thinks you might be able to do, Feyre, I’m not going to have you anywhere near a battlefield. Especially if it means revealing whatever powers you have to our enemies. You’d be fighting Hybern at your front, and have foes with friendly faces at your back.”
“I don’t care—”
“I care,” Tamlin snarled. Lucien whooshed out a breath. “I care if you die, if you’re hurt, if you will be in danger every moment for the rest of our lives. So there will be no training, and we’re going to keep this between us.”
“But Hybern—”
Lucien intervened calmly, “I already have my sources looking into it.”
I gave him a beseeching look.
Lucien sighed a bit and said to Tamlin, “If we perhaps trained her in secret—”
“Too many risks, too many variables,” Tamlin countered. “And there will be no conflict with Hybern, no war.”
I snapped, “That’s wishful thinking.”
Lucien muttered something that sounded like a plea to the Cauldron.
Tamlin stiffened. “Describe his map room for me again,” was his only response.
End of discussion. No room for debate.
We stared each other down for a moment, and my stomach twisted further.
He was the High Lord—my High Lord. He was the shield and defender of his people. Of me. And if keeping me safe meant that his people could continue to hope, to build a new life, that he could do the same … I could bow to him on this one thing.
I could do it.
You are no one’s subject.
Maybe Rhysand had altered my mind, shields or no.
The thought alone was enough for me to begin feeding Tamlin details once more.
CHAPTER
8
A week later, the Tithe arrived.
I’d had all of one day with Tamlin—one day spent wandering the grounds, making love in the high grasses of a sunny field, and a quiet, private dinner—before he was called to the border. He didn’t tell me why or where. Only that I was to keep to the grounds, and that I’d have sentries guarding me at all times.
So I spent the week alone, waking in the middle of the night to hurl up my guts, to sob through the nightmares. Ianthe, if she’d learned of her sisters’ massacre in the north, said nothing about it the few times I saw her. And given how little I liked to be pushed into talking about the things that plagued me, I opted not to bring it up during the hours she spent visiting, helping select my clothes, my hair, my jewelry, for the Tithe.
When I’d asked her to explain what to anticipate, she merely said that Tamlin would take care of everything. I should watch from his side, and observe.
Easy enough—and perhaps a relief, to not be expected to speak or act.
But it had been an effort not to look at the eye tattooed into my palm—to remember what Rhys had snarled at me.
Tamlin had only returned the night before to oversee today’s Tithe. I tried not to take it personally, not when he had so much on his shoulders. Even if he wouldn’t tell me much about it beyond what Ianthe had mentioned.
Seated beside Tamlin atop a dais in the manor’s great hall of marble and gold, I endured the endless stream of eyes, of tears, of gratitude and blessings for what I’d done.
In her usual pale blue hooded robe, Ianthe was stationed near the doors, offering benedictions to those that departed, comforting words to those who fell apart entirely in my presence, promises that the world was better now, that good had won out over evil.