Page 44 of Faeling
There was little sleep to be found that night, marking the second night he went with hardly any rest. His tactician’s mind pored over what they’d done, every word and expression, searching for an answer to what went wrong.
Through the dark hours, he couldn’t pinpoint a precise moment to focus on. The deeper the night became, the more he suspected he should apologize—but for what he didn’t know.
When predawn light began to filter weakly through his bedchamber window, Vallek quit the field. Rising from his bed, he grabbed only a tunic and boots before heading for the door.
A quick glance into the den revealed that Ravenna had at least moved to one of the sofas. His chest ached peculiarly to see what a small lump she made under the coverlet, just the very topof her raven-black head visible against the scarlet fabric of the sofa. The need to hold her, to gently place her on his bed as he had the previous night was a visceral thing, lodging just behind his heart.
Instead, he padded silently across the hall to the door. Not a retreat—a strategic withdrawal for now.
The guards on the other side of the door were surprised to see him, but they were too well trained to do anything but watch on in silence as he slipped the tunic over his head and stepped into his boots. He left them guarding her, quietly descending through the citadel.
No one but the night watch was awake at this early hour, not even the cooks. Vallek had the citadel to himself.
He sat in the basilica as the sun rose, watching how the light crested over the eastern mountains. Morning rays slanted into the basilica, catching on the flecks of pyrite running through the red limestone. The great panels of stained glass cast shafts of colorful light onto the checkered pattern of the flagstones, purples and greens and reds.
It was a dazzling, beautiful display, a reminder of the genius and might of Balmirra and his forebearers.
And it was lost on Vallek.
Regaining his feet, he left the basilica behind, a restless despondency taking root in his chest. He didn’t care for the feeling at all.
His feet brought him to the training yard, and he contented himself with wearing out his body. A few of his berserkers were about by now but all gave him a wide berth, no doubt remembering his fury in the pits.
No matter how hard he beat the straw-stuffed dummies with his wooden practice sword, Vallek couldn’t seem to shake hisdejection.
Is she awake now? Was she disappointed to not find me there—or relieved?
Whackwent his sword against the dummy, old straw bursting from a fraying seam.
His thoughts circled like birds in an updraft, spiraling higher and higher. The harder he beat the dummy, the greater his frustration. Sweat soaked his linen tunic and matted his hair to his skull, but he didn’t want to stop. To stop was to face whatever this was, whatever he did.
But how could he face what he didn’t know?
The sun rose above the citadel wall before Vallek finally stepped away, chest heaving. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he noticed Asta standing off to the side observing him.
Grinning cheekily when she realized he’d seen her, she jogged over to meet him. With her thin sleeveless tunic and loose braid, she wasn’t yet dressed for the day. Still, she took up another practice sword, clacking their weapons together.
“Care for a partner who can fight back?”
He rarely denied Asta; sparring with her was always a delight, for she made an agile opponent, testing his strength and cunning.
And yet, “Not today. I’m in a foul mood.”
Asta hummed, making a show of looking closer at his face. “Yes, you do look pretty haggard.”
Vallek huffed. “You’re not helping.”
“Who said I was?” She grinned again, but when she saw her usual charms weren’t working on him, she sobered. “What is it,breddah?You know you can tell me.”
He didn’t want to. Gods, he didn’t want to admit his own mate had run from him as though he’d struck her rather than pleasured her. His pride was far more battered than the dummy he’d pulverized, and it shrunk away from revealing what a hit it’d taken.
Yet, there was no one else Vallek trusted more than his sisters.
Pressing on the bruise, he admitted under his breath, “She resists me.”
Asta’s brows rose. Looking around the yard to mark the growing number of warriors gathering, she caught his arm to pull him under one of the thatch awnings that provided shade for those training.
“Tell me,” she said, all her boisterousness gone.
