My head whips back toward the Ipotane leader. “Swear to me,” I demand, knowing I’ll detect any falsehood in his words, and that he’ll be magically bound by the vow. “Swear to me that you won’t touch Ianthe in a sexual way. If she goes with you, you will not touch her.”
“Ianthe.” Lycheron savors my sister’s name on his tongue like a spicy mulled wine, dragging it out long enough to uncover all the nuances that make it both zesty and sweet. His power-charged eyes fade back to a warm, only slightly luminous brown, their heated concentration solely on my sister. His gaze is so focused that it’s almost an ocular touch. “I swear to Ianthe that I will not touch her in any way she does not wish.”
Ianthe flushes deeply. Her lips part. Her breathing accelerates. She nods once, her green eyes huge, and Lycheron’s skin shudders over his taut muscles, absorbing the jolt of his unbreakable vow.
My heart starts pounding even harder than before. He swore to Ianthe, cutting me out of the loop. But there was no lie in his words when Lycheron said he doesn’t force himself on females. He swore only to touch her in ways she doesn’t object to. She… Oh my Gods. Ianthe might actually be safe with him. Safer than with us! We’re heading for Fisa. For war. For Mother.
All of a sudden, I feel much better about this.
Griffin takes a deep breath that lifts his chest. Then his head bows, and his hands fall to his hips. For a moment, he looks defeated. When he looks up again, to Ianthe, he says, “I should thank you, but I really wish you’d just take it all back.”
She breaks eye contact with Lycheron to look at him. “Take care of Talia.” Her voice wavers at the end when she really sees Griffin’s face and understands his sincerity—he does wish she would take it all back. “…Brother,” she adds hesitantly, as if it’s a new word she’s trying out for the first time, one she only just learned the meaning of and isn’t quite sure how to fit into her reality yet.
It breaks my heart, and the way my chest contracts crushes my heart even more. From Griffin’s tortured expression, I know he understands the gift Ianthe just offered with a single word—trust. And letting her leave with this volatile, otherworldly male now pains him even more. Upset doesn’t even begin to describe him. He’s outwardly calm and quiet now, but I know the emotion that boils underneath.
Ianthe looks away, but not before I see the sheen in her eyes. We’re her family now, the one she’s probably secretly dreamed of since the day Eleni died, and in my selfish grief, I left her behind. Ianthe was nine. Alone. Unprotected. No Thanos. No Eleni. No me. Her magic was still so far from being mature that I didn’t even know she would turn into a powerful Water Mage. Being the youngest among us probably spared her life but not much else. She’s seventeen now, all innocence irrevocably lost.
I take a sour breath that tastes like my own failures and lay my hand on Griffin’s arm. Already tensely coiled, his muscles tighten even more under my fingers. Ianthe isn’t only a new sister to him, a female relation only two scant years older than Kaia. I think he also sees her as me, the young me he didn’t know yet and wasn’t there to defend and protect. I can feel him practically shaking under my hand with the need to shield Ianthe now from the things that have already happened to both of us. But it’s too late. We’re Fisan royals. We were born without shelter in the middle of a raging storm. We were wrecked and laid bare by a person we should have been able to trust, in a place most people consider safe. Mother. Home.
I grip Griffin’s arm, maybe to keep from reaching for my sister myself. Ianthe is an adult. This is her choice, and we need to respect it.
Lycheron steps closer to Ianthe, carnality in his every look and move. “And now you’ll swear something to me, my fragile little dove.”
Ianthe cocks her head back to meet the Ipotane Alpha’s penetrating gaze. Her voice gently rasps. “What?”
“Yes, Alpha,” he rectifies, watching her carefully.
The slightly dazed look on Ianthe’s face vanishes, and she snorts.
Lycheron grins, a slow, predatory smile that probably makes every female within ten miles flush. I know I do.
He doesn’t insist, but he insists on something else. Lowering his voice, he leans in closer to tell her what he wants. “The only male or beast you’ll ride for the next six months is me.” It’s impossible to miss the possessive—and baldly sexual—undercurrent in Lycheron’s words.
Her back straight, her chin high, and not shaking in the least, Ianthe studies Lycheron, letting his words sink in. Looking at her, I see densely compressed spirit. Vitality, magic, courage, love—when she detonates, she’ll rattle the world.
“I swear it,” Ianthe finally says. “For the next six months, I’ll ride only you.”
She tenses as her vow crashes into her bones and blood. Her bright-green eyes dilate, and then she blinks. Satisfied, Lycheron holds out his large hand. Ianthe places her much smaller one in his. In the next instant, she’s on his back, her legs wrapped tightly around his huge frame and her hands gripping his bare shoulders for balance. She gasps.
Lycheron’s ocher eyes flare with heat, burning bright amber for a quick but alarming moment. Then, to Griffin he says, “You need not worry about the Fisan border. In three days, I’ll have it covered and impenetrable from the east.”
Without another word to us, he wheels and charges off, leaving a pounding of hoofbeats in the air along with a thundering call to his herd to make haste across the realm.
My heart in my throat, I lunge after my sister. “Ianthe!” I scream.
She doesn’t turn, her long, dark hair snapping on the wind and her lithe form fading fast. Maybe she doesn’t hear. Or maybe she doesn’t want to look back.
I stare until she fades from sight. After eight years apart, she’s gone again with only the clothes on her back, and we didn’t even say goodbye.
CHAPTER 10
Not long after we return to Tarva City, I know it’s time to see a hermit about a potion. And not just any hermit. The hermit of Frostfire, a powerful witch known for her unparalleled concoctions. We’re going to war. Mother is a monstrosity of magic, hugely powerful and totally unscrupulous. I have significant power of my own, but it’s unreliable. The fight with Piers showed me once again just how fickle my lightning is. The magic is there. Now it just needs to work when I ask it to and stop being so Gods damn dangerously unpredictable.