Page 18 of Boundless
LEN
IT WASagonizing, being so close to his new wife yet being unable to touch her. They only had three days of freedom before they'd have to begin attending meetings and everything else involved with taking up their mantles of leadership. What, in the name of the gods, had he been thinking when he'd suggested this ruse? All he wanted was to sit close to her, to touch her while they spoke softly like they had last night.
And now she was hurt, and it was driving him mad.
But he could still talk freely with everyone; being seen with his in-laws wouldn’t rouse suspicion. He’d been told several times in the weeks leading up to his wedding that he would be expected to spend some time with them before they returned to the camps in order to shore up diplomatic relations. And there was no denying that spending time with his new in-laws was deeply satisfying all on its own, evenfun. Gayeh was quietest, despite being the matriarch of both the family and the horde as a whole, but her silent presence was warm and inviting; it was never awkward or strange to be sitting quietly beside her while Kevothaen entertained them with one of his seemingly endless stories. Len never felt like he was expected to fill the silence, and wasn'tthatrefreshing?
But it was Sercha he felt the most immediate connection with. She was a scholar like himself, and though her failing sight meant she couldn't read in the sense he was used to, her younger sister and her mother were happy to read to her, and there were fascinating books she'd brought with her from their home that weren't printed with ink, but were instead embossed with spreads of dots that apparently formed words just like traditional books. He'd never heard of such a thing, but he immediately saw its worth and asked if he could borrow one to show to the minister of education—there were bound to be elves in his realm that were in Sercha's position and would benefit from this technology.
He and Sercha had spent quite some time arguing about the philosophy of Burren Vort, a human hailing from Drakanfort to the south some two-hundred years ago. In particular, Sercha had had several interesting points about his account of the Sabbarathian-Ba’Thell wars and how their mirrored the conflict between the elves and the Istarii Drakan in a lot of ways.
“I agree with Vort’s theory that Sabbarath purposely razed the Ba’Thell knowledge capitol,” Sercha said, her wings shivering with feeling over her shoulders. “The winners in history desire to control the narrative, and if there’s only information left from one side, then their progeny have no choice but to believe those records.”
“Certainly,” he allowed, rubbing his chin in thought. “But they a-admit freely to other equally u-under-handed tactics being employed at the time. That’s why they’re s-so strictly neutral now, to a-avoid repeating the past. Surely if i-it had been an intentional move they wouldn’t be hiding it.”
Sercha shrugged, leaning back on her arms. “Perhaps. But what about the lost accounts that Vorst witnessed? The spoken stories that he heard when visiting those remote villages in Ba’Thell? They all claim it was tactical, despite several being totally isolated from the others.”
Len frowned, thinking. “But are s-spoken accounts even reliable?”
Sercha snorted, rolling her rheumy eyes. “Oh come on, brother.Anyrecord can be altered or fabricated. Just because a thing is written down doesn’t mean it’s automatically more true and honest than something passed down from person to person.”
He had to admit she had a lot of good points, and he appreciated that her sharing them with him meant his appreciation for Vorst deepened considerably, even if it also chafed. He glanced aside and noticed Daega watching them with tender affection from her spot on the other blanket. His belly warmed and his skin tingled, and the smile that tugged at his lips was impossible to suppress.
They were terrible at this ruse, and he was tempted to give it up and just do as they pleased, but his conversation with his father kept replaying, his cold words knifing through his ribs. He picked at it in the back of his mind throughout the entire rest of the picnic.
What was Haedelon’s game? Why in the names of all the gods was he upset about Len’s arranged marriage working out better than expected? There was a small possibility that the elf king was saying these things out of genuine concern for his son; was that why he’d cautioned Len against trusting his new bride? But that fear was moored in ancient prejudice and based on incorrect stereotypes. Surely anyone who spent any significant time with the Istarii Drakan—like his father, who’d been in talks with them for years—would see how false their perceptions of them were? Elves prided themselves on their rationality and level-headedness. They worked with facts, and the fact that they’d judged the Istariin people too harshly was plain as day.
"How was it with my family?" Daega asked as they returned to their room to change for dinner.
"Lovely," he said without hesitation, not bothering to hide his soft smile. "Sercha has such a quick m-mind and has read so much m-more than I would have expected someone her age to h-have read. And your father—your father is a-ariot. He has a story for everything, and n-no matter how mundane it is h-he manages to make it enchanting." He pulled a pot of cream from a cabinet in the bathroom and instructed Daega to sit in one of the plush armchairs. He opened the little pot and dug out a dollop of the healing cream with a finger. He gently spread it over the cut on her cheek, then lifted her chin with one of his clean fingers so he could rub the ointment into the bruise that had mottled her lovely gray skin. Despite what he’d been telling Daega, hewasfeeling a little faint, and didn’t want to risk pushing himself too far by healing her with his magic; but he sorely wished he could.
He kissed her when he was done, giddy that he could do that, that he was evenencouragedto press his lips to hers oh-so-casually whenever they were alone and the urge struck. "There, th-that will help soothe the w-wounds and speed the healing along."
"You didn't have to do that, sweetling," she said softly, looking up at him with an expression he couldn't figure out. "But thank you."
He flushed, screwing the cap back on the pot and cleaning his finger with a handkerchief. "I assure you, I-I did. It was bothering me, that I c-couldn't do anything to help."
Her hands gripped his hips, urging him a little closer. "You are sweetness itself, husband. It...it's been a while since someone has tended me so well."
He frowned, cupping her uninjured cheek and rubbing her arm slowly. "Not even y-your family?"
"Aye." She winced. "Though I'll admit that's my own fault. With the war weighing on Mum and Da, and three younger sisters to care for, I sort of...hid my struggles from them. To ease their own burdens."
"Don't do that with me," he ordered, his hands beginning to knead at her shoulders—tense shoulders, he noted. "I know I'm—I'm weak, but I w-want this to be a partnership. I want us to be friends, l-like you said. And f-friends and partners both lean on each other, do they n-not?"
She looked up into his face, hers twisted with pain.
He loosed a kind of grunt of alarm, throwing his arms around her neck. "I'm sorry, I didn't m-mean to upset you, Dae. I-I'm sorry."
She buried her face in the curve of his neck, her arms clutching his back. "You didn't upset me," she said into his throat, her voice muffled. "I don't know why it hurts, but that was—that wasgood, Len. I promise." She chuckled, pulling back to look at his face again, her eyes no longer threatening to spill tears. "You have such a way with words. You take such good care of me, even though we only just met yesterday."
He preened under her praise, his ears going hot. "Y-you make it easy, my lady-wife," he admitted in a rough whisper. He brushed his knuckles over her elegant cheekbones and she leaned into his touch, turning her head to press a kiss to his hand.
"And you make it difficult to pretend I don't like you outside these walls, husband."
He groaned, sinking into the chair beside hers. "Iknow. I feel like we c-can't possibly be fooling anyone."
She grinned at him, settling more comfortably into her chair and picking at a loose thread in the upholstery. "Hopefully no one has been paying much attention, yet. We'll have to try and keep our hands off each other tonight long enough to strategize, aye?"
