12
Night of Solitude
“What do you think?” Imer whispered in Maeve’s ear as the wizard dismissed the gathering.
The comfortable buzz of wine hung in her stomach and she smiled at him, noting how the flecks of gold danced in his eyes. His jaw was covered with day old stubble, and his hand seemed so warm in hers.
“I think we have limited time before we leave again.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Earlier you mentioned something about showing me your chamber?”
A rogue grin covered Imer’s face at the suggestion. Winking at her, he took another sip of wine and stood. “Aye, follow me. You’ll meet our companions tomorrow, although I’m fairly sure I could tell you who volunteered.”
Eyes turned toward her as she rose, and Maeve recalled that those who gathered seemed to think of her as a hero. She nodded as she met dark eyes and pale ones. One of the female elves glanced at her, an unreadable expression on her face. Heart pounding and heat covering her face, Maeve was grateful to escape the crowded room with Imer.
The halls were refreshingly cool, lit by pools of lamplight every few feet. Imer led her through the maze, around corners, and upstairs until he reached a row of doors. “This is the floor where the mages sleep,” he told her. “We each have our own rooms, given to us by the wizard when we decided to study under his tutelage. Those who are unmarried stay here, but those who wish it are free to return to the fields and build a house, as long as they continue to contribute to the city.”
“How long have you called this place home?” Maeve asked.
“Ten years.” Imer scratched the back of his neck. “It seems longer than it’s been, but Ingram and I often grow restless and the wizard likes to send us out on tiny quests, anything to keep us amused. Besides, we are often drawn back to the temple in Isdrine.”
Maeve recalled their time at the temple wistfully. It was the one shining light of relief in her tormented travels, the place she’d learned that she could gain peace and happiness, despite her past. “I understand why,” she murmured as they paused in front of a door.
Maeve’s eyes were drawn to the markings on the wood, and she pointed. “What is that?”
Imer cleared his throat and unlatched the door. “These are the runes that mark this room as mine. I don’t claim to read runes, but the wizard knows them, and marks each room for the mages that dwell here. This rune,” he pointed, “depicts fire and the other rune,” he brushed his fingers over the second one, “stands for wit.”
Maeve smiled and tapped her head. “Because you’d rather use your mind than your hands.”
“That’s the idea,” Imer agreed, touching the small of her back to steer her inside.
While Imer lit a lantern, Maeve studied the room. It was much larger than she’d imagined with a square window on one side. It overlooked the glistening lake which was only a dark shadow under the gloomy lights of night. The window was open, sending a cool breeze in and Maeve shuddered in her shift.
“Close it if you like,” Imer said, “I’ll start a fire.”
Pulling the window shut, Maeve took in the wide fireplace beside the window. Imer knelt on the hearth, stacking a bundle of wood before lighting it with his hands. On the other side of the fireplace, a tidy bed took up a corner along with a series of chests and drawers. On the other side of the room was a table, or rather, a workbench, with wood carvings, maps, pipes, scrolls, and other items covering it. “You do woodwork?” she asked, impressed with his diversity of skill.
“When I have time.” He shrugged and stepped back.
The gentle glow of firelight graced the room and gave it a homey glow. Soon the scent of cedarwood filled the air combined with the dried tobacco on the table.
“Would you like a drink?” Imer perched on the edge of the table.
At Maeve’s nod, he pulled a pitcher off the shelf behind the table and filled two cups.
“I propose a toast, Maeve of Carn.”
She suppressed a snort. “What are we toasting?”
He walked toward her until his chest bumped hers. A surge of liquid desire went through Maeve, replacing all the awkwardness and indecision she’d felt earlier. She assumed it was merely time and distance that made her second-guess everything. Now she’d warmed to Imer again. Deep in her heart she knew he not only cared for her, but he would have her back, despite the impending war and the hand she’d reluctantly played in its progression.
He angled his head toward hers, his voice low and dangerous. “It is our first, and only night of solitude together. Let’s toast to that.”
Maeve pressed her lips together, letting the teasing jest die on her tongue. “To us, then.”
They clinked cups and Maeve downed the ale in one gulp, tossed the cup on the floor and kissed Imer. Hard. For a mere second he went rigid with surprise and then responded. His cup clanged to the floor and rolled until it struck the one Maeve had dropped moments before. Arms around her waist, he guided her hips backward as he deepened the kiss. Rough, passionate and oh so delicious. Maeve shivered with arousal, her fingers tearing against material, her mouth tasting, biting, refusing to let go.
Imer tangled with her, his hand slipping under her shift and pulling it up. His fingers brushed her legs, thighs, stomach until he broke all contact and slid her out of her clothes. Maeve returned the favor, relishing the glazed need in Imer’s eyes as he let her undress him.
The movements were familiar from their time in Isdrine and yet new, as Maeve realized this was the first time she was free, uncollared. As though he noticed, Imer traced a line from her neck to her cheek and then kissed her throat as though his love could burn away the imprint of the collar that lay there. A strangled sound came from Maeve’s throat at his passion, and unable to wait any longer, she pushed him down on the bed and straddled him. Moans echoed off the stone as he thrust into her, tasting, taking, giving. They moved together until Maeve felt as though they were one in the glow of a love that would only last for a short time.
13
Twelve Days
“Here we are again.” Imer pointed to the mass of darkness that rose in front of them.
Maeve shivered as she stared at the trees of the grove. It was hard to believe that only a few months earlier, she’d stood in the same spot. Only this time, instead of being accompanied by Sandrine, she had Ingram, Imer, Drago and four others.
Seven days they’d traveled, showing Maeve just how close the city of Imperia was to the rest of the world. During the quick, but cold journey, she’d kept to herself, uncomfortable with the stares. Aside from Ingram and Imer there were two elves, a female called Faelyn and a male called Eythin. Nimya and Fin were brother and sister, they were from the grove and knew the hidden paths. Maeve wasn’t sure of their powers but understood why they’d come. They represented the alliance between the mages of Imperia, the elves, and the people of the grove. Two from each group had come to assist Maeve in retrieving the crown.
The scouts, Nimya and Fin, spoke in low voices and then moved toward the wood, gesturing for everyone else to wait for their signal. Maeve’s fingers twitched with impatience and she paced back and forth, watching the tall trees sway, which seemed to watch her back. A cool mist still hung in the air and the trees were bare. She counted on her fingers. It had been almost twelve days since the shards were reformed into a crown and the world still hung under a cloud of gloom. There was no sign of the celestials and she wondered if they would come as she imagined, beings streaking out of the sky like fallen stars to rid the world of evil. Or would they come secretly. . .