Page 71 of Faeling
Please,she mouthed to him. Reaching out with her magic, she gently caressed his face before lowering the phantom touch to his chest. Over his heart.Please. For me.
An interminable moment passed in which Vallek considered—and gave nothing away. She wasn’t sure he would bend, and for a horrible moment, she thought orcish hatred for unicorns might weigh heavier than her word.
Finally, he motioned for her to stand.
She did so cautiously, her knees aching and her lip trembling. She bit it to hide how it quivered.Please please please.
“We will respect Hrothgar’s lands and let the beasts be,” he announced.
“My king…”
“Increase patrols around camp and stay vigilant. We start east tomorrow.” After issuing his orders, Vallek pinned her with a significant look.Andyouwill explain yourself,that look said.
Fine. She could tell him about Oberon, she supposed.
But first, it was time to make her grandmare proud.
After a long,longnight away from his mischievous mate, all Vallek had wanted to do upon returning to camp was find her waiting in a quiet, cool tent. She would open her arms to him, greet him with kisses, and whisper how much she missed him as he eased into the cradle of her body.
Nothing was ever so simple with his sprite, though.
Instead, he came back to word of unicorns and his own mate down on her knees, begging for their lives. Vallek had no intention of starting a feud with a herd of unicorns, especially with a camp full of lives he was responsible for, but he wouldn’t soon forget how Ravenna had gotten down on her knees and pleaded.
He hadn’t…liked it. She didn’t belong on her knees.
Seeing her surrounded by males hadn’t done much for his mood, either.
All in all, it made for a tense dinner that night.
With Hrothgar and his retinue safely back in their city, there was no longer the need for as much pretense. Both Mattias and Ravenna joined him and Ulrich at the table, although thecompany didn’t make for good conversation.
Ulrich listened attentively to Vallek’s account of Innrinhom. He wanted to know everything—the layout of their citadel, the depth of their curtain walls—and Vallek endeavored to tell him. However, his attention never strayed long from his mate.
She still wore her false human face for the benefit of the handful of servants and guards in the tent. She remained quiet throughout the evening, only picking at her meal. Vallek didn’t like it. She needed to eat—their journey was far from over and now came the hard part. The eastern tribes would be far less hospitable than Hrothgar.
She didn’t seem to pay the conversation much attention, her gaze instead flicking now and again to the bowls on the table. Between her fascination with the bowls of food she wasn’t eating and Ulrich doing his best to ignore her very presence at the table, once Vallek concluded his tale of the night in Innrinhom, the conversation lapsed into silence.
Pulling the jar of pickled turnips toward him—a dish only Ulrich enjoyed—the lord commander asked, “And did he say anything about the timber?”
Opening up friendlier relations with Innrinhom and Hrothgar could mean a vast wealth of timber for Balmirra. Although a city of stone, there was plenty they could do with more fine Innrini timber—including building more ships and barges to sail Dyfan Bay.
“Only a mention, but he’s interested,” Vallek confirmed.
“We’ll need to—hrk—” Ulrich choked on his words, bending in half and clutching his stomach. “Forgive me, I—ack—” Face contorted in a grimace, Ulrich panted as his stomach grumbled and groaned ominously. Sweat broke out across his brow, and his face flushed puce.
He stood so quickly, the table and all the dishes rattled. Still clutching at his middle, Ulrich hurried from the tent, and it wasn’t long before they heard the miserable sounds of retching.
“Bad luck,” Ravenna muttered, although not quietly, grinning over the rim of her cup.
The servants and few guards looked amongst themselves and murmured.
Frowning, Vallek reached for the jar of turnips to smell.
Ravenna was quicker. “No no,” she said almost breezily, snatching the jar away. “It’s likely bad.”
Vallek didn’t think pickled turnips could go bad. He narrowed his eyes at his mate, the most animated she’d been all night.
She wouldn’t…
