Smolder (Crown of Fae #3) - Sharon Ashwood Page 0,29
been enough.
“I’m not a killer. Not like that.”
Kifi didn’t reply. The cat had drifted off to sleep.
Leena stared at the ceiling of the wagon, absently petting Kifi. Wasteful though it was, she’d left the stump of her candle burning. The wavering light fluttered and bobbed, the living flame her only shield against darkness.
Sadly, the Mother’s fears were understandable. Morran’s unpredictability was a wild card—a dangerous trait when he could unlock the heart of the sacred fire. If he fell prey to Juradoc’s manipulation and allowed the Shades to plunder the Great Temple, Faery would fall into darkness and death.
Dread had her in pincers—fear of what she must do and fear of failure. Her breath came unsteadily, as if the smallest motion might send her tumbling off a cliff. She wasn’t made for this. She wasn’t a soldier like Fionn.
A rustle outside made Leena sit bolt upright. Dislodged, Kifi gave a cranky mew.
Was it the guardsmen, come for her at last? Leena scrabbled for a weapon, finding only the small knife she used to cut her meat. She parted the canvas with her fingertips, peering through the crack.
She caught an impression of movement in the dark before the cloth was snatched from her hand.
Leena gasped in surprise as Morran crawled into the tent, bending low to navigate the small space. Thankfully, Kifi had vanished.
Spotting the knife, the prince grabbed her wrist. Leena shrank back, but there was too little room to effectively twist away.
“Why the knife?” Morran demanded.
“I thought you were the general’s men come to punish me.”
“Definitely not.”
“Aren’t you under guard yourself?”
He flashed a narrow grin. “So they imagine. I gave them the slip.”
She stopped struggling, trying to assess that quicksilver expression, so unlike anything she’d seen from him before. “The general should be more careful after you broke his nice chairs.”
“I’m lucky he still needs me. I’ll pay for that eventually.”
Her thoughts scrambled in all directions like startled mice. “I don’t understand.”
Releasing her, he raised his hands, palms out in a gesture of peace. “I am here for two reasons. First, I came to apologize if I caused you any distress. Creating a distraction was the only way to stop Juradoc tonight.”
She blinked. “You meant to do that?”
His expression darkened. “I could feel him through the bond of your healing magic. He was hurting you.”
“He was.” Leena sifted through those moments. Morran had slipped away from her, as if his mind had vanished into a yawning pit. Volcanic rage had come back out.
“Perhaps a little of the madness was on purpose.” His words were so mild that she had an irrational urge to laugh.
And then cry. “I regret my healing was cut short.”
His fingers brushed her cheek so lightly it was little more than imagination. “You helped me. I’ve lost myself before, but, this time, I went of my own accord. More than that, I knew I would return to sanity.”
He repeated the gesture, this time pushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “You cast me a line so that I would not drown. There is no treasure equal to that, Leena of the Flame.”
His praise sank deep, tangled as it was with his nearness and the Mother’s bleak orders. She fell back on her healing role, needing distance. “Are you able to remember anything more?”
“A jumble.”
“That’s normal. It may take time to make sense.”
“How much did you see of my thoughts?”
“We learn not to look.”
He was too close, his dark eyes searching her face. She could feel the pulse beat at the base of her throat.
He met her gaze again, but there was fury in every line of his face. “I remember my magic. I remember the phoenix.”
Leena’s lips parted, but she had no words.
“If only I could remember how it happened, it might be undone,” he said, and it was barely more than a growl. “If I remembered who did it, I could exact revenge.”
Silence pulsed around them as those final words filled the small wagon. She could see the strain of his self-control in the faint lines bracketing his mouth.
She’d stolen his oblivion. “I’m sorry the price of memory is sometimes grief.”
He took her hand in his, his palm hot as it touched her skin. “It’s still a gift.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, a dark lock of hair falling over his brow. The combination of his banked anger and graciousness was like strong liquor, and Leena felt it going to her head. There had to be one more step to take, another avenue