My eyes open.
“I did not run.”
I look into his eyes, and a single word courses through my head, my entire being.
Death.
The word so little belongs in this moment, it feels as if someone else planted it there. I know better. Although Amma has never had such visions, my mother did many times. It is a trait of some Garra. Only those with the blood of Athea in them, and who have also been properly trained and truly claim the title of Garra, can even hope to achieve such visions.
Amma says Athea had one before she supposedly broke the Kingdom of Meria.
A noblewoman named Lady Edina visited the healer to ask for a love potion to make King Onry II fall in love with her. Athea made it, though none know if she did so despite her vision of a broken kingdom, or as some speculate, because of it.
The potion worked, the king forsaking his betrothed for Lady Edina. Years later when King Onry chose a successor from his twins sons, the older son by mere minutes became enraged, leaving d’Almerita for the untamed Highlands to the east. The church later claimed the kingdom’s split was punishment against Onry for forsaking his vows. They blamed Athea for her role, her ancestors forever cast into the shadows.
I attempt to give shape to this vision but cannot. It is instead more like a feeling of certainty that Vanni will deal a fatal blow, though when or against whom, I do not know.
I shake away the thought.
“I know why you left,” he says, and the moment is gone, replaced by one I wish would never end.
“Aye?” I tease as Vanni closes the space between us.
“I will not hurt you, Aedre. Or betray you.”
“Mayhap not apurpose, but you are not long for Murwood End.”
A fact I no longer care to dwell on even as he acknowledges my words by not refuting them. Instead, he leans down toward me. More than a kiss, this is the culmination of the longing, the desire that has drawn us together from the start. And as his tongue prompts my lips to open, I give over gladly.
Who needs to breathe when such a man kisses you in this way?
Not gentle, like the way he holds my hand. Not deferential, as he was in the forge with my family. Not gentlemanly, as he appeared in the tavern that first day.
Nay, he kisses like a different kind of man all together. The one who can knock another warrior’s sword from his hand with three strikes. Who bested Agnar after already fighting three others and threatened an Elderman with words none but he can speak.
When he lets go of my hands to pull me closer, I grasp Vanni’s wide shoulders out of necessity, my legs weak with pleasure. The quick flicks of his tongue become deft strokes, ones that tell me what I’ve suspected.
He has kissed many a maid before, maybe one in every town he visits. And likely more so at court. For Vanni’s kiss is adamant and strong and skillful, every bit what I’d expect from a man such as he.
When he groans against my lips, the thought of bringing him the same measure of pleasure emboldens me. Reminds me of all the ways I’ve learned to please a man, starting with how to kiss a man like Vanni.
Matching every touch, every thrust, of his tongue, I’m pulled deeper and deeper under until I can bear it no longer.
Stepping away, I attempt to slow the beating of my heart. I may be inexperienced, but I know there was an unusual power in our kiss. A deeper sense of connection.
“I thought,” my words stumble over each other, “I thought if I did not pull away, I might not ever do so.”
Vanni lets out a breath, his hands raking through the dark, thick hair I burn to touch.
“I should not have kissed you.”
Staring at his lips, I violently disagree.
“Aye, you should have. I willed it so.”
Today, last eve, the day before . . . every moment since I first saw him.
“As you said, I am not long for Murwood End.”
He’s telling me nothing I don’t already know. It is plain enough to us both this is but a temporary arrangement.
“I’ve guarded the hearts of many a maid,” I say, braver than I feel. “And will do so with my own.”
From the look in his eyes, it’s obvious he doesn’t believe me. Nor should he.
“Your heart needs no such guarding.”
Danger.
Death.
The strange pulse of knowledge comes to me again, the feeling much stronger this time.
What is my intuition trying to tell me? That he is dangerous to me? To someone else? Maybe Father Beald.
Or Kipp?
Nay, he said he would not force him, and I know Vanni to be an honorable man. Even now, though I know he wishes to kiss me again, he waits for me to sort through my complicated emotions.
If I believed a Garra who’d never been in love herself was a fraud, this one, who is unable to protect her own heart, is even more so.
Love healer, indeed.
Chapter Eighteen Vannni
This time, Aedre didn’t run away.
I did.
After that kiss . . .
That kiss.
Though I did not touch her again, every part of me wished it were otherwise. When we finally sat, I moved closer to her on the stone. And when she reached for my new sword, the one her father forged, I used the moment to brush my fingers across hers.
Except I don’t want to simply kiss Lady Aedre. I want to consume, and be consumed by, her. When we’re not together, I’m thinking of her, curious about what she’s doing or who she’s healing. I’m imagining her swinging the double-edged hammer she clearly knows how to wield. I’m
