Page 205 of Golden Queen
I could hardly focus my mind to answer him and was altogether unwilling to admit the turn of my thoughts as he held me still.
"Just that I love you," I said, and there was no lie in it. It was all I had been thinking since the rest was born of that love, wholly and completely.
"I love you more," he said, raising me up so that he could flip me back onto the mattress.
I wrapped my legs around him as he thrust into me, sure, powerful strokes that had me nearly panting with the raw tension winding inside me.
And when we both reached release together, and he spilled himself inside me, some selfish part of me willed it to be that he would put that child inside me regardless of the looming threats—the war, the prophecy, and the monsters that now seemed to always be stalking the periphery of my mind.
I wanted it unreasonably and irresponsibly so. And I realized I must have always had this reckless streak hidden inside me since I had never once considered taking the steps necessary to prevent pregnancy—not from the very beginning. And neither had he.
Thirty-Four
When my courses came the following day, a little later than they normally would have, they came with a dull ache of loss that I couldn’t account for.
I felt unreasonably like someone had taken something from me, and when Io found me in the bathing chamber with tears in my eyes, I told him I was simply emotional. Everyone knew how unreasonably emotional women could get during their monthly cycle.
I wasn't sure he believed the lie as we once again flew to the Citadel, but he went out of his way to be thoughtful, asking me if I was in pain or any discomfort.
"I can relieve any pain you have, Sera," he whispered as we once again sat in the forge while Pettal wrapped a braided strand of what looked like horse hair around my now bare-gray mellitrium cuffs. The gold had melted away entirely. Little puddles of it still stuck to the anvil under my hands.
"I'm fine," I told him, and it was true. I was not experiencing any of the dull, knife-like cramps that usually came with my courses. I leaned back into his solid chest behind me and tried to force away some of the irritation I felt.
Of course, I knew much of my ire came directly from my cycle. I was always maudlin and morose, on the verge of hostility for those couple of days of the month, but I would rarely admit that out loud when so much of a woman's righteous indignation had always been blamed on her hysterical womb.
When the master armorer was ready to begin, Io laid his hands on my forearms. A faint glow emanated from his palms as he allowed his golden fire to seep through my skin with the shield he placed around me. It had the effect of unwinding all the twisted parts until I was nearly sighing with relief.
That relief of tension was short lived, though, as everything the armorer tried failed again and again.
The horse hair had looked promising as the master armorer once again uttered the conflagrium spell. It burned away spectacularly bright, leaving long score marks in the mellitrium. But the marks had done nothing to compromise the integrity of the metal.
After several more attempts only left successive marks in the surface, Pettal called it another failure and gave up. "Do not fear, Your Majesty," shetold me brightly as we once again made to leave the forge, defeated. "Atlas is already flying here from Morgus Grund. He will have them off you in a heartbeat."
At my look of confusion, the sweet-faced armorer explained that Atlas was the most talented smith mage in the world. They had sent a dragon to fetch him from the Vildsphers the moment their first spell failed.
"He will get them off, I have no doubt!" One of the other smiths or armorers put in.
"Indeed, indeed, even if the necromancer bound the cuffs with his own life force, as we suspect, Atlas will be able to sever it with half a thought."
I pasted on my most appreciative smile and clasped Pettal's hands warmly before we left. She was kind and absolutely beside herself with disappointment at her failure. I hated to make her feel even worse with my ill-temper. "Thank you, Pettal. I know you are doing everything you can."
When we reached the mountain palace, Jhol and a tall, severe looking dragon rider were waiting for us on the ridge.
They went into Io's study, and my irritation ratcheted up several notches at the way they blatantly excluded me from whatever information they had that made their faces look so gods damned serious.
I paced our room for several long minutes, and then since I still had very few clothes to choose from and didn't want to get them sweaty, I irritably dressed in my old ones—now freshly laundered—and took Sangui to the training yard.
I was already stretching, letting my muscles lengthen as I moved through the long series of chambers.
When I reached the spacious training room, I found it empty. I checked the ridge to be sure I was completely alone, and then I kicked my boots off. They were heavy and nothing like the thin boots I usually favored for training.
I pulled my sword from her scabbard. The metal ringing that filled my ears as she slid free of her sheath was electrifying.
I tested the blade's weight again in my hand. It was perfectly balanced and fit in my hand in a way that I didn't think even a master smith could have done without some input from me—and several trials.
I wondered at what magic Vulcan must have used in the forging of such a weapon—to make something so perfect for me sight unseen.
I swung Sangui, letting my wrist arc around as the blade cut through the air. I turned, my arm following the strike through as I imagined a foe in front of me, my sword slicing his head off.
