Marcus awoke in an instant.

His training kept him still and silent, with no change to his breathing. His eyes closed, his other senses provided the information he sought.

He was bound, spread-eagle, but not painfully so. There was a pallet under him, the scent of crushed grass in the air. His jaw throbbed with his pulse.

No sounds of warriors, or horses, no smell of a fire.

He was still armored, not stripped. No sense of the sun, but there was light on his eyelids, so—

“I know you are awake,” came a dear, longed-for voice.

His eyes snapped open, taking in the tent above him, the sides all rolled up. The sun was waning but not yet set, and beside him, beside him—

Liam of the Deer sat crossed legged by Marcus’s feet, two daggers in the grass next to him.

“Marcus,” Liam’s voice and face were stone-cold, but so precious. Marcus looked his fill for a long, sweet moment. Still so handsome, but with new crinkles in the corner of his eyes, and some grey in that long flowing hair. His chest still just as gorgeous, his belly still as taut. A hunger flooded through Marcus, but then steel entered his soul.

Marcus narrowed his eyes and growled, “I told you that if you—”

“Yes,” Liam sighed. “You would take yourself off to the snows. And I will follow behind.”

“What?” Marcus tried his bonds, but the leather straps held his wrists tight. “What do you mean?”

Marcus’s eye widened, taking in the fact that Liam was dressed only in thin white trous.

He glanced around, seeing only grass in every direction.

“Do you remember,” Liam asked. “When you were injured? Burned so horribly that none thought you would live? Keir of the Cat saved you then, his caring and your sheer stubbornness.”

Liam’s eye drilled into his, the bond weaving glittering in his ear. Marcus could not look away from the pain in those eyes.

“Keir brought you back to me,” Liam continued. “I had understood, when you said you would serve him, I had understood when we separated so that you might serve. One last campaign, you said.” Liam drew a deep breath. “Keir brought you to me, and I welcomed you in, and you rejected me. Rejected our bond.”

“To protect you,” Marcus whispered.

“I did not seek protection when we bonded,” Liam said. “I sought forever. I thought we’d found it.”

Marcus looked away. “You had honor and status within the People, and were overdue to take your place on the Council. I did not know if I would survive, and I could not let you throw it away. The fire burned my ear away, and with it, our bond.”

“You never gave me a choice,” Liam snapped. “Never asked. Never listened to one who deserved your first thoughts.”

Marcus snarled, tugging at the bonds. “You wouldn’t have listened.”

“You never gave me the chance,” Liam snarled right back. “So I stayed as a Warlord, offered support to Keir, hungered after any mention of you, even—” Liam snorted. “Even courted the Warprize so that I could learn more.”

Marcus turned his head. Strong fingers brought his head back around as Liam leaned in.

“So I have claimed my prize,” Liam whispered. “You, beloved.”

Marcus jerked his chin up, away from Liam’s touch. “No,” he said. “I told you—”

“I know,” Liam’s voice was in his ear.

Marcus turned his head back, and Liam was there, ready. His lips were dry and soft and the kiss was agony. Marcus closed his eyes and returned it eagerly, like a man drinking from a dry well. Tears streamed down his cheek, and whether they were his or Liam’s didn’t matter so much as the love that—

Liam broke the kiss and cut his bonds.

Marcus blinked at the loss of Liam’s mouth and the sudden freedom of his hands. Liam placed a dagger at Marcus’s side, and then rose to move to his feet, sitting with his back to Marcus.

Marcus stared at his love, outlined by the setting sun.

“If you choose the snows,” Liam’s voice shook. “I will follow. I will not look on you again. The smell of your blood will tell me your choice.”

Marcus sat up, took up the dagger. It felt cold in his hand, the blade sharp. He leaned down, and cut his feet free. “I could leave,” he growled. “Return to the Warlord and the Warprize.”

“Yes,” Liam nodded, not turning his head. “So be it.”

Marcus stood, hesitating. “What will you do?”

“I will go to the snows,” Liam said.

“No,” Marcus growled. “You are needed. Hisself needs you to—”

“No,” Liam said. “If our bonding ended in fire, if you are no longer who you were, I should have done it long ago.” Liam’s back was straight and rigid. “At least I had hope before. If you leave, I have none.”

“You stubborn, stupid man,” Marcus shouted, his hands shaking. “I should kill you now.”

“You already did that,” Liam said. “When you rejected me.”

Pain crashed down on Marcus, the regret, the guilt, everything that he had denied for so very long. He took a step, and then another, and then stopped. “I could not bear that,” he gulped out, closing his one eye against the tears. “I defied the elements to stay alive. I cannot defy you.”

There was movement then. He didn’t dare look. But he could feel the warmth of Liam’s body as he stood next to him. Marcus took a breath of his scent as warm fingers took the dagger from his hand.

“Flame of my heart,” Liam whispered. “Look at me.”

Marcus looked up, blinked against his tears. Liam was looking down, ever so much taller than he, with eyes filled with love.

Marcus reached up then, desperate for the reassurance that he did not deserve.

Liam leaned down, and kissed him, wrapping his arms around him, each losing himself in the other.

Marcus wept, with ugly sobs, wept out the pain of the years, and the desperate feeling of loss. He didn’t deserve this, wasn’t worthy of this warrior’s love. But Liam would not let him go, kept tight hold as he drew them both back down to the pallet, and held Marcus as they both released the anguish within.

It seemed hours later, as the sun was setting, that they both lay naked in each other’s arms. Marcus spoke as the sun reached the horizon and started to slip away. “The Warprize, Lara, she once told me that love never dies.”

“Wise woman, that city-dweller,” Liam said. “For a female.” His hand drifted under the blanket, and Marcus caught his breath. “I prefer other prey,” Liam nuzzled the spot where Marcus’s ear should have been.

Marcus shivered.

“Shall we?” Liam asked.

“Yes,” Marcus whispered. He reached for his beloved. “Yes.”

 

 

Amyu’s challenges made the days fly as fast as airions on the wing.

And that was fast.

“I wonder,” Lightning Storm mused over their nooning. “If there is a way to shield our eyes with power.”

Today’s meal was a thick soup of pig and plants with dark bread. Xyian food tended to be bland, so they’d all added some of the red spice to the meal. Sidian was devouring his bowl. Rhys had decided to try it, and was cautiously dipping bits of bread in the broth. He seemed to like it, but his eyes were watering.

“But the bugs would hit it, right?” Rhys gasped a bit as he talked, and took large droughts of water. “So that’s a problem.”

Amyu smiled. Rhys had absolutely refused to mount an airion, but he was willing to aid them as best he could.

“Amyu, what do you think?” Lightning Strike asked.

Here was one of her challenges. Everyone kept asking her questions she didn’t have answers to, expecting her to guide them. Amyu tried, but she lived in fear that someday they would discover she knew no more than they did. But they turned to her for leadership, and so she did her best. “Thinking about the shield would be distracting,” she thought out loud. “And the wind isn’t that bad. But worth a try.”

The others nodded and started right then and there to fashion shields before their eyes.

One of the warriors that Heath had assigned to aid them slunk closer, offering more bread and kavage. Amyu took more, making sure to thank him with a smile.

There was another challenge. Weaving a pattern between Xyian and the warrior-priests. Or whatever they were now; even Lightning Storm wasn’t sure. Two cultures trying to deal with strange creatures had brought some headaches. Some of the Xyians were none too pleased that they could not ride an airion easily.

Amyu sighed inside. That was really her final challenge. Flying itself. It was dangerous, and wonderful to ride an airion into the clouds. But it wasn’t easy. She glanced over to where her Golden was sleeping. No not easy. But she’d never give up.

The days flashed by. But her nights… Amyu looked toward the south. At night, her thoughts were all for Joden.

Lightning Strike had put down his bowl of soup, and was trying to fashion a cover for his eyes that didn’t glow with power. Amyu joined in the laughter, but then noticed that his bowl was vibrating.

“Lightning Strike?” she pointed. “How much spice did you add to your bowl?”

“Eh?” Lightning Strike looked down and gasped. “Snowfall?”

The soup spilled over, and an image of Snowfall rose from the bowl, wavering, with bits of meat suspended in the fluid.

“Aid me,” Lightning Strike yelped, and two others of the warrior-priests moved to his side. Amyu could see the power flowing and watched as the image grew steadier.

“Lightning Strike,” Snowfall said. She seemed to peer around. “Is Joden of the Hawk with you?”

Amyu jumped to her feet. “Joden?”

The image of the woman turned to face her. “Amyu?” she asked.

“Yes,” Amyu took a step closer. “What is wrong?” she asked, dread filling her chest.

Snowfall frowned. “Joden of the Hawk left us after Keir killed Antas. He told Keir he would be with Essa. Essa has sent a messenger asking where Joden is, for he has not arrived in the Singer’s camp. We’d hoped he was with you.”

Fear flooded through Amyu. He’d been gone long enough—

“Scry the Heart,” she commanded. “Now.”

Warrior-priests scattered to obey,

“You think—” Snowfall’s eyes were wide. “You think he went to the Heart? Alone?”

“I fear—” Amyu cut herself off, and stepped over to Night Cloud’s side. He had an image, bright in the bowl. Amyu leaned in and her heart stopped. “Joden,” she breathed.

“Tell me what you see,” Snowfall demanded.

“Joden is riding toward the Heart,” Amu shifted as others crowded around. “There is a man, dressed only in trous. He is surrounded by…” she trailed off, unsure what she was seeing.

“Odium,” Rhys breathed. Sidian sucked in a breath as Rhys continued, “Those are the undead he has brought back and controls.”

“Undead warrior-priests,” Lightning Strike said grimly. “See? They are shorn of their tattoos.”

“Skies above,” Amyu swore. “That man is an idiot.”

“We cannot reach him,” Snowfall said. “The distance is too far. He goes to his death.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Amyu strapped on her weapons belt. “Night Clouds, pull the image back. Rhys, open a portal.”

“Portal?” Snowfall demanded.

“We will all go,” Lightning Strike stood.

“No,” Amyu turned grim. “We cannot risk all of us. I will go, get him out of there, and we will flee. We cannot leave Xy undefended.”

Lightning Strike stopped, the conflict clear on his face. But he gave her a nod. “I will get you extra lances,” he said and ran off.

“Keir agrees,” Snowfall said. “But how will you—”

Amyu whistled.

Golden lifted his head, and rose up, stretching his wings in the sun.

Snowfall gasped. Other heads were trying to peer from behind her, and voices were raised.

“Lightning Strike will explain,” Amyu said over her shoulder s she grabbed up her saddle. “I need to go.”

“Will Golden fly through a portal?” Rhys asked.

“We’ll find out.” Amyu called as she raced to her airion. Heart pounding, she threw on the saddle and forced herself to slow her shaking hands.

“I’m coming, beloved,” she whispered. “And if it’s to both our deaths, at least I will be at your side.”