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The Bird and the Sword Page 58
Author: Amy Harmon

“I said once that you are like ice. And you are. Silver and perfect . . . glistening. And hard. You’re so hard, Lark. I want you to be soft sometimes. I need you to let me in.” He was sweet and cajoling, but I knew he wasn’t referring to lovemaking so much as he was referring to the walls I was constantly disappearing behind.

I shook my head.

If I let you in, I will have nothing left. If I am like ice it is because ice is impenetrable. Strong.

He opened his mouth against my breast and shifted his weight to the side, so one of the hands that bracketed my head was free to move down my body. I clenched my hands at my sides and tamped down the growing fire beneath my skin.

“Touch me, Lark,” he commanded, picking up one clenched fist to bite playfully at my fingers.

When I touch you, I cease to be.

He groaned as if the confession only stoked his ardor, but he rolled off me suddenly, as if he were weary of the effort it took to get past my defenses. He reached for his shirt and his belt and sat forward to pull on his boots. “For God’s sake, woman. You don’t cease to be. You simply change.”

I sat up too, missing him already and unable to figure out how to give him what he asked for without giving in. I touched tentative fingers to his cheek and he froze, as if my apologetic touch was the last thing he expected.

Why must I change, Tiras? Why do you want so badly to break me? I asked, the voice in my head small and scared.

“Because there is fire beneath the ice, Lark,” he shot back. “And I like your fire.” His intensity radiated from him in the form of heat. He burned so hot all the time, I could feel him reshaping me, drip by drip.

I shook my head, suddenly close to tears, but refusing to let them rise.

No. Beneath the ice are all the words.

He looked at me, dumbfounded, one boot on, one boot off.

Have you ever thought that maybe it is better this way? That I can’t speak? If I can wield words without making a sound, what could I do if they were set free? I scare myself, Tiras.

It was such a huge confession, such a monumental crack in my defenses, that I dropped my eyes and raised my hands to my face, needing a moment to regroup. Tiras wrapped his fingers around my wrists and pulled my hands from my eyes, making me look at him.

“You don’t scare me,” he whispered. “You frustrate me. You infuriate me. But you do not scare me.”

Not now.

“Not ever. You are good to your core, Lady Degn. Maddening. But good.” He released my wrists and rose to his feet, his shirt still hanging open, his belt in his hands. I wanted to scream in frustration, to pull him back down beside me. I was a terrible wife, a terrible queen. He wanted to give me a child, and I made it into an epic battle, when in truth, I would have liked nothing more than to make a child with him.

Tiras?

“Yes?” he sighed, his back to me, tucking his shirt into his breeches.

Will you kiss me again?

He looked down at me, and a smile that was almost tender lifted the corners of his mouth, and heat rose again in his eyes.

“You told me once you would never ask for a kiss.”

I grimaced.

“Do you like it when I kiss you?”

Yes.

His smile deepened, but he waited, making me squirm, making me ask. I stared at him then bowed my head, surrendering.

If you kiss me slowly, for a long time, it is easier for me to . . .

“Let me in?” he finished for me.

Yes.

The word was a sigh and my cheeks were aflame, but he reached for me, pulling me from the floor and into his arms, enveloping me, making me feel full in a way I’d come to crave. I raised my face to his, closing my eyes and seeking his lips. And he kissed me for a long, long time.

Tiras didn’t suddenly become a bird at sundown. It was as if the night slowly pulled him away, leaching him, until resistance was futile. When the moon was fat and bright, he seemed more able to combat the pull, but even then he suffered to stay human, and sometimes daylight was not enough to restore him. I could ease his pain, giving him more stamina to combat the change on his own, but my words and his will proved increasingly insufficient to alter the course of his gift.

I would often wake alone in the hours before dawn, the darkness of our chamber making his absence heavier, harder, hopeless. I lived on a pendulum of extreme joy and great strain, waiting for him, welcoming him, and being left once more. The pendulum seemed to be gaining momentum instead of losing it, swinging higher and deeper even as he stayed away longer and longer, only to return for briefer and briefer periods of time.

The morning after the hearings, I awoke to sunlight and an eagle on my balcony wall. I approached him with longing and an outstretched hand, hoping the consciousness of the man was stronger than the wariness of the bird. He let me stroke his silky white head for a breath-stealing moment before turning his eyes toward the stretch of forest to the west. Then, with a swift unfurling of his wings, he left me, and I watched him fly away.

For three days I waited for the king to return, and when dawn broke on the fourth day, with no sign of Tiras, I went searching for Kjell, determined to seek out the Healer he’d followed from the castle after the hearing.

I dressed and braided my hair quickly, not bothering to wait for my ladies maid, eager to steal through the castle halls before everyone was stirring. Words slid from dreams and warmed the air, and I listened to each one before descending the stairs and following the thin thread of tension that seemed to cling to Kjell wherever he went. I found him in the stables, and he seemed almost relieved to be given some sort of task.

Kjell had discovered that the healer dwelled in the small settlement called Nivea that had sprung up around the ancient sea bed west of Jeru City. After the hearing, he’d trailed the young woman, keeping his distance. When she’d reached the western gates, she’d melded into the laborers and craftsman leaving the city and returning to their homes for the day, and he’d followed her to a humble dwelling surrounded by similar homes of artisans and jewelry makers, as well as stone cutters and masons who lived and labored outside the protection of the city walls.

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Amy Harmon's Novels
» The Song of David (The Law of Moses)
» The Law of Moses (The Law of Moses #1)
» The Bird and the Sword
» Making Faces
» Infinity + One
» A Different Blue