We rein in partway across the meadow. The ground is soggy here, and there’s a bubbling and probably frigid mountain spring that feeds a ribbon-like stream leading back into the woods. The modest, partially open-faced barn houses sheep and goats, who seem to have decided that inside is better than outside today. I wonder why. The sun is shining, even though it’s cool. Buckets and rusty tools hang from the rough-hewn outer walls, along with a pair of old lanterns that look like they haven’t been lit in years. The place strikes me as having an oddly abandoned, lonely feel, despite the livestock looking in good health and the chimney smoke flavoring the rich autumn air.
I shiver, although not from cold. Maybe this feeling that grates on me like a bad itch is exactly what a hermit looks for. Objectively, the setting is calm and beautiful, but the Gods know I could never live up here all by myself. The solitude would eat me alive.
Dismounting, I glance toward the pine forest we just left, with its dense, frosty carpet of fallen needles and continuous shadows. The warmth of day hasn’t fought its way through—and probably can’t—but it’s still far more appealing than what I think is on our right.
My heart beating a little faster than normal, I turn and face what must be the unique Thalyrian phenomenon that gives Frostfire its name. Running along the edge of the meadow and directly abutting the far side of the house, there’s what appears to be a sheer cliff. We can’t see down into it from here, but the precipice supposedly drops off into an almost bottomless volcanic pit—although I’m pretty sure it’s more than that.
Nervous heat billows up through me—a lot like a scorching blast from what I’ve been told is at the bottom of the ancient caldera: Hephaestus’s forge, the smith God’s fiery domain.
Griffin leads Brown Horse into an empty enclosure, and I follow him in with Panotii, relieved to turn my back on the yawning gap between us and the summits to the northeast. We don’t loosen the horses’ girths at all, since both Griffin and I are currently fervently and wholeheartedly worshipping the cult of you never know, so be ready to run for your life.
Little Bean has changed my outlook on a lot of things, my own safety being the primary one. I don’t consider caution to be cowardice. I never have. It was just never my way before. Lately, to Griffin’s unending satisfaction, I’m considerably less prone to running headlong into danger.
“I get the frost part,” Griffin says, taking my elbow and guiding me. He must think I need help walking in a straight line up a hill toward a house. I don’t object. His strong hand is too blissfully cool on my heated skin for me to want to pull away. “But why fire?” he asks.
I lift my nose and sniff. “Smell the air.”
He inhales deeply just as a breeze swirls up over the precipice. His nose wrinkles. “Sulfur?”
“That cliff over there… It goes waaay down.”
“Waaay down?”
I nod, skirting a small animal hole in the ground. “Apparently, that crater is Hephaestus’s forge, where he crafts the weapons of the Gods. Also, Thanos once told me that Hades stokes his furnaces with the magma from the deepest depths of the Frostfire pit, and I assume he knows what he’s talking about, Thanos being Ares and all.”
Just then, whatever is far below belches up steam and a wave of heat, surprising us both. Maybe Hephaestus is working on something down there.
“Humph.” Griffin’s hand tightens on my arm.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to fall in, you know. The cliff is all the way over there.”
He loosens his hold. Sort of.
I glance up at him, trying to tame my sudden smile. Domineering and overprotective doesn’t even begin to describe my husband. There’s also deliciously jealous, but that’s another subject altogether. The black stubble framing his mouth makes his full lips look impossibly kissable. It’s been hours since they were last on mine. And I love to kiss the hawkish curve of his nose. So strong and masculine. I adore that nose. And the rest of him. His powerful body. Muscle. Sinew. Bone.
I gaze up at him, nearly sighing. “I love you.”
Griffin stops dead in his tracks and glares down at me. “That’s it. We’re leaving.”
I blink. “What? Why?”
“You think something terrible is going to happen.”
“No, I don’t.” I frown. “I don’t think so.”
His eyes narrow, wariness hardening his expression. “You do.”
“What are you talking about?”
He scowls at me.
“Well, something terrible could happen,” I concede. “But that’s always true, no matter where or when. Tomorrow, I could trip over my own feet and break my neck for all I know.”
Judging by the look on Griffin’s face, I don’t think that helped.
“You only say you love me or you’re sorry when you’re scared or almost dead. You’re not almost dead, so what’s scaring you?” he demands.
“I say I love you all the time!”
“When we’re in bed. When I’m so deep inside you that you can’t feel anything but me. Not when we’re about to knock on a stranger’s door. What’s scaring you?” he demands again.
I huff. “At the moment? The way your jaw is popping like it’s alive.”
Griffin crosses his arms. “I want honesty. Right now.”
“Right now, Your Imperialness?”
His nostrils flare. His hard look is spectacular.
I’m not intimidated. It makes me hot. Then again, so does just about everything at the moment, but not in the same way.
“If you must know, the magic around here is a little intense and…disturbing, but it’s not scaring me. Not really. It’s probably just something coming from whatever is down there in that God Pit,” I say, waving toward the cliff. “I’m a shade nervous. That’s all.”
His eyes stay flinty and unconvinced. “That’s all? That’s not generally cause for a heartfelt declaration, at least not from you.”
I toss my hands in the air. “Fine. I take it back. I looked at you, found you incredibly desirable, and my body got all hot and tingly. I blame Little Bean for an excess of sentimentality and…and…urges!”
Griffin stares at me. Then his mouth splits into a grin that makes me all kinds of angry. He reaches for me again, his grasp lighter this time.
“Incredibly desirable?” Looking smug, he threads his fingers through mine.
Scowling, I poke him in the chest with my free hand. “Well, you do have that whole overbearing warlord thing going on. Plus, plenty of muscles in all the right places, some good ideas, and, you know, a really big sword.”
A laugh cracks out of Griffin, and my heart swoops like an off-balance bird. He’s rarely free with humor these days, or maybe there’s just not enough of it in our lives anymore. The happy flutter that wings through my chest takes any lingering irritation away with it.
Gah! Talk about mood changes!
Griffin captures my other hand and then pulls me in to him until I’m standing between his legs. “I love you, too, Cat.”
He kisses me, his mouth pressing softly against mine. Warmth rolls straight from his lips to my toes, which curl in my boots.
“Tell me again,” he coaxes.
I shake my head, our noses brushing.
“Say it,” he demands against my mouth.
“I don’t think so.”
“Last chance,” he warns, gently nipping at my lower lip.
“Big sword.”
Chuckling, Griffin swats my bottom. “There’s more where that came from.”
I look up at him through my lashes. “I sure hope so.”
He grins. “I think you just managed coy.”