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Chapter 30 Bane

With the dancers swirling through the ballroom, the giggles and loud conversations audible over the music, I wouldn’t have guessed from the sight of merriment that Visca had taken all the legions east and south throughout the night, leaving us undefended.

Did the human nobility not know, or not care? I eyed one of the older human men, Enoch fel Barrick, a man who had lived and fought through the Forian War and knew perfectly well what it meant when a keep was emptied of its guards overnight.

But he held a glass of wine, red-faced and laughing at something Kajarin had said, about two seconds from flinging himself down the front of her bodice. All of the humans were celebrating, taking advantage of the free-flowing wine, dressed in their best and giving no sign whatsoever that anything was amiss.

I wasn’t sure whether to feel happy or irritated about that. Happy because Visca hadn’t wanted to cause a panic, irritated because the threat was most certainly not gone, and if it had been up to me, I would have told my people to light a candle on Bloodrain and say a blessing for their ancestors, and canceled the party altogether.

I ducked under a low-hanging crimson banner and found Wroth in the corner, half-lurking behind a column.

“You didn’t have to come.” I spoke low, knowing he would hear me clearly even over the music and laughter.

His ears twitched backwards, laying flat against his skull. “And miss out on watching my precious wife try to fuck her way through every gentleman in the room?”

I bit my tongue. Reminded myself that I couldn’t interfere with his life or his marriage, that their union was necessary, even if they hated each other.

“My apologies.” Wroth was gruff, his tail lashing.

Once he would’ve been the life of this party, the brightest laughter of all. It felt wrong to find him hovering in the shadows, keeping himself aloof and unseen, seething in hate and bitterness.

“I’ve said all I can say. If you’d rather stay on the wall, the guards remaining won’t say no to another pair of eyes. I would’ve stopped the celebration with Visca gone—for all we know, Hakkon wanted us to send the legions out, leave ourselves open.”

Wroth tipped his head as he watched the dancers swirl past, his eyes bright. “Would it be such a terrible thing if a warg made it in?”

“You don’t mean that, brother.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps I don’t. But somehow, I can’t bring myself to care either way.”

I held back the sigh that wanted to escape.

Nothing you can do, Bane. We all agreed to this. We all knew what it would take. He has another chance in a hundred years, if that. 

I searched the crowd for that bright spark of flame against the crimson banners, and found her. Gliding across the room, her face set in a scowl, in Miro’s arms.

And there it was, the bitterness Wroth felt every minute of every day: jealousy. But unlike Wroth, I could push mine aside, because Cirri was mine and no other’s.

From the look on her face, she was about five seconds away from pushing Miro off a balcony. But I couldn’t deny that they made a striking pair: her lovely fire against his dark shadows. They were like an illustration in a storybook, handsome prince meets lovely princess, and that rather made me want to kill him for it.

I felt Wroth’s gaze touch my face. “Go rescue the girl,” he said roughly. “At least one of us has something to cherish in this life.”

“Things will get better,” I told him, the only thing I could think of, and all he did was snort in response.

Well. I deserved it, I supposed.

I cut straight through the dancers, completely confident that they would spin around me rather than risk touching me, and I was right. Several stumbled to avoid running into me, and I had to hide my smile.

My gaze fixed on the one point in front of me that mattered: the sight of Miro tipping my wife back, the long tail of her complicated braid nearly brushing the ground, and the sight of her clenched jaw.

Miro’s green eyes raised to see me, and he jerked Cirri upright. I fought back a burst of satisfaction at the sight of her fisted hand, but the ancestors knew Wyn would kill me if I allowed a fight to break out in the middle of her celebration.

I wrapped my hand around Cirri’s fist.

“I’m here to rescue you,” I told her, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

Thank you, she said fervently, and she swept a dismissive curtsy to Miro, who gave me a broad grin.

“She’s all yours, my Lord,” he said, and as he pushed through a few dancers to grab a fresh glass of wine from a passing servant’s tray, he raised it to me. “Cheers.”

“What’s he so happy about?” I asked, squinting after him. Miro drained the glass as he lurched towards the humans grouped on the far side of the room.

Cirri’s eyes rolled upwards, but she signed slowly. He’s happy for your patronage of his art. 

I’d paid him in five gold pieces, a fortune to a new artist. With a shrug, I slipped my hands around my wife’s waist, annoyed by the boning in the corset that kept me from flattening my palm to her body. “I suppose I paid well.”

Is it any good? she asked, letting me lead her. She moved well, following my steps, though it was obvious she’d never been trained in formal dancing.

Cirri looked up at me under her eyelashes, and I thought of the terrible mistake the painting had turned out to be.

“A little too good,” I said, clearing my throat, moving carefully so I didn’t crush her toes. “True to life. I can’t say I like the boy much, but he has skill.”

She nodded, her eyes going distant. We swept into the fray of dancers, given a wide berth by all those around us. For several songs we danced in silence, simply… enjoying each other’s company.

What a strange notion, that I enjoyed the presence of the woman who had been thrown into my life by the vagaries of fate. In all my wildest imaginings, holding my bride while we danced had not even been the slightest consideration.

I should not be so hard on Wroth, when I alone had been fortunate enough to land in such a position. Guilt gnawed at me, that I had asked them to give up their lives to my grand idea, and yet I had not suffered the same consequences.

And gods knew… I should have. It was so obvious that I deserved none of this, especially as we swept by the wall of windows, and I saw our reflection there, a twisted mockery of what she and Miro had looked like.

Her, so beautiful, all in red like a rose, but almost overshadowed by my beastly features, my terrible size.

The reflection burned itself into my mind. When I was with her, sometimes I forgot that I wasn’t a man.

My hands, with fingers too long and tipped with claws, cupping her waist. My primeval face. A monster, clutching the beauty close, keeping her caged.

I looked away, trying to erase that image. In the heat of the ballroom, Cirri’s cheeks turned steadily pink, a few drops of sweat at her temples. She waved herself with her hand, bits of hair escaping her braid and curling around her face.

I swept her towards the edge, pulling her from the swirling mass.

“To hell with this. Want some air?” I asked in a near-whisper, and she nodded, giving Wyn a furtive look.

She’ll kill us if we leave early. 

“Then we cannot let her see.”

Cirri looked at me with a half-smile, signing slowly for my benefit. Shall we put one of the drapes over your head? Surely nobody will notice an enormous red lump creeping out.

“If you’re willing to risk her ire by destroying her decorating, I’ll do it.”

She laughed silently. I’m not brave enough to risk it. Let’s run.