“How do we know they haven’t drawn us away from camp and aren’t even now-”
“Do you doubt Roland’s ability to defend?” Rom snapped.
Javan corrected himself quickly. “Never.”
“I thought not.”
But truth be told, Rom didn’t know how long they could wait. If she wasn’t here in the next hour or two, he would have to assume she wasn’t coming. Was the Maker determined to see every leg kicked out from beneath them?
He cursed under his breath and started toward his horse. The whistle came then.
Rom snapped his head up and saw Telvin riding down the hill at breakneck speed gesturing toward the southern horizon.
Two riders had rounded the hip of the hill, both in dark leathers. One of them riding a gray stallion. The scent came, faint on the wind. Dark Blood.
Rom’s pulse surged.
He could make them out clearly: one man, broad through the shoulders on a horse larger than the other. Riding beside him… Feyn. The tilt of her chin, the dark braid over her shoulder, the gloved hands holding the reins unmistakable.
She had come. Thank the Maker, she had come.
Telvin pulled his mount up and dismounted on the fly. “You see them.”
“Yes. Stand by, Javan. No aggression, either of you.”
Rom paced, arms crossed, as Feyn and her guard made their way up through the valley with no apparent hurry. Now he could just detect the scent of slight fear. Wariness, on the part of the Dark Blood. Of something else- curiosity. And another scent that he could not place at all.
At fifty paces off, Feyn held back, allowing her escort to approach alone. Javan spat to one side, a common reaction to stench among Nomads. Telvin, to his credit, held his ground, unmoving.
The Dark Blood pulled up, studied them for a moment, then nodded. “You’re one man more.”
“We didn’t know how many to expect,” Rom said.
“Send one of your men back.”
“Javan. Leave us.”
The Nomad stared at him. Clearly he thought himself more qualified to stay. But to his credit, he said nothing, even as he glared at the Dark Blood, walked to his horse, mounted, and wheeled it round.
He would join three other scouts who watched for the inevitable sign of the other Dark Bloods who undoubtedly circled nearby-Saric was no fool and neither was Rom.
“Satisfied?”
“You’ll talk in the open,” the Dark Blood said.
“Of course. Alone.”
The man narrowed his eyes.
“What is your name?” Rom said.
The Dark Blood hesitated. “Janus,” he said.
“Then hear me, Janus. The Sovereign has come as surety for an exchange. Neither of us will leave your sight.”
He seemed to weigh that, glancing back at Feyn, who gave him a slight nod.
The warrior turned back. “You will leave your horses with me and remain this side of the boulders.” He glanced north, where the valley began its bottleneck.
“I will leave my horse with you and my man, Telvin. We will remain in the valley.”
The man nodded and nudged his horse toward the bank where Telvin held both his and Rom’s mounts. Feyn waited until her escort had stopped and turned back, ten paces from Talvin. Evidently satisfied, she walked her horse slowly forward.
Dark veins beneath her skin traced her neck and along her cheek like faint claws beneath the diffused daylight. Fathomless eyes watched him like peat-filled pools, unable to reflect the light of the sun. She wore no jewelry, only a leather riding coat and tunic, leather pants and boots.
She slipped her foot from the stirrup, swung gracefully from the saddle. Her escort whistled and the horse headed toward the bank, as well trained as any Nomadic mount. Their enemy seemed more refined than Rom would have guessed.
The smell of death, offensive as rancid meat, thickened in his nostrils as Feyn closed the distance between them. She was undeniably Dark Blood.
And still utterly majestic.
“I was told it would be the Nomadic Prince, Roland,” she said.
“A change of plans. I only ask that you hear me out.”
“This was only a ploy to bring me out. Why?”
“You have nothing to worry about, I assure you.”
Her gaze flitted past him, quickly scanned the hills beyond, then settled back on him. She began pulling off her gloves. The bulky ring of her office looked large on such slender fingers.
“Very well, Rom Sebastian. Here we are. Say what you must say.”
Rom settled to one knee and dipped his head before looking up. “Thank you, my Lady.”
She considered him with frank appraisal and a hint of amusement. “Do we lean on ceremony, then, even here?”
He gave a slight smile and took the hand she extended. As was customary, he kissed her ring, cold against his lips.
“I show respect where it is due,” he said.
“The first time I laid eyes on you, you came to my chamber and kidnapped me. And now you kiss my fingers,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “Have you become a man of respect?”
“I was always a man of respect, but you know that already.”
Rom pushed himself to his feet. During the nine years of Feyn’s stasis, Rom’s shoulders and legs had hardened from hours in the saddle, from the hunt and endless training. He’d noted the squint of the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and the slight thickening of his eyebrows.
But Feyn was as tall and slender as she’d been a lifetime ago. Though nine years older, she hadn’t aged. She might have been the same woman that he’d known when he was twenty-four.
Might have been.
But then there were those eyes. And the dark veins that flowed with a new blood.
“No more formalities. You obviously went to a lot of trouble to get me out here. Let’s not waste time.”
“Fair enough.” He glanced at his man who could undoubtedly hear them if he chose to listen, despite the distance. “Walk with me.”
She walked toward the canyon beside him with a deliberate step, and he was suddenly uncertain of how to begin. Feyn cut the awkward silence first.
“This request for a law to protect Mortals was always a sham.”
“Not necessarily, no. As a fallback, I would press for it.”
“You have no intention of giving up the boy.”
So. Right to the point. But he’d known she’d assume as much the moment she saw that Roland hadn’t come as indicated to Saric. They might have been persuaded that the Nomad Prince would betray Jonathan, but never him.
“No.”
“Then don’t go through the pretense of entertaining or courting me. Say what it is you want.”
He walked on in silence, choosing his words carefully before speaking. Clearly, this was going to be a difficult task.
“Well?”
“I want to see what we began nine years ago through to the end. Only you have the power to do that, Feyn.”
