Heir of Fury

Chapter Nine

Chapter NineI didn't linger in the shower. Though the hot spray on cold skin was tempting enough, the smell of melting cheese and French fries had me hurrying up. In under twenty minutes I was showered, hair brushed, and was dressed comfortably in worn jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt. Thick socks completed my attire. My clothes in the Low Lands may have been charmed to stay warm, but Zantry had been right. I was cold. I'd been cold for years.

On silent feet, I returned to the living room and turned on the TV. The moment Ross appeared, so did Frizz. He hopped on to the sofa and settled contently to watch reruns of Friends.

Zantry leaned against the counter, browsing on a touch-screen cellphone. In front of him, on the island, he'd set the “table” with plates, tall glasses, shakers, forks, knives. On each plate sat half a dozen triangle sandwiches, full to bursting with condiments, cold cuts, tomatoes, onions, lettuce…. Was that cucumber or pickles? A large bowl brimming with French fries sat in the middle. My stomach gave a violent growl, and I swallowed saliva to avoid choking.

“Why don't we eat first?” Zantry suggested. “We can talk later.”

“Sure,” I said and picked up a fry.

“How come there are no candles here?” I pointed to the arranged items he'd placed to look like a fancy restaurant table.

Zantry smiled. “I didn't want you wondering if I forgot to pay the utility bills.”

I snorted, reached for another fry.

Before I knew, I was chewing the last bite of the last triangle and licking my finger clean from mayo.

I leaned back with a sheepish smile. “Thank you. It's been a while since I've eaten anything this substantial.” I placed a hand over my full stomach. “Hopefully I'm immune to indigestion.”

“How long of a while?”

I met his eyes, the curiosity in them prominent. “Around three and a half years.”

His jaws tightened, his eyes darkened to violet-blue and his hand fisted on his lap. I didn't need the bond to know he was angry. I took his hand and squeezed, the frisson of energy warm and welcome. After a long pause, Zantry squeezed back. His thumb brushed the palm of my hand. With a frown, he flipped my hand palm up and stared down at the mangled flesh, expression neutral, but the anger wafting off of him intensified. I tried pulling my hand away, and his grip tightened. So I let him look, wondering if he'd recognize the scars for what they were.

“Do they hurt?” he asked, voice flat.

“No.”

With his index he traced the scars, the way I thought he would.

“An axe?”

“A light sword.”

“How'd you manage to disarm it?” he asked, looking up.

“It wasn't something I'd planned to do, it just happened.”

He focused at the raised scar again, traced his finger over the mangled flesh. “The guardian?”

“Dead.”

“Did you bond the sword?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see it?”

I pulled my hand from his, missing the warm frisson at once. I clapped and pulled, fisting my right hand. The light sword solidified as I did, the blade translucent, the hilt made of bones, the ridges fitting against the scars on my palm. The light of the sword reflected in his eyes, amplified his gleam of awe.

“It's a beautiful sword,” he said, not touching it. “You chose well.”

“I wasn't thinking then, it was simply a weapon I managed to catch, and it was either I hold on to it or let the guardian finish me.”

The awe in Zantry's eyes snuffed out like a candle out in the rain, and I was sad to see it go. “Why did the guardian attack you?”

I pricked the tip of the curved sword on my right palm, and the blade recognized my blood even as I pressed harder, clapping back the sword to nothing but dust and light.

“It's a long story,” I hedged.

“We can talk about it later if you like. Those scars look old.”

I nodded. “About a year and a half, give or take.”

“And it didn't heal” His jaws clenched, eyes glinting dangerously.

“I'm alright, Zantry.”

“But you weren't then.”

“And that's done and over in the past,” I said, but we both knew it wasn't true. I was still bound to Remo, still a slave to his whims, and sooner or later, he'd send me for another wyvern, and I'd have no choice but to bring him one. And if the guardian tried to stop me, I'd have no choice but to fight it.

Zantry took a deep breath, exhaled his anger. When he looked at me again, there was regret in his eyes.

“I'm sorry about all this.”

Before I could brush his apology aside, he went on. “I wanted to come for you. I wanted to burst in there, throw you over my shoulder and run like hell, away from everyone and everything.”

“I know.” And we both knew Remo would have loved that. He'd let him fight his way in, fight his way out, then simply summon me back. That is, if Remo was in a good mood. If he wasn't, he would order me to fight Zantry and see how far he was willing to fight back.

“I'm sorry I wasn't there for you.” I could feel it, through the bond, in the air around him, in his voice. His regret, his remorse, his sense of futility. It stifled the air around us like humidity in a heatwave.

I closed my hand over his and squeezed hard. “You were always there. You're the reason Remo never broke me.”

He inhaled, a long, shuddering intake that had my heart twisting with sorrow. “Tell me.”

I looked down at my hands for a second before meeting his eyes again. “Can we do this later? There's time.”

His pupils contracted. I could tell he wanted to argue, but he nodded instead. “We'll talk later, then.”