I love them both in their own way. I hope I can show that to them soon. Skartovius is stupidly frustrating at times and contrarian just for the sake of it. He loves to push my buttons and get a rise out of me, because he knows it’ll lead us to the bedroom. Or at least it used to. Hasn’t in a while, even though I’ve forgiven him. We’ve been too busy.
Lukain is kinder, I suppose. He’s more thoughtful about my feelings than his nobleblood half-brother. I assume that comes from the half-human part of him. He’s also incredibly stubborn and can anger me just as much as Skar. So in that, they’re the same.
A hand falls on my elbow and I blink down, looking at it. Garroway sidles up next to me, while Vallan finds something uninteresting to do next to us in the corridor.
“Is everything all right, cub?” I murmur.
“I’ve thought it over, lass. I’m ready.”
My brow threads, confused—then blow wide. “Are you sure? It’s only been a week since—”
“I’ve had plenty of time, little honey badger. I know my wishes and needs now.” His smile is kind, heartfelt, and I want to kiss him. But I need to let him air his thoughts, so I resist.
“. . . What are they?” I ask meekly.
“To aid our cause any way I can. I can’t think of a better way to do that than to make sure your mother’s concoction works. It’s our greatest asset, especially now with things getting hazy. I want tohelp.”
My heart clenches. I reach for his smooth cheek, lean forward, and kiss him hard on the lips. “Oh, Garro. You’ve already helped so fucking much.” Tears burn my eyes, and I sniffle to keep them back when I pull away from his soft lips. “You have to know that.”
He wraps an arm around my middle and pulls me close to him. His smile turns smirky, a bit arrogant, and it heats my insides. “Of course I know I’ve helped. But this can be a grand gesture no one can deny. I can think of no one better to test the Silverblood, having a connection with youandMaster Skar.”
“You aren’t worried of it severingbothbonds?”
“Oh, I’m terrified.” He smiles wider. “Nothing good ever came without a little sacrifice, right? Weren’t you the one who told me that?”
Chapter 33
Skartovius
My blade pitches forward past Lukain’s guard. He’s already twisting, parrying my sword so it bounces high, which I expected, the idiot.
Falling into a crouch, I’m half my height in a single breath, and Lukain’s sword is sailing over my head in the next breath.
I bring my parried sword low from the air, nicking my half-brother in the side of the calf, drawing a spurt of blood onto the mat. Lukain hisses and flutters back on his heels, swishing his sword around in case I try charging.
I don’t charge, however. I stand and step back so we can regain our foundations, slashing his blood off the tip of my sword. The mat in the main Firehold sparring room, backlit by a flickering hearth fire, has been stained by our blood more times than I can count over the past few weeks. More often his blood than mine, of course.
The audience surrounding the square pit—fourteen Grimsons varying in age from younglings to seasoned veterans—give a polite clap as we disengage. It’s a lesser showing than usual, and I’m not sure why. They also don’t seem as animated, perhaps because they’ve seen this fight play out nightly, and usually end the same way.
The people love an underdog story, sure, but I’m not willing to give them one. The Damned can fuck themselves if they think I’m going to go easy on my little brother, all for the sake of some back-slaps and smiles.
“Watch where your feet land when you twist like that, you fucking laggard,” I spit at Lukain across the way.
He bares his fangs in a snarl. “Worry about your own fucking stance, you stiff board.”
“Limber enough to duck under your sloppy swing, wasn’t I?”
Nowthe audience lets out “Oohs,” because they oh-so-love to hear us lambasting each other. If there’s one thing they enjoy more than fine swordplay, it’s sharp wordplay.
So, we put on a bit of a show. As usual. Except there’s nothing scripted or nice about our words. We won’t go hugging it out behind closed doors after this, because the vitriol in our voices is real.
Lukain Pierken still hates me because of my lie, and I’ve lost respect for him because he’s holding onto it so dearly. The fickle prick, acting like he’s the only man who has ever struggled in this world.
Alas, we’ve found a way to work together for Seph’s sake, even if it means trying to rip each other’s heads off. The DamnedandTruehearts know I wouldn’t be able to live if she never fucked me again, as she alluded to after screwing Palacia and warning us to get our heads on right. My immortality can get bent if it means never being inside my little temptress again.She pushed her temptation one step too far and ended up with that gnome-sized monster stretching her pu—
“I don’t even have my cloak to use as a distraction,” I spout off, desperate to speak words so I can shut my traitorous brain off.How can I, a nobleblood of immense stature, ever be jealous of a skinny interfolk plaything like Palacia?
I don’t let my mind finish off the thought, because it’s rhetorical: Iknowhow. Palacia managed to get close to my woman in a way I haven’t been able to in months now.