Page 12 of Winds of Destiny

I bet you would.Despite myself, I’m interested—it’s been a long time since I’ve been truly challenged in a fight with anyone inside the city. Nevertheless, I demur. “Perhaps later. Tell me”—time to get to the point—“is your prince much of a fighter?”

One of the other Dellians laughs, his arm shaking so much that the smoked eel on the end of his fork falls right off it. “The best you’ve ever seen, flatlander.”

“Easy to say when I’ve never seen him.”

Several of the men look at Kai as if expecting him to lead the charge in either being offended or shrugging my comments off. He’s unperturbed—good.

“He’s one of our best,” Kai says after a moment’s thought. “That’s not something I say lightly, either. Zephythans largely appear to be of a more delicate nature than my people, perhaps because it’s relatively easy for you to provide for yourselves. In the mountains, living well takes effort. There’s very little space for farming, so hunting ability is even more prized than fighting. Prince Eleas never fails to bring home a kill after each trip, usually something large enough to feed half the barracks at once. Some say he’s guided by our god, Carnuatu.” Kai shrugs. “That’s not something I can speak to one way or the other, but he is a capable protectorandprovider. Prince Camrael will want for nothing with him.”

I doubt that very much. Something of what I’m thinking must bleed through my blank expression, because Kai smiles ever so slightly at me. “I can see that you feel as strongly for him as he does for you. Never fear, Lord Turo. Prince Camrael will be a treasure to us, prized as much for his mind as his beauty.”

That isn’t as comforting as Kai probably intends it to be. “Treasures are locked away behind closed doors and only see the light when their owners wish to admire them,” I say stiffly. The idea of Cam being made into any sort of “prize” and restricted due to what his husband feels is his own good is…terrifying. It makes me want to grab my blade and start swinging.

“Not in Huridell,” Kai says definitively. “Not when he is the prince’s husband. My city has been closed off for long enough. My prince is hopeful that, with Prince Camrael’s help, they’ll be able to open Huridell up to new ways, new ideas. I have the authority to make this part of the wedding agreement if you like.”

Does he now? The prince clearly has a high degree of trust in this man if he’s given him permission to sign binding contracts in his name. Despite myself, I’m charmed by Kai’s straightforwardness.

I don’t want to be charmed, damn it; I want to loathe this son of a bitch for taking Cam away from me, but… “That might be for the best,” I finally say. The addition won’t make Cam happy, exactly, but it should allay some of his fears.

It does fuck all formyfears, but this isn’t about me. This is about making Cam as content as possible with his upcoming marriage. That means I need to take a step back and make sure that Cam’s fiancé is held up in the best light possible.

I also need to make Kai, and his people, happy. I stand up and signal for one of the guards. “Bring a barrel of the red,” I tell the man.

The guard looks startled. “A barrel? Sir…”

I know where he’s going with this, but honestly, if we don’t start serving these Dellians something stronger, they’ll go through all of the king’s finest vintages before they leave. “I think they can handle it,” I say. “Go.”

The man goes, and I turn to answer Kai’s unspoken question.

“I think you and your men merit a more potent sort of brew,” I say—and ah, now I’ve goteveryDellian’s attention. “If what he’s bringing doesn’t knock you all on your asses, nothing will.”

A ragged but enthusiastic cheer goes up from the men, and I smile despite myself.

Kai raises his glass to me in a toast. “To your health, Lord Turo.”

“And to yours.”

Chapter Eight

Cam

The path to Ophiucas’s cove is free of others. Of course it is—my sister and I are walking the royal route, which is reserved solely for our family and servants, instead of heading to one of the public temples. Turo probably walked this very path last night as he came to pray for Doric.

I wonder what he’s doing right now. I ache to see him, but Gilraen is right—I need to see this through, and that means visiting Ophiucas and asking for a marriage blessing. Our god is always with us and seems to delight in our presence. I can’t remember the times before the everwinds died when he roamed freely beyond Zephyth’s bay, but Gilraen can.

“It was harder in some ways for us, but far better for him,” she’d told me more than once. “Without the everwinds to help whip up a storm to get him out of the bay, Ophiucas is trapped here with barely enough room to stretch out his body before running into the reef. He can find food and answer prayers and show us his love, but it’s not healthy. He ought to be free.”

When I was little, I didn’t understand that last part. Why would our god want to be free of us? Now that I’m facing down a lifetime of duty for a good cause, I commiserate with him way more than I ever did before.

Gilraen leads me into the sandy sea cave no more than ten feet tall that lets us look out into the bay. I can barely make out the shape of Ophiucas in the water—he’s gone as deep as he can today, perhaps feeling overheated from the sun. My heart aches for him. If he were just a little smaller, he would be able to slip out of the bay on his own, but he’s just too big and too heavy to make it without the massive waves that the everwinds used to produce.

My sister kneels, and I follow suit. She pushes her long sleeves back, revealing light-brown skin rarely kissed by the sun, and lowers her arms down until they touch the sand, turning her face to the side. When she starts to sing, her voice echoes from the little cave’s rockyroof. She sings a song of praise and a request for our god’s attention. I don’t join in until the last verse, when I must.

“A blessing for my wedding day, long life, and happiness together come what may.” The words are bitter in my mouth. “Share with me your blessing, I beg of thee.”

For a long moment, there’s no response. The water doesn’t stir, not even a ripple.

Gilraen looks unconcerned, but I’m starting to wonder just what the consequences ofnotgetting a blessing on my impending marriage will have on this betrothal. I’ve got to marrysomeone—my father has made that clear. Would Ophiucas prefer I marry that…that awful…

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