Page 258 of A Dance of Water

The air was wet and thick, and among the scent of trees and petrichor, he found himself ensconced in the illusion of privacy. "Yes, darling?"

She blinked up at him. "Was it real?"

His hands hovered by her shoulders. He had to be careful. The only thing keeping the storm from raging was her, and her control could snap in the span of two pain-tinged inhales.

"You’re in no state to hear of this now. Let me hold you. You need to sleep. We will be at the castle soon," he lied—they werehalfway there, but she didn’t need to know how much more of their journey loomed. He switched the hold on his reins to one hand, cupping her pale cheek. "How do you feel?"

"Better?" She leaned into his touch, a soft sigh leaving her. The delicate feathers on the tips of her wings fluttered, making her breath stutter. Her small body shook against him. "M-maybe not."

He raged with anger at her pain.

How could Vale keep her safe from something he did not understand? Wings were Graves’s domain. Not his.

"Try not to move." Vale’s attention was stolen by Azgorath ahead. The demon jumped off his horse, using his bare hands to remove a tree trunk from where it had fallen in the path.

In a brief moment of lucidity, Luella whispered, "I cannot… focus with the p-pain. Talk to me… distract me."

Vale felt a pull of curiosity. "What do you wish for me to speak of?"

"The Solstice." Luella exhaled raggedly, mouth a pinched line. "The traditions… the trials. Where did such cruelty come from?"

Of course, she would ask him of this. Wounds better left to fester, untouched, but she plucked at the edges with her delicate fingertips.

But the sight of her, trembling against him with waves of pain, tugged at his soul. Loosened his tongue. Made him weak.

Ours,hissed the dragon.

And Vale agreed.

"My grandfather. He was a…" Vale licked his lips, staring out into the thick greenery before them, cast in shadows from the cover of clouds. "He was a bad male. He enjoyed hurting others, females especially. To him, there was no greater joy than preying on weaknesses, turning it into a spectacle. When he was King, that wascenturiesago. And when my father killed him"—Luella jolted against Vale—"he decided to keep up with tradition. Until I killed him."

Her cheek rubbed against his chest. "You k-killed your father?"

"Yes. To save someone I… someone I once cared for." He had torn the heart out of his father to free Caliban from his slavery in the pleasure houses.

"Oh," she breathed.

Vale didn’t want to look at her and see pity, so he continued:

"Serpentis needed a cruel King. When I took the crown, I vowed to rule with a fist of iron, like my father and grandfather." And he loathed himself for it.

"You don’t like the traditions," she whispered against him.

Vale kept himself as still as possible as his horse maneuvered through a small, shallow stream, ice cracking. "The Winter Solstice—and Summer Solstice—used to be a celebration rooted in worship of the gods. During this time, Vincire had grown scarce. Everyone started to fear what an existence without Vincire would be like… Worshipping with our bodies became a way to beg for their return. And to offer up the one thing the gods so freely relished in—pleasure. But my grandfather twisted the meaning. It was never supposed to be like this."

Vale’s words grew soft at the end, as he recounted sneaking into the library as a youngling, reading hidden histories filled with the truth of their worship, something to be celebrated by the masses, instead of shouldered alone.

As he spoke, he realized Luella had fallen asleep.

Good. She didn’t need such horrors to follow into her dreams. He stared down at her sleeping face, lashes casting shadows over her pale cheeks. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, watching as her wings fluttered sluggishly at her back.

Luella was haunted enough.

78

A STORM IS COMING

BASTIAN

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