Page 130 of A Brat's Tale
He relaxes, crawling up the bed to lounge beside me. I pick up one of his large hands and smoothen a thumb over the crease between his wrist and hand, palm-side down. “I want a tattoo here.”
“Oh? What would you like me to get?”
“The Markaytian dragon, like on my chest.” In fact, I want one on each of them. I own them as much as they own me.
“Possessive are we?”
“And if I am?”
“You are in good company. I’ll have it done tomorrow.”
“Good and now I’m sleeping.”
“Because you make the rules now?”
“No, because you’ve exhausted the fuck out of me, and you know better than to run me into the ground or Corrik will be furious.”
He laughs. “I know better than that for more than because of Corrik, but it’s true. You’re staying here then?”
“Mmmmhhmmh,” I mumble closing my eyes.
He wraps me in his arms, nuzzling into my hair and my neck. “Sleep, Tristan.”
And I do.
Corrik will be home today, or heshouldif all went well. Alrik was annoyed with my buzzing around the palace, more specifically buzzing around him and he sent me out to the marketplace. “Go wait for him down there where you won’t bother me.”
I’m glad to be away from him when he’s grouchy like he is, even if I know it’s only because he’s worried too—he just expresses it differently than I do. I pull on my cloak so I can hide my face, preferring not to take a guard into the marketplace, and wait in the shadows until I see the entourage pull in. Corrik is one of the leads, just behind a few of Zelphar’s warriors.
Corrik’s eyes are stuck wide like he’s seen too much. There’s blood smeared across his face and soaking his clothes. A quick assessment tells me it’s not his blood and I sag, relieved, and able to rejoice in Corrik’s homecoming.
I love all my men, but there’s an unnamable thing between Corrik and I that pierces me unlike the others. The other two keep me grounded, Corrik moves me. Sometimes a plot has to force us into action, Corrik is my plot but also my story. I would never have chosen this life as the person I was before; Ihadto be pushed into it and I had to have a guide. I’m eternally grateful Corrik came to steal me away. I am a new person and the same, oddly. I’ve become more of my own person than I ever would have at home in Markaytia and it’s because of Corrik. No, I’m not officially Warlord (even though many still refuse to call me anything else), but I’m needed here, I feel it. I don’t know what that looks like yet, I just know it’s big and it’s coming.
But it’s Corrik I’ll look to first before the others, and that is the way it will always be. I can’t have the rest without Corrik. Somehow, he makes the other two in my life make sense.
I race out to him and when the guard sees it’s me, they allow me to hop onto the back of Corrik’s horse. “Tristan,” he sighs. I squeeze and inhale him at the same time, feeling like I’m home now even though I’ve been ‘home’ the whole time. “I’m full of blood.”
“I don’t care. Never leave me again.”
“It is never my choice to leave you. I expect you to be ready to travel with me next time.”
“Is something wrong, Corrik?” He feels all wrong. Happy to see me but concerned.
“Ditira was badly injured.” My heart clenches. “She is still alive, but we need to get her to the Healing Center now.”
I nod. “I’m coming with you.” Diekin’s going to be beside himself. He was needed here and not permitted to join them either.
The rest of the Elven entourage rolls in and they are carting someone in on a stretcher.Ditira.I can’t look. I look forward to where the Healing Center is, to where we’re headed. When we arrive, we watch as they bring her in. Corrik jumps off his horse pulling me into his arms for comfort. Ditira is his twin. He must be going through a range of emotions.
“Corrik, what happened? From what I was told, it sounded as though all was well, and that the trip home would be easy.”
“Yes, we were,” he says, “and I’ll tell you all about it, but I have to do this first.” He tilts my chin up and our lips meet. He’s gentle when his tongue drifts into my mouth entwining with mine; he takes his time, savoring me and I go lax allowing his tenderness.
Because even though it’s an affectionate kiss, Corrik is in charge of it, putting the stamp of ownership into it, claiming me as his once again, always, and forever. “There. Better. I’ve missed you, my darling.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
He tucks my hair behind my tall ear, as he does. “You were right Tristan. The Aldrien Elves did not create the witch wyrms. We should have listened to you. We were ambushed days ago by creatures none of us have ever seen before. Creatures that were undead. These could not have been created by an Elf.”
