The Primordial Flame

Plotting

A heavy clink of silver signals the end of the round, followed by Jax’s loud groan of defeat.

Vane doesn't even linger to count his winnings. Scooping the coins into a leather pouch with one fluid motion, he yanks his dagger free from the oak tabletop, sheathes it at his belt, and strides straight back across the hall. The lethal predator melts away the second he reaches the bench; he slides in beside me against the stone wall, pulling me effortlessly flush against his side. His thick arm locks possessively around my waist, his calloused palm immediately splaying wide and warm over the dark plum wool of my swollen belly as if checking to ensure not a hair on our heads had been disturbed.

"Keep complaining, Bram," Vane rumbles over his shoulder, his deep baritone rumbling through my back as he tosses a silver mark toward the guildmaster. "Next run north, you can pay the border guards out of your own boots if you're so sour about the dice."

Bram grunts a half-hearted curse into his foam-topped tankard, waving him off, and the men instantly dive into a raucous debate over winter supply routes and pass scouts.

Safe inside the solid ring of Vane's warmth, with his thumb tracing familiar, soothing circles against my waist, I turn my head toward Collette. The crimson of her dress catches the amber firelight, the neat braids we pinned earlier framing the sharp, striking elegance of her profile.

I lean in just enough to keep my voice tucked beneath the roar of the taproom.

"So, Collette..." I whisper, a small, knowing smile tugging at my lips as I nudge her boot beneath the bench with my own. "Have you spoken to Arden yet? About our earlier discussion?"

Across the table, Arden is completely engrossed in arguing mule prices with Jax, completely oblivious to the sudden, breathless stillness that steals over his fierce partner.

Collette’s golden eyes flick from Arden’s animated face down to the amber ale swirling in her cup. A brilliant, telltale flush creeps up her porcelain throat, though the usual defensive bite is nowhere to be found in her expression. Her calloused fingers trace the brass eyelets of her bodice, a rare, tender nervousness softening the deadly archer's gaze.

"Not yet," she murmurs, her voice barely louder than the crackle of the hearth, though her eyes dart sideways to meet mine with a mixture of raw hope and terrified wonder. "Every time I look at him tonight, he looks like a fool with that huge grin on his face... but I skipped the draught this evening, Ame. The bottle stayed corked."

An excited squeal escapes past my lips, and I clap my hands together softly, my chest bursting with pure, giddy delight.

"Oh my goodness, so you’ve made up your mind? It’s happening?"

Beside me, Vane’s conversation with Bram halts mid-breath. His silver eyes snap down to my beaming face, his brow furrowing in instant, protective bewilderment. His arm tightens reflexively around my ribs, his thumb brushing my swollen belly as if trying to divine what could have possibly made me squeak with such sudden joy.

"What's happening?" Vane rumbles, his deep baritone laced with curious suspicion, glancing between me and the lethal archer. "What are you two plotting now?"

Collette looks like she wants the floorboards to swallow her whole. The vivid crimson flush rushes all the way to the tips of her ears, contrasting sharply with her porcelain skin. She kicks my boot under the table with just enough force to make me wince, her golden eyes darting in sheer, mortified panic toward Arden, who is still loudly arguing mule feeds three feet away.

"Keep your royal voice down, Amelisse!" Collette hisses through clenched teeth, though she can't suppress the breathless, wild grin threatening to break through her scowl. She grabs her pewter tankard with both hands, staring into the foam to avoid looking at the men.

"Nothing is 'happening' yet, you menace," she mutters under her breath, her voice trembling slightly with that terrifying, beautiful new reality. "The draught stayed corked, that’s all. I haven't... I haven't even told the i***t beside me. If you start screaming about it in the middle of Martha’s taproom, Arden will probably faint into his beef stew, and Bram will never let him live it down."

She casts a quick, hooded glance sideways at Arden, watching the broad line of his shoulders and the boyish laugh crinkling the corners of his eyes. When she looks back at me, the golden fire in her gaze is soft, bright, and utterly certain.

"Tonight," she whispers, a tiny, nervous shudder running through her shoulders beneath the red wool. "When we get back to the quarters. I’m going to tell him."

I look up at Vane, batting my lashes with the most innocent, guileless expression I can muster, though a mischievous spark dances in my eyes. His scarred brow is still furrowed in deep, territorial curiosity, silver eyes narrowing as he studies the two of us like a scout trying to decipher enemy code.

"Oh, what’s happening," I say smoothly, leaning back against his broad chest and resting my hand over his where it sits firmly on my belly, "is Collette is coming with us to the midwife check-up tomorrow. She’s curious about hearing the baby’s heartbeat through that wooden cone thing."

Beside me, Collette nearly chokes on her mead. She coughs into her fist, quickly clearing her throat and glaring at me with wide, panicked golden eyes that scream you are playing with fire, Princess.

Vane blinks, his sharp gaze flicking from my placid smile to Collette’s flaming cheeks. For a second, the lethal rogue looks genuinely thrown off balance.

"The cone thing?" he repeats, his deep baritone dropping into a low, skeptical rumble. His arm tightens reflexively around my waist, his thumb smoothing over the plum wool as he arches a dark eyebrow at the lethal archer. "Collette? The woman who threatens to skin recruits alive if they stand too close to her bowstring wants to come listen to fetal heartbeats with old Elspeth?"

Collette straightens her spine, forcing her jaw into that rigid, cold stone mask she uses before putting an arrow through a target.

"I have... tactical curiosity," she mutters defensively, crossing her arms over the crimson wool of her bodice and glaring at the timber table. "I want to see what all the fuss is about. Unless the great, terrifying Vane is too possessive to let anyone else into the room?"

A low, dry chuckle rumbles from deep within Vane's chest, vibrating right through my ribs. The suspicion ebbs away, replaced by that familiar, arrogant smirk.

"Tactical curiosity," he echoes, shaking his head with an amused snort. He leans down, brushing his scarred lips against the crown of my head, his fingers splaying wide and possessive over the heavy curve of my stomach. "Fine by me. Greta’s small wooden room is going to feel like a full garrison at this rate, but you’re welcome to listen, sharpshooter. Just don't faint when you hear how hard this little monster kicks."

I shake my head with a soft laugh, resting my palm over the back of his large, scarred hand.

"Our baby doesn’t kick yet, Vane," I say gently, looking up into his silver eyes. "It’s still too small. Maybe next month we’ll start to feel tiny flutters against your hand. I mean, I can feel something shifting deep inside me now and then, but not from the outside. You’ll have to wait a little longer before you get kicked."

A faint, self-conscious flush creeps beneath the dark stubble on Vane's jaw. The fearsome rogue scowls down at my stomach, though his large fingers soften instantly against the plum wool, pressing with a tender, almost reverent lightness.

"Could've fooled me," he mutters, though the gruffness in his voice is ruined by the fierce fondness warming his eyes. "Feels like this belly of yours is expanding by the hour. I figured any creature sharing blood with the two of us would already be throwing punches."

Collette snorts, setting her tankard down with a sharp clack that draws Arden’s wandering attention back to our side of the table. "Gods forbid," she deadpans, her golden eyes gleaming with amusement. "One of you is arrogant enough to challenge an army, and the other jumps out of fortress towers for fun. If that child takes after either of you, Ame, you won't feel flutters next month—you'll feel an armed rebellion."

"Takes after her mother, you mean," Vane rumbles smoothly, his arm sliding tighter around my waist as he pulls me flush against his ribs. His thumb strokes a slow, soothing line over the curve of my stomach beneath the fabric. "Stubborn as a mountain mule and completely impossible to control."

"And who kept you from bleeding out in the forest?" I tease, nudging my elbow into his side.

"A wild little scout in silk," he whispers against my temple, his scarred mouth brushing my skin in a private, lingering kiss that drowns out the roar of the tavern. "And I've been thanking the gods every day since."