Page 85 of Given

“Now you are wed.”

The priest faced the sparse crowd in the Lar Keiren family temple and lifted his arms. “I give you the Lord and Lady of Lar Plestes,” he said warmly.

There was a smattering of applause, almost all of it from the Lar Plestes side. Jordan and I stood among a small knot of servants and lowpeople from the village. As if he realized how pathetic our efforts sounded compared to the Lar Plestes’ contingent, Jordan clapped harder. After a second, he put his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply.

Martin of Lar Plestes—big and bearded and dressed in full Nor Doruvian armor—grinned. Evelina did her best to murder Jordan with her eyes.

The ex-brother didn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps his experience with sisters rendered him immune to such looks. He continued clapping until the new couple had swept from the temple.

As the meager crowd began to filter outside, I shot him a look of my own. “You’ve made your point.”

He was the picture of innocence. “It was a beautiful ceremony, my lord. You must be happy it came together so smoothly.”

I grunted as I pulled on my gloves. “I’m happy it’s over.” Evelina hadn’t spoken to me the entire journey to Lar Keiren. Unfortunately, Jordan had filled the miles with abundant conversation, hardly pausing to take a breath. He told stories of the Towers of the Mir and the stuffy rules of the Brotherhood. As irritating as his endless chatter could be, he had a way with words. Not long into the journey, my knights were jostling for position so they could ride near him.

I understood their reasons. It was a boring journey, and the weather was bitterly cold this close to the Wastes. Jordan was an entertaining distraction—and he didn’t complain. The latter had surprised me. Riding the length of Nor Doru on horseback was a grueling experience for anyone, let alone a Wesyfeddan accustomed to life in the Brotherhood. But he’d endured without incident.

Pale winter sunlight spilled onto the temple’s obsidian floor as we reached the doorway. Jordan’s stare was like a weight pressing against my face.

I stopped. “What.”

“What? Nothing. My lord.”

I sighed. “I’ve trained hundreds of squires, Brother Jordan. I know when a lad has something to say.”

A frown flitted through his eyes. “I’m hardly a lad. I’m twenty-seven.”

“Good for you. Now spit it out.”

“Fine. When will we return to Lar Katerin?”

He’d been working up to ask. I’d sensed his restlessness over the past couple of days, and I knew the question was coming. We’d been in Lar Keiren for close to two weeks. Evelina and Martin would depart for the Lar Plestes estate in the morning. My steward was a trustworthy male who had everything in hand. There was no reason for me to linger. Worse, a storm could sweep down from the north and bury us under a dozen feet of snow. If that happened, we might be stuck in Lar Keiren for a month.

It might not be so bad. Northerners were always prepared for such things. The castle was well-stocked, with plenty of cured meats and barrels of blood-wine in the cellar. The great hall was a pleasant place to pass the time. Quiet. The opposite of Laurent’s court, where privacy was rarer than solstone.

“My lord?” Jordan ventured.

“I’m thinking, damn you,” I snapped. My voice boomed down the temple’s steps and over the snow-dusted grass where plenty of nobles still clustered. Heads turned at my outburst.

Jordan’s blue eyes went wide. “I didn’t mean…” He gulped. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your fucking apology,” I said under my breath. I strode down the temple’s steps and past the curious nobles. Bunch of busybodies. They were probably starved for entertainment. News traveled slowly in this part of the kingdom.

Unless the news was about the king’s wedding and the coronation of his queen. We’d received word of that just yesterday. Given of Sithistra was now Given of Nor Doru. Long live the queen.

I walked without considering where I was going, and soon my boots sank into the sand that bordered the western side of the estate. The beach stretched the full length of the Bitter Sea, which fed into the Morinlor Ocean. The sea was aptly named. Although beautiful, the beach was next to useless, since the water was always too cold for swimming. The Morinlor was warmer in the south, but it encircled Eldenvalla. Ships that ventured into those waters never returned. Every few years, some enterprising young merchant stupidly set sail from the Port of Lar Keiren hoping to hug the coast of the dead kingdom and discover untold riches. Those fools were never heard from again.

Wind tore at my hair and cloak as I faced the sea. Tall waves rushed in and crashed onto the sand. The surf raced forward and kissed the tips of my boots. The water was beautiful and deadly. The coast of Lar Keiren was littered with rocks that could spell doom for even the most experienced sailors. When ships broke up, they rarely washed ashore. The current swept the wood and cargo out to sea, leaving only memories on the shore.

Memories rose around me now—shouts and torches and the rasp of steel on steel. There was a reason I rarely returned to this place. Had only done so now to do my duty by Evelina. Martin of Lar Plestes was a fine knight with seven generations of pure, untainted warrior blood running through his veins. Any children they produced would be vampires…and nothing else.

At least that was my hope. It was the second-best option. No matter how hard I tried, I could never bring myself to consider the first one. Not for her.

But for me…

The water beckoned, the waves climbing higher. A male could freeze in those icy depths within minutes. My cloak snapped around my ankles. The heavy fabric caught on my sword belt, jostling the dagger strapped to my side. Looking down, I grasped the handle. The bloodstones were flush with the grip, but I squeezed hard enough to make the gems dig into my skin.

I drew the blade. The metal appeared to shift in the light, dull silver rolling over itself. A pretty illusion, but make-believe all the same.

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