The slight lift of his lips on one side shows Vanni’s amusement at my words. They are not meant to be amusing.
“And yet,” I continue, “I told you a most treasured secret, one I have little right to tell.”
“Because you realized I knew it already.”
I shift on the hard rock, bothered less by the discomfort—I’ve sat on this very stone for hours and hours—than by Vanni’s ever-present gaze. Desire, I know, is both natural and necessary. Even so, I’ve never felt more than a twinge of it before.
Yet now, without herbs or stones or words of encouragement or any of the other enticements we use, my body screams for his touch. The longer he looks at me so, the more I wish for it.
“Perhaps.”
“Very well.” He looks out at the increasingly turbulent sea. “You’ll learn soon enough of the events unfolding in the south. Your honesty for my own.”
He sits up and leans slightly toward me. We aren’t touching, but it wouldn’t take much to change that—he need only move slightly forward.
“You know of the fighting along the borders?”
I nod. “Of course.”
Though the Terese River has separated Edingham from Meria since the Treaty of Loigh, formed nearly thirty years after the two kingdoms split, it does little to quell the unrest that has plagued the borders.
“And of the attack on Saitford?”
News of the border town’s trouble has reached us. Although violence along the Meria-Edingham border is not a new occurrence. “Aye.”
Murwood might lie on the north side of the Loigh Mountains, apart from either kingdom, but ships bring not only cargo but news. We know much of what happens in both Meria and Edingham.
“They say a Highlander set fire to it,” I say, “killing a mother and her children in the blaze.”
Vanni is no longer smiling. “More than one mother and her child. The fire, set in the dead of night, claimed nearly half of those who lived in Saitford.”
I shudder, thankful we see little fighting along our shores.
“King Galfrid mounted a retaliatory attack on Edingham.”
“An occurrence as old as the split between the kingdoms.”
He frowns. “This would have seen more than two hundred of his best soldiers near Galmouth Bay.”
Despite myself, I’m drawn in. I’ve not heard of such a sizable attack.
“Would have seen?”
Because I am trained to see emotions more than most, I can already tell Vanni is preparing to share something extremely painful to him.
“A new ship, its captain one of the most renowned in Meria, was commissioned. But it sank not long after leaving the shore.”
A fluttering in my belly intensifies.
“The king’s son was among those who perished. The Prince of Meria is dead.”
My hand rushes to cover my mouth. A quick calculation tells me precisely why Vanni is here. I know of the king’s nephew, whose reputation is as bleak as his father’s. Even those who dislike King Galfrid acknowledge he’s a far better man than his brother. Whereas words like “fair” and “honorable” are used to describe the king, his nephew is known for being treacherous and cruel. Capricious. It’s little wonder the king is so anxious to avoid naming him successor. Which brings me to my next question.
“Is the king prepared to recognize Kipp as his successor?”
My guess is met with a nod. “Aye.”
“He will not do it.” Blurted before I can think better of it, my words don’t seem to surprise Vanni at all.
“I’m told he cares little for his father.”
“For the man who abandoned him and his mother?” I ask. “Nay, he does not.”
“Galfrid loved Aldwine’s mother, and the queen knew it well. She would never have allowed her to remain in d’Almerita. He sent her away with coin and protection. And has not failed in all these years to ensure his well-being.”
“Lord Hinton will be your next king,” I say. It is not a question. Kipp has heard all of those arguments before. None will sway his thinking.
“He cannot be.”
I agree, such a state is not desirable for Meria. Or, truly, for any of us. But Kipp is as stubborn as the king is purported to be. He will never agree to meet with the man, let alone take his crown.
“You’ve been sent on a fool’s errand.”
“Perhaps.”
We fall silent. As Vanni admires the looming Cliffs of Murh, I admire his profile, his strong jaw, now clenched in frustration.
“You visited my father this morn. Why?”
He turns back to me. “Your second question?”
“Perhaps.”
“To appease my curiosity.”
“About me?”
“Aye.”
He is a nobleman. A king’s man. A Southerner. Even so, I feel myself being drawn to him. His openness today only makes him more appealing.
“I’ve not met a woman like you before, Aedre.”
His words do little to calm my rapidly beating heart.
“A Garra?”
“Nay. A woman. Garra or no.”
How easy it would be to let myself be charmed by him. Fooled into trusting where I shouldn’t. I look to the dark, roiling sky.
“We should go.”
My words come too late. Two small drops appear on the rock in front of us. We stand as more appear. By the time we climb over the rocks, drops have begun to fall in earnest.
“Take off your boots,” I say, unlacing my own as quickly as I can. I don’t wait to see if Vanni listens to me. I hike up my skirts with one hand and cling to my boots with the other as I run across the sand rather than toward the village.
For this will be no light rain, and the village is much too far for us to reach without getting drenched. Indeed, we should have left the shore much earlier.
When I reach the cave’s entrance, I peer inside, knowing it will be empty but needing to reassure myself of it. Entering, then turning back, I see a very virile Vanni standing under the rocky archway, framed by the angry sea beyond him.
Chapter Twelve Vanni
This does not bode well.
My thoughts are increasingly absorbed by the woman standing before me, boots in one hand, skirts in another. If our rock perch felt
