Page 179 of Kingdom of Ash

Borte smiled with poisoned sweetness at her betrothed. “I’ll just have to kill you some other time, then.”

Yeran grinned back, the portrait of wicked amusement. “Some other time, then,” he promised.

Nesryn didn’t fail to note the light that gleamed in the captain’s eyes. Or the way Borte bit her lip, just barely, her breath hitching.

Yeran leaned in to whisper something in Borte’s ear that made the girl’s eyes widen. And apparently stunned her enough that when Yeran prowled to his ruk, the portrait of swaggering arrogance, Borte blushed furiously and returned to cleaning her ruk.

“Don’t ask,” she muttered.

Nesryn held up her hands. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Borte’s blush remained for minutes afterward, her cleaning near-frantic.

Easy, graceful steps sounded in the snow, and Nesryn knew who approached before the rukhin even straightened to attention. Not at the fact that Sartaq was prince and Heir, but that he was their captain. Of all the rukhin in this war, not just the Eridun aerie.

He waved them off, scanning the night sky and ruks still soaring, shielded by Rowan Whitethorn from any enemy arrows that might find their mark. Sartaq had barely come up beside Nesryn when Borte patted Arcas, tossed her brush into her supply pack, and walked into the night.

Not to give them privacy, Nesryn realized. Not when Yeran prowled from his own ruk’s side a heartbeat later, trailing Borte at a lazy pace. The girl looked over her shoulder once, and there was anything but annoyance on her face as she noted Yeran at her heels.

Sartaq chuckled. “At least they’re a little more clear about it now.”

Nesryn snorted, brush gliding over Salkhi’s feathers. “I’m as confused as ever.”

“The riders whose tents lie on either side of Borte’s aren’t.”

Nesryn’s brows rose, but she smiled. “Good. Not about the riders, but—about them.”

“War does strange things to people. Makes everything more urgent.” He ran a hand down the back of her head, his fingers twining in her hair before he murmured in her ear, “Come to bed.”

Heat flared through her body. “We’ve a battle to launch tomorrow. Again.”

“And a day of death has made me want to hold you,” the prince said, giving her that disarming grin she had no defenses against. Especially as he added, “And do other things with you.”

Nesryn’s toes curled in her boots. “Then help me finish cleaning Salkhi.”

The prince lunged so fast for the brush Borte had discarded that Nesryn laughed.

CHAPTER 52

The Crochans had returned to their camp in the Fangs and waited.

Manon and the Thirteen dismounted from the wyverns. Something churned in her gut with each step toward Glennis’s fire. The strip of red fabric at the end of her braid became a millstone, weighing her head down.

They were almost to Glennis’s hearth when Bronwen fell into step beside Manon.

Asterin and Sorrel, trailing behind, tensed, but neither interfered. Especially not as Bronwen asked, “What happened?”

Manon glanced sidelong at her cousin. “I asked them to consider their position in this war.”

Bronwen frowned at the sky, as if expecting to see the Ironteeth trailing them. “And?”

“And we’ll see, I suppose.”

“I thought you went there to rally them.”

“I went,” Manon said, baring her teeth, “to make them contemplate who they wish to be.”

“I didn’t think Ironteeth were capable of such things.”

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