Page 43 of The Hurricane Wars

There were times when the Voidfell flared so intensely that the whole sky was set aflame, and it filled her with apprehension. It wasn’tnormalfor a nexus point to blaze that brightly from so far off. People at court assured her that there was no need to worry, that it was simply the way of the Voidfell. A part of her remained unconvinced, but she chalked it up to the general sense of not having yet found her footing in this wild land.

She wondered just how big the Void Sever was, to be visible not only from Eskaya but sometimes from the Sardovian Coast as well.The Fisherman’s Warning,Khaede had called it. Once every thousand years.

Thinking about Khaede made Talasyn’s chest hurt. Khaede hadn’t snuck into Nenavar with any of the convoys, and no one could remember seeing her during the Allfold’s retreat from Lasthaven.

It had been months. Khaede was either dead or languishing in a Night Empire prison. And Talasyn was about to marry the man responsible for either scenario.

“Itisyou, after all.”

Like clockwork,Talasyn thought sourly. As though she’d summoned him, because her luck was clearly justthatabysmal as of late.

The distant Void Sever quieted as she turned to the source of those deep tones, rich like wine and oak. Only moonbeams and stardust illuminated Alaric’s sharp, pale features. The austerely cut black garb that he favored didn’t seem so out of place in Nenavar now that it was evening. He was spun from the shadows, a very extension of the night. His gloomy presence contrasted with his surroundings, a backdrop of orchids in all shapes and colors—some as frothy and white as seafoam, some as red and riotous as forest fire, some with speckled flute-shaped petals, and some iridescent like butterfly wings. Every flower released sighs of cool fragrance into the tropical night.

It would have been an idyllic scene if they were any other two people in the world. As it was, however, Talasyn felt all that old familiar anger rising up while Alaric took in the sight of the smock and breeches she had dearly cherished changing into after a long day at court, her face scrubbed clean and her hair tugged into its usual braid.

“And here I was harboring the faint suspicion that the Nenavarene were foisting some other girl off on me,” he continued. “You clean up very well, Your Grace.”

“What the hell are you doing in my garden?” Talasyn demanded.

“Ask whoever thought it would be a good idea to put me in the suite directly across from yours.” A smirk danced across Alaric’s full lips. “Also, it would technically beourgarden after the wedding, wouldn’t it?”

He stepped forward, a man made of moonlight, bearing the undereye circles of someone unable to sleep. She’d been this close to him before, and even closer still, but always in the heat of battle, where there was no space to notice such things. He wasn’t wearing his usual leather gauntlets, and for some reason that thought leapt out at her—that she was seeing his hands for the first time. They were neatly kept, and so much larger than hers.

“Tell me,” he said, “how does the Lachis’ka of the Nenavar Dominion wind up a helmsman in the Sardovian regiments?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Talasyn scoffed.

The barest hint of annoyance flickered over his face. “Perhaps you are unaware, but it is inadvisable for husbands and wives to keep secrets from each other. Quite a few marriages have come to grief because of such a thing.”

She nearly took the bait. Nearly screeched at him,I don’twantto marry you, you absolute dolt!However, she remembered what her tutors had said and her grandmother always exemplified, that losing one’s composure was as good as losing an argument. “The betrothal hasn’t even been finalized,” she managed to serenely point out. “But with all this talk of being husband and wife andourgarden, I’m glad that you’re excited. That makes one of us, at least.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to profess myselfexcited, but Iamlooking forward to peacefully welcoming the Nenavar Dominion into the Night Empire’s fold.”

“What would the Master of the Shadowforged Legion know of peace?” Talasyn challenged.

“Certainly more than the girl who looks like she would happily strangle me for asking a simple question,” Alaric retorted.

“I don’t—” She stopped, taking another deep, calming breath. At this rate, they would end up coming to blows and the treaty would be as good as null. She decided to change the topic by answering his question. “Civil war broke out when I was a year old,” she said, unable to keep the ice from her tone. “I was supposed to be evacuated to my mother’s homeland—she was the Lightweaver—but something happened. I don’t remember what. I ended up in Sardovia, instead.” She tossed back her head, deciding that it was high timeshewas the one asking questions. “And how does the heir to the Night Empire ascend to the throne when his father is still alive?”

Alaric didn’t hesitate; his answer clearly practiced. “Regent Gaheris is getting on in years. He elected to take on a less involved approach while he is still capable of enjoying the fruits of his labor.”

Talasyn didn’t believethatfor a second—or, rather, she didn’t believe that there wasn’t anything more to it. Before she could quiz him further, though, Alaric suddenly turned himself directly toward her, capturing her in another one of his penetrating stares. His eyes were enigmatic, and as he bent his chin lower, his wavy black hair caught the moons’ glow, a shadow rimmed in silver.

“I was seven when the Nenavarene civil war took place,” he said at last, as mildly as though he were commenting on the state of the weather.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she snapped.

“You’re very young.” The corner of his lip ticked upward, as if he was enjoying a private joke at her expense.

“Perhaps that’s why I keep besting you in combat,” she huffed. “Because you’re old and slow.”

One moment she was standing a couple of feet across from him; the next, she was backed up against the very edge of the pool, one wrong move away from falling into it, and Alaric was all that she could see, the expanse of his broad shoulders, the dark of his pupils wide in the radiant night, the constellation of beauty marks on his pale skin. One of his large hands circled around her to press into the small of her back, holding her upright in a mockery of an embrace, and her own fingers flew to grasp at his shirtfront—a bid for either self-preservation or vengeance, she wasn’t quite sure yet. If she ended up going for a midnight swim, then she was taking him with her.

“Haven’t you learned to respect your elders, my lady?” It was obviously meant as a caustic quip, but his voice was too low. He said it too close to her ear.

“Do you mean to push me into the water, then?” she inquiredwith as much dignity as she could muster, tightening her grip on his shirt.

“Who said anything about pushing? All I have to do is let you go.” His bare fingers stirred at the base of her spine, the pressure burning and sparking through the fabric of her thin smock that separated her skin from his.

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