They were as ready as they could be, yet a knot of tension still burned in Larkin’s belly.
An enchantress approached Larkin, her head bowed deferentially. “No weapons were found. There are no women among them.”
Larkin was both relieved and disappointed. Relieved because she didn’t want Nesha here in case things went badly. Disappointed because she’d yet to speak with her sister or even meet her baby. Larkin wasn’t even sure if the child was a boy or girl. She’d only ever seen them from a distance when they’d entered the Alamant a week ago.
Larkin signaled to the band. They began to play a variety of masterfully carved wind instruments made from the sacred wood of the White Tree—instruments that were as varied as the men who played them. An enchantment rode on the melody, one that exuded calm.
The leaf amulet Larkin wore was a dampener; it blunted the enchantment enough that she could fight it. She didn’t want to fight it.
She let the magic settle against her skin and sink into her pores like the first real sunlight after a cold winter. The tension she always bore eased. Her mind emptied of everything except the sound. When she opened her eyes, calm had settled into her heart. It was a false calm, but it would keep pipers and druids from killing each other.
At least at first.
“Let me know when the delegation is nearly here,” Larkin said.
Her eyes on her husband, Tam, Alorica nodded—apparently, she didn’t want to use her dampener to fight the music any more than Larkin did—and slipped away.
Across the crowd, Gendrin spoke with Denan, their heads bent together. Denan. Her husband. The man who had married her against her will. Taken everything from her. And yet, she had fallen in love with him all the same. Fallen in love with his kindness and determination and confidence.
Also, he was gorgeous.
Larkin wove through the people—the music had all of them looking for their loved ones, same as Larkin—until she came to a stop before Denan and Gendrin.
Gendrin was barrel-chested and dark, hints of russet in his beard. He was not handsome, but quiet power exuded from the man.
“I’m sorry, Denan, but my father is right.” Gendrin noted her and stiffened in clear embarrassment before bowing. “Princess Larkin.”
Gendrin always wore his emotions on his face. It was part of the reason Larkin had immediately trusted him. And Larkin trusted very, very few people.
“Even you have turned again me, Gendrin?” After all, she’d saved his life.
Gendrin stepped closer. “I’m simply telling the truth, princess.”
She pointedly snubbed the man and held out a hand to her husband. “We never got to dance on our wedding night.”
Denan smiled wryly. “If I remember right, that’s because you begged me not to.”
Gendrin cleared his throat. “My prince, if you’ll excuse me, I have my mother to attend.”
Why hadn’t his wife, Caelia, come?
Larkin took one of her husband’s hands and settled it on the curve of her hip. “Denan, will you dance with me?”
He looked deep into her eyes. “Until the stars fall.”
He took her other hand in his. A push sent her spinning under his raised arm. He pulled her close and dipped her. He spun her. The gown twisted and flared around her legs, the earrings and amulets spinning, the belt sparkling. He pulled her back, holding her firm against him. They twirled about the room. In his arms, she felt beautiful, treasured. Her body responded to the slightest pressure, the gentlest tug, until they moved as one.
Larkin had never felt such synergy with anyone but him. And with the magic of the melody, she forgot everything but his hands directing her and the feel of the music moving through her.
Denan abruptly stopped. Larkin turned to see why and found Alorica behind her.
“They’re nearly here.”
The druids. The music had made her forget. She’d let herself forget.
Now it was time to remember.
CHAPTER THREE
Black Druids
It was a strange feeling, purposely stepping out of the enchantment. To turn away from the gentle caress toward the sharpness of reality. Larkin blinked as if coming awake. She suddenly realized she was breathing hard. A slight sheen of sweat slicked her skin and made the short hairs along her neck curl tight.
A tug of Denan’s hand, and she moved beside him through the crowd. Most of the enchantresses were still glassy-eyed with enchantment. The pipers only had fifteen dampeners—all from the time before the curse.
Denan and Larkin fell in five steps behind the king, who shot Denan a look that said he better keep his wife under control—a look they both ignored. Queen Jaslin was somewhere tucked out of sight and safe, something Denan would never ask of Larkin.
Denan’s parents, Arbor Mytin and General Aaryn, were already waiting at the top of the dais, which was around ten yards across and surrounded by stairs on all sides. Just to the left of the central font, Aaryn wore her full ceremonial armor, while Mytin wore the Arbor mantle, an embossed and painted White Tree at his chest and cabochon gems hanging from the four peaks at the shoulders as well as the front and back. He also carried a staff made of gnarled sacred wood.
Both bowed to the king and gave little nods to Larkin and Denan. Just before Larkin took her first step up the dais, Larkin passed Iniya, who stood in the first row before the sentinels, who stood with their backs to the dais. The woman caught Larkin’s attention and pointed at her hair.
Larkin nervously touched her curls only to find them frizzed, a few pinned locks slipping out. She hurriedly tucked them back up and smoothed her hair.
Feeling self-conscious and out of sorts, Larkin moved left and took her place beside Denan to the font’s right. A servant handed her husband and the king their crowns of branches. Larkin searched out Alorica and Tam, who stood next to the branch that led to where Sela waited above. If things went bad, they were to take her down the ropes to a boat waiting below. They were the only ones Larkin trusted with keeping her sister safe.
Larkin would have preferred leaving Sela at their hometree with Mama, but Sela had insisted that the White Tree needed her present. Mytin had reluctantly sided with her, effectively ending the discussion.
A moment later, conversations stilled. Knowing what that meant, Larkin tightened her grip on Denan’s hand. She forced herself to look up. A hundred yards away, the first of the Alamantians came into view beneath the archway. The rising sun behind them threw dark shadows over their features, so they looked almost like wraiths. So much so that Larkin drew in a breath, the urge to run making her insides twist.
She was purposefully not looking for Garrot. But even with the distance, her traitorous gaze zeroed in on him. He strode at the head of the druids, a thick tooled belt with a large silver medallion about his waist proclaiming him the Master Druid. The cravat was new. Probably wore it to cover his blight.
A sudden memory reared up and struck Larkin.
Her boots slipped on a blood-smeared floor. She knelt beside her grandfather—the Master Druid who had orchestrated the coup that had killed Iniya’s father, the king, along with the rest of her family and forced her from the palace, who had ruled the United Cities of the Idelmarch with lies and the iron fist of the druids. The man had been a monster. But his being a monster hadn’t dulled the horror of his blood soaking through Larkin’s dress. Of his mouth opening and closing as he struggled for breath that wouldn’t come.