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n_wilkinsonTitle: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21)
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Chapter Three
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For lack of anything else to do, and unable to calm the nervous flutters in his belly, Gale spent the better part of two hours browsing through the library. He flipped through books he had already read, unable to focus on new material, and unable to calm the jittery sensations inside of him. He knew that Ione wouldn’t be overly impressed with the truth, and had to admit reluctance in telling her out of fear for her reaction.
She had said she needed to think. Gale wasn’t sure what that meant, whether it was good or bad. The kiss had been reassuring, but Gale still didn’t know where she stood. Was he supposed to wait for her to come around, or seek her out at a later time? Was he supposed to give her space, or would that be the wrong thing to do? He worried, and he gnawed at his bottom lip, and he cursed himself for his anxious behavior.
Shoving a thick text back into position on the proper shelf, Gale abandoned his mindless browsing. It wasn’t doing him any good anyway. Rubbing his sleeve across his nose, which twitched at the onset of dust, Gale made for the door. As he left out of the library, he ran into Ishmael who was entering, looking a little bandaged and bruised, but otherwise unharmed for his encounter with one of the Brigade’s more notorious captains.
“Cyrus patched you up, I see,” Gale commented.
A hint of red darkened Ishmael’s cheeks as he nodded stiffly. “Lord Azriel had no need for concern. I was fine.”
Gale bit back a chuckle; Ishmael’s youth so plainly obvious. “Better to be safe then sorry though. You know how the Boss worries.”
Ishmael’s scowl contrasted sharply with the deepening red in his cheeks. “I know,” he said, and then tipped his head in a parting gesture. “Have a good day, Lord Arlen.”
Gale still hadn’t managed to break Ishmael of that formality. Even Cyrus had long stopped calling Gale by his titles.
Leaving Ishmael to his books, Gale wandered into the main corridor with no real destination in mind. He felt too restless, too keyed up to focus. There were things to be done as there always were. Patrols to organize. Intelligence reports to pore through. Supply lists to memorize and approve. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he and Ione had cleaned their shared quarters…
“You really should apologize to Ione.” A sibilant voice interrupted his thoughts as Quetz shifted around his neck, her smooth scales gentle against his flesh.
Gale quirked a brow, folding his hands back into his sleeves. “Oh? You’re talking to me now?” he asked with a sniff.
One little argument with Ione and both his girls had turned against him. He hadn’t even seen Inari since this morning, though Quetz had slithered up to him only an hour after the disagreement. Gale suspected that was only because she missed her warm and mobile perch. Quetz was quite the lazy snake.
A tongue flicked out against his throat, an affectionate gesture that Gale had come to recognize. “Sometimes, even I forget how utterly human you are, my sweet,” Quetz responded, which was neither an apology nor an answer, but so long as she wasn’t angry with him anymore, Gale could accept it.
“Forest spirits don’t have disagreements?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Quetz said with a little hissing laugh that would have sounded creepy to Gale if he hadn’t known her to be as gentle as a blanket. She coiled around his neck like a living necklace until her head and snout nudged at his ear affectionately. “Don’t worry. She doesn’t hate you.”
Gale hadn’t realized, until Quetz said it, that such a concern had been what gnawed on his insides. He sighed. “I never realized how much I could hate the truth until just now.”
“It is still better than a lie,” Quetz said and settled back around his neck, the vibrations of her aether a comforting rhythm against his own.
That much, Gale at least agreed with. He might dislike the truth, but he wouldn’t ever consider lying to Ione. He might have been clueless when it came to relationships but honesty was always a pretty good fail-safe.
Familiar aether tickled at the edges of Gale’s senses, spiked with adrenaline. His feet shifted paths before Gale consciously made the decision to do so, following the flow of aether much like a bee to honey. He knew Ione’s magic almost as intimately as he did his own, and the prospect of watching Ione in the midst of either sparring or practicing was too good to pass up. She had wanted to think, and Gale wouldn’t force her to talk, but it wouldn’t hurt to watch.
Ione, fully focused and in the midst of battle, was truly a sight to behold.
Months ago, Gale had first seen Ione in the middle of the forest on a rainy day. Gale, masked, had watched as Ione battled against Grayson, with the unmistakable honey-like sweetness of a familiar bond in her aether.
He had watched her, her use of magic more like dancing, as wind swirled around her and the earth responded to her commands. He’d watched the wolf at her side, obviously a forest spirit to anyone with eyes to see the truth. And something inside of Gale had skipped a beat.
He wouldn’t call it love at first sight because Gale didn’t believe in something so pure. But there was definitely an immediate attraction. He had been intrigued, beyond the fact that a member of the Brigade had bonded with a familiar spirit. More than the sight of her determined face, flushed with exertion, the tight cut of her clothes as they outlined lithe muscle and the curve of her hips. He’d been intrigued by Ione Tegan as a package, an intrigue that hadn’t faded by the time Grayshire had all but giftwrapped her to them.
Gale’s feet took him to the training room, power practically radiating from the closed door. So much that if he lifted his hand, he felt he could curl his fingers into that brimming aether. Ione had only gotten stronger since joining them nearly a year ago. If it was because of her secondary connection to Aponi or another reason entirely, Gale didn’t know. She still wasn’t a match for Gale or Sabriel even, but she was no easy opponent either.
Smiling to himself, Gale slipped into the training room, carefully shielding his own aether so as not to alert Ione to his presence. He wanted to watch, not interrupt or even join in. Watching Ione was a rare treat indeed, as Gale was usually involved rather than standing on the sidelines.
Inside the room, Ione’s aether washed over him in a tingling caress, as though recognizing Gale immediately and accepting his presence. Warmth flooded Gale as his gaze swept the training room, finding Ione in an instant. She had corralled Sabriel into sparring with her somehow, an opponent who would be enough of a challenge to keep her on her toes, keep her guessing.
Sabriel, for his part, wasn’t even breaking a sweat. He grinned from ear to ear as he easily evaded her attacks, a cloud of dust rising around their competing forms. But while Gale knew just how skilled his cousin could be, his eyes were for Ione alone.
Gale wasn’t surprised that Ione had abandoned her sword, focusing instead on martial arts and aether use. She still hadn’t warmed up to the use of a physical weapon, favoring her own unique arts instead.
Sabriel, sword in hand, swung at Ione, but she blocked the blow by thrusting her palm at his wrist, knocking it away. She spun into him, a move that seemed choreographed, slamming an elbow encased in swirling wind against this chest. Sabriel staggered back a few steps, hardly down, aether pulsing through the air. He easily swung back with the blade again, but Ione danced out of the way, earth rumbling beneath her feet.
Her face was flushed from exertion, sweat forcing her clothes to cling tightly to her lithe body. Her amber eyes were bright with adrenaline and Gale felt the stirring in his body as he watched her.
He’d always thought Ione, in the midst of battle, better resembled a dancer more than anything else. She was incredibly graceful, her arms and hands twisting and whipping through the air as her favorite element answered her call. She was quick and agile despite her height, and spun and kicked with the best of them.
He licked his lips, heat pooling in his belly, a part of him wanting nothing more than to dive into the middle of their spar, grab Ione, and kiss her senseless. She would be amped up on adrenaline, aether an excited buzz dancing over Gale’s skin, her fingers digging in desperately as her mouth covered his with sweet heat…
“I should have known I’d find you here.”
To his credit, Gale didn’t shriek like a little girl and jump three feet in the air. His heart did, however, leap into his throat as he turned with burning cheeks to greet a man he considered both dear friend and father substitute. Azriel was watching him twinkling eyes, amusement curling his lips. He couldn’t even accuse Azriel of sneaking up on him because in all likelihood, Gale had been paying strict attention to Ione alone.
“Why? Because I like to train or because Ione’s here?”
The boss laughed. “A bit of both perhaps?” he said, and shifted his gaze to the duel between Sabriel and Ione, the latter noticeably tiring but still managing to throw an impressive array of sharp rocks toward Sabriel’s midsection. “She’s become so much stronger in the past year. It’s almost unnatural.”
“I’m not the only one who’s noticed then,” Gale said, watching as Ione twisted through the air, delivering a strong, roundhouse kick that forced Sabriel to twist to avoid or face a boot to the face. “Is it because of the pact with Aponi? Or has the potential always been there and restricted by Meropis?”
Azriel hummed in his throat. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? About what could happen if everyone was freed of Meropis’ limitations.”
It was something to ponder indeed. Perhaps they would all get a chance to find out, provided they came through this war alive and victorious. It would definitely be interesting to watch.
“It appears Ishmael’s efforts were for naught.”
“What do you mean?”
Regret darkened Azriel’s eyes as he looked trouble. “Our captive decided death was better than imprisonment.”
Gale turned toward his leader in surprise. “Suicide?”
“Yes.” Azriel sighed, his shoulders sagging. “It appears our Brigade Captain had, from time to time, moonlighted in the Special Ops.”
Understanding sunk like a stone in Gale’s belly. “A poison capsule.”
The look on Azriel’s face was all he needed for confirmation. “There was nothing we could have done. You know, as well as I do, how quickly those poisons are meant to act.”
Unfortunately, Gale did. Dharva would have been dead before a healer could arrive and figure out what would have been wrong.
“Well, we’ve just bungled that up completely,” Gale muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Things are going great.”
“Things are going exactly as expected,” Azriel corrected, a hint of chastisement in his tone. “It’s never been our policy to hold prisoners anyway, Gale. I honestly didn’t expect to get much information from her.”
Gale couldn’t hide his frustration. “That’s not the point. Grayshire’s getting more violent and what are we doing? Just chipping away at their patience bit by bit.” He sighed, forcing himself to rein in his rising aether. “We need to do something grand, some large gesture to show that they haven’t beaten us. That we’re not intimidated by them.”
“We don’t have the resources for that,” Azriel reminded him quietly.
Gale’s fingers drew into fists at his sides. “I know that,” he said. “But we’ve been fighting for six years now. People are dying, good and bad. Something has to break and I’ll be damned if it’s going to be us.”
“I understand, my friend. I feel much the same. But we can’t afford to be reckless either. We must be smarter than they, or we’ll only orchestrate our own destruction.”
He knew that Azriel was right, and Gale forced his breath to even, a rhythmic inhale and exhale. Now wasn’t the time to express his frustration. Not when Azriel himself looked so haggard and when other thoughts were weighing on Gale’s mind, other troubles. Azriel was just as much aware of what was at stake as Gale.
He exhaled slowly, the tension easing from his body. “I know,” Gale said. “It’s simply difficult to be patient in times like these.”
Azriel made a sound of agreement in his throat, and with an unconscious decision the subject was dropped. Such discussions were best saved for their weekly, and occasionally nightly, strategy meetings.
Gale’s attention returned to Ione just in time to catch sight of Sabriel slamming his knuckles into her jaw in a move that Ione had been too off-balance to avoid. There was an urge inside of Gale to leap into action, to throw himself in the middle and call an end to their spar. His muscles even tensed, his gut coiling…
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Gale blinked at the warning tone in Azriel’s voice, and deflated back into a casual stance. “What do you mean?”
Another amused smile curled Azriel’s lips as he patted Gale on the shoulder. “Rumors travel far and fast in Paragon. By now, I think everyone knows about your little… disagreement this morning.”
Gale groaned, resisting the childish urge to bury his face in his hands. “Then I hope you have better advice to offer than what I’ve been given so far.”
“Consider the source,” Azriel said dryly, though to be fair Antoinette had been much more help than either Sabriel or Malcolm. “Just let me suggest one thing. Ione doesn’t need to be protected, nor does she want to be protected. And she wouldn’t appreciate you thinking that she does. She would consider it an insult, not just to her skills, but to the person that she is.”
Gale frowned, understanding most of it, but not quite sure of the last bit. He hadn’t meant to insult Ione but was it so wrong to not want her to come to harm? The Varos Flats weren’t a damned picnic after all. Gale himself felt nervous stepping on those tainted lands, and his familiars couldn’t come with him. It was the last place he would want Ione to be.
His attention returned to Ione again, watching as she groaned and accepted the hand Sabriel offered her. Sabriel laughed, and they exchanged words, but Gale couldn’t hear them from this far away. He could only see Ione gingerly touch her jaw before grinning like a fool, swiping her tongue over the cut on her lip.
“I would also suggest,” Azriel added with another smile as he turned toward the door, “that now is the perfect opportunity for that apology.”
“By that, you mean to say that I could take advantage of her good mood?”
Azriel laughed. “Take it as you will, my young apprentice. After all, the best part of any argument is the making up afterward.”
Despite himself, Gale couldn’t fight the heat that bloomed in his cheeks. Hearing such things from Sabriel or Malcolm or even Kieran wasn’t so unusual that Gale was all but immune to their teasing. However, hearing it from Azriel was a whole different story.
“So I’ve heard,” Gale said, and then cast a critical glance over a man who really was like a mentor to him. “And speaking of Kieran, I hope that you’d take a piece of my advice as well.”
Azriel cocked a brow. “Oh?”
“Get some rest,” Gale said bluntly, concerned for the dark circles under Azriel’s eyes and the drawn look to his face. “Let Kieran spoil you a bit. You look exhausted, Azriel, and you could use a little pampering.”
It was Azriel’s turn to look embarrassed, though he hid it well, with a small cough in the base of his throat and averting his eyes. “Now you’re starting to sound like Kieran,” he said with a tired smile. “But I’ll accept your advice nevertheless. Good luck.”
With a tip of his head, an echo of a bow that had been ingrained into every noble who had ever stepped foot in Grayshire, Azriel dismissed himself. Leaving Gale to worry briefly after his commander before shaking his head to clear the concern. If there was anyone who could make Azriel rest, it was Kieran. Azriel would be well taken care of.
It was time that Gale handled his own business.
Ione, done sparring, had finally noticed his presence, so Gale didn’t have to announce himself as he approached where she was standing and swiping a square of cloth over her sweaty neck and face. She looked flushed, sexy, and Gale forced himself to remember that Ione was furious with him and not likely to drag him into the nearest closet.
Unsure how to break the ice without sounding like an idiot, Gale opted for casual. “Stone darts?” he asked, with a pointed look around them and to Sabriel, who was muttering over the nicks and holes in his clothing. “That’s new.”
“Desperate times,” Ione said, panting slightly, and made a face. “Though now I need another bath,” she added with a pointed sniff at her own shoulder.
Images of his lover in the bath, naked and wet, surrounded by steam, instantly crowded Gale’s thoughts. He swallowed thickly, pulse racing through his body.
“Care for some company?” Gale asked, before logic could corral his tongue and remind him that had wanted some space, that she’d wanted to think, and she was still supposed to be mad at him
Amber eyes flickered over him before Ione shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” she said, throwing the towel over her shoulder. Her gaze rested on his cheek where Gale knew the shadow of a bruise to be rather prominent. “And then we should find some ice for your cheek.”
“It’ll heal on its own,” Gale said, not wanting to make a big deal out of something he may or may not have deserved, depending on how one looked at it.
Ione snorted and rolled her eyes, turning to wave over her shoulder. “Thanks for the spar, Sabriel. I think I might actually beat you next time.”
Gale’s cousin grinned languidly, one hand flipping through the air in a parting gesture. “Maybe in a few more years, Ione. And while you’re at it, try forgiving Gale, ne? He can’t help that he’s a bit of an idiot.”
As Gale gaped at his tactless cousin, speechless, Sabriel simply laughed and went on his merry way. No doubt off to find Helene and see what other mischief he could stir up.
“It’s always nice when family is on your side,” Ione observed, the corners of her lips twitching with amusement. She moved past him, heading to the door, and Gale followed along, unashamedly watching the sway of her hips.
“If admitting I’m an idiot means I won’t have to dodge any more vases, then I’m willing to give it a try.”
Ione cut her eyes at him. “I shouldn’t have thrown the vase.”
Notice that she made no mention of not throwing the punch, the thing that Gale hadn’t managed to avoid. And damn, but Ione hit like a man, not some soft woman. He also strongly suspected that she had amped up the blow with a touch of mana, which considering the likes of aether that had been swirling around her, was highly likely.
Gale lifted a hand, gingerly touching his cheek. “I dodged the vase,” he reminded her.
“It was my favorite vase,” Ione said, a touch of disappointment coloring her tone.
Mid-stride, Gale nearly tripped over his own feet at her deadpan tone. He couldn’t tell if she were serious or joking. His jaw dropped as he shot her an incredulous look, finally spying the humor that sparkled in her eyes.
She reached out, squeezing his arm. “I’m kidding,” Ione reassured him, and then abruptly closed her mouth as fellow members of the Theravada passed them in the hall, sharing greetings
.
Not that it would stop the rumors. Paragon, for all its large, sprawling corridors, was a small community. And since Gale was one of the so-called leaders, his personal life was always up for discussion, with or without his consent. At least he didn’t have a fan club like the boss and Kieran. Gale was grateful that women didn’t giggle when he passed, glancing from him to Ione knowingly and tittering amongst themselves. It was something that amused Kieran and Azriel patiently tolerated as another consequence of being firmly attached to a man like Kieran in any capacity.
“Does this mean you’re not angry?” Gale asked, feeling like a child asking his parents if they forgave him for breaking the cookie jar. Why wasn’t he any better at this? Why was he so bad at communicating with normal people?
Ione squeezed his arm again with a faint sigh. “Not anymore. Though I still think I need to explain why I was so furious in the first place.”
“An explanation would help,” Gale said, because really, he’d been absolutely clueless. Though Azriel’s words had cleared some things up, he’d rather hear the truth from Ione herself.
Ione chuckled and released his arm, but only to grab his hand and tangle their fingers together, something that Gale knew she did for his sake and not her own. He couldn’t help it. He liked the way her hand fit in his, and the subtle way their aether mingled together when their hands touched. It felt so natural and comfortable. And well, there was also a small part of him that felt rather smug holding her hand, as though announcing to everyone in Paragon that Ione was his and no one else’s.
Not that he’d ever admit that last bit aloud. He had the feeling it would result in either another vase or punch and while he could dodge the former, the latter had already proven to be quite painful.
****
a/n: Little bit of a cliffy here. Don't worry. Next chapter shouldn't take half as long.
Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21)
Chapter Three
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For lack of anything else to do, and unable to calm the nervous flutters in his belly, Gale spent the better part of two hours browsing through the library. He flipped through books he had already read, unable to focus on new material, and unable to calm the jittery sensations inside of him. He knew that Ione wouldn’t be overly impressed with the truth, and had to admit reluctance in telling her out of fear for her reaction.
She had said she needed to think. Gale wasn’t sure what that meant, whether it was good or bad. The kiss had been reassuring, but Gale still didn’t know where she stood. Was he supposed to wait for her to come around, or seek her out at a later time? Was he supposed to give her space, or would that be the wrong thing to do? He worried, and he gnawed at his bottom lip, and he cursed himself for his anxious behavior.
Shoving a thick text back into position on the proper shelf, Gale abandoned his mindless browsing. It wasn’t doing him any good anyway. Rubbing his sleeve across his nose, which twitched at the onset of dust, Gale made for the door. As he left out of the library, he ran into Ishmael who was entering, looking a little bandaged and bruised, but otherwise unharmed for his encounter with one of the Brigade’s more notorious captains.
“Cyrus patched you up, I see,” Gale commented.
A hint of red darkened Ishmael’s cheeks as he nodded stiffly. “Lord Azriel had no need for concern. I was fine.”
Gale bit back a chuckle; Ishmael’s youth so plainly obvious. “Better to be safe then sorry though. You know how the Boss worries.”
Ishmael’s scowl contrasted sharply with the deepening red in his cheeks. “I know,” he said, and then tipped his head in a parting gesture. “Have a good day, Lord Arlen.”
Gale still hadn’t managed to break Ishmael of that formality. Even Cyrus had long stopped calling Gale by his titles.
Leaving Ishmael to his books, Gale wandered into the main corridor with no real destination in mind. He felt too restless, too keyed up to focus. There were things to be done as there always were. Patrols to organize. Intelligence reports to pore through. Supply lists to memorize and approve. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he and Ione had cleaned their shared quarters…
“You really should apologize to Ione.” A sibilant voice interrupted his thoughts as Quetz shifted around his neck, her smooth scales gentle against his flesh.
Gale quirked a brow, folding his hands back into his sleeves. “Oh? You’re talking to me now?” he asked with a sniff.
One little argument with Ione and both his girls had turned against him. He hadn’t even seen Inari since this morning, though Quetz had slithered up to him only an hour after the disagreement. Gale suspected that was only because she missed her warm and mobile perch. Quetz was quite the lazy snake.
A tongue flicked out against his throat, an affectionate gesture that Gale had come to recognize. “Sometimes, even I forget how utterly human you are, my sweet,” Quetz responded, which was neither an apology nor an answer, but so long as she wasn’t angry with him anymore, Gale could accept it.
“Forest spirits don’t have disagreements?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Quetz said with a little hissing laugh that would have sounded creepy to Gale if he hadn’t known her to be as gentle as a blanket. She coiled around his neck like a living necklace until her head and snout nudged at his ear affectionately. “Don’t worry. She doesn’t hate you.”
Gale hadn’t realized, until Quetz said it, that such a concern had been what gnawed on his insides. He sighed. “I never realized how much I could hate the truth until just now.”
“It is still better than a lie,” Quetz said and settled back around his neck, the vibrations of her aether a comforting rhythm against his own.
That much, Gale at least agreed with. He might dislike the truth, but he wouldn’t ever consider lying to Ione. He might have been clueless when it came to relationships but honesty was always a pretty good fail-safe.
Familiar aether tickled at the edges of Gale’s senses, spiked with adrenaline. His feet shifted paths before Gale consciously made the decision to do so, following the flow of aether much like a bee to honey. He knew Ione’s magic almost as intimately as he did his own, and the prospect of watching Ione in the midst of either sparring or practicing was too good to pass up. She had wanted to think, and Gale wouldn’t force her to talk, but it wouldn’t hurt to watch.
Ione, fully focused and in the midst of battle, was truly a sight to behold.
Months ago, Gale had first seen Ione in the middle of the forest on a rainy day. Gale, masked, had watched as Ione battled against Grayson, with the unmistakable honey-like sweetness of a familiar bond in her aether.
He had watched her, her use of magic more like dancing, as wind swirled around her and the earth responded to her commands. He’d watched the wolf at her side, obviously a forest spirit to anyone with eyes to see the truth. And something inside of Gale had skipped a beat.
He wouldn’t call it love at first sight because Gale didn’t believe in something so pure. But there was definitely an immediate attraction. He had been intrigued, beyond the fact that a member of the Brigade had bonded with a familiar spirit. More than the sight of her determined face, flushed with exertion, the tight cut of her clothes as they outlined lithe muscle and the curve of her hips. He’d been intrigued by Ione Tegan as a package, an intrigue that hadn’t faded by the time Grayshire had all but giftwrapped her to them.
Gale’s feet took him to the training room, power practically radiating from the closed door. So much that if he lifted his hand, he felt he could curl his fingers into that brimming aether. Ione had only gotten stronger since joining them nearly a year ago. If it was because of her secondary connection to Aponi or another reason entirely, Gale didn’t know. She still wasn’t a match for Gale or Sabriel even, but she was no easy opponent either.
Smiling to himself, Gale slipped into the training room, carefully shielding his own aether so as not to alert Ione to his presence. He wanted to watch, not interrupt or even join in. Watching Ione was a rare treat indeed, as Gale was usually involved rather than standing on the sidelines.
Inside the room, Ione’s aether washed over him in a tingling caress, as though recognizing Gale immediately and accepting his presence. Warmth flooded Gale as his gaze swept the training room, finding Ione in an instant. She had corralled Sabriel into sparring with her somehow, an opponent who would be enough of a challenge to keep her on her toes, keep her guessing.
Sabriel, for his part, wasn’t even breaking a sweat. He grinned from ear to ear as he easily evaded her attacks, a cloud of dust rising around their competing forms. But while Gale knew just how skilled his cousin could be, his eyes were for Ione alone.
Gale wasn’t surprised that Ione had abandoned her sword, focusing instead on martial arts and aether use. She still hadn’t warmed up to the use of a physical weapon, favoring her own unique arts instead.
Sabriel, sword in hand, swung at Ione, but she blocked the blow by thrusting her palm at his wrist, knocking it away. She spun into him, a move that seemed choreographed, slamming an elbow encased in swirling wind against this chest. Sabriel staggered back a few steps, hardly down, aether pulsing through the air. He easily swung back with the blade again, but Ione danced out of the way, earth rumbling beneath her feet.
Her face was flushed from exertion, sweat forcing her clothes to cling tightly to her lithe body. Her amber eyes were bright with adrenaline and Gale felt the stirring in his body as he watched her.
He’d always thought Ione, in the midst of battle, better resembled a dancer more than anything else. She was incredibly graceful, her arms and hands twisting and whipping through the air as her favorite element answered her call. She was quick and agile despite her height, and spun and kicked with the best of them.
He licked his lips, heat pooling in his belly, a part of him wanting nothing more than to dive into the middle of their spar, grab Ione, and kiss her senseless. She would be amped up on adrenaline, aether an excited buzz dancing over Gale’s skin, her fingers digging in desperately as her mouth covered his with sweet heat…
“I should have known I’d find you here.”
To his credit, Gale didn’t shriek like a little girl and jump three feet in the air. His heart did, however, leap into his throat as he turned with burning cheeks to greet a man he considered both dear friend and father substitute. Azriel was watching him twinkling eyes, amusement curling his lips. He couldn’t even accuse Azriel of sneaking up on him because in all likelihood, Gale had been paying strict attention to Ione alone.
“Why? Because I like to train or because Ione’s here?”
The boss laughed. “A bit of both perhaps?” he said, and shifted his gaze to the duel between Sabriel and Ione, the latter noticeably tiring but still managing to throw an impressive array of sharp rocks toward Sabriel’s midsection. “She’s become so much stronger in the past year. It’s almost unnatural.”
“I’m not the only one who’s noticed then,” Gale said, watching as Ione twisted through the air, delivering a strong, roundhouse kick that forced Sabriel to twist to avoid or face a boot to the face. “Is it because of the pact with Aponi? Or has the potential always been there and restricted by Meropis?”
Azriel hummed in his throat. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? About what could happen if everyone was freed of Meropis’ limitations.”
It was something to ponder indeed. Perhaps they would all get a chance to find out, provided they came through this war alive and victorious. It would definitely be interesting to watch.
“It appears Ishmael’s efforts were for naught.”
“What do you mean?”
Regret darkened Azriel’s eyes as he looked trouble. “Our captive decided death was better than imprisonment.”
Gale turned toward his leader in surprise. “Suicide?”
“Yes.” Azriel sighed, his shoulders sagging. “It appears our Brigade Captain had, from time to time, moonlighted in the Special Ops.”
Understanding sunk like a stone in Gale’s belly. “A poison capsule.”
The look on Azriel’s face was all he needed for confirmation. “There was nothing we could have done. You know, as well as I do, how quickly those poisons are meant to act.”
Unfortunately, Gale did. Dharva would have been dead before a healer could arrive and figure out what would have been wrong.
“Well, we’ve just bungled that up completely,” Gale muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Things are going great.”
“Things are going exactly as expected,” Azriel corrected, a hint of chastisement in his tone. “It’s never been our policy to hold prisoners anyway, Gale. I honestly didn’t expect to get much information from her.”
Gale couldn’t hide his frustration. “That’s not the point. Grayshire’s getting more violent and what are we doing? Just chipping away at their patience bit by bit.” He sighed, forcing himself to rein in his rising aether. “We need to do something grand, some large gesture to show that they haven’t beaten us. That we’re not intimidated by them.”
“We don’t have the resources for that,” Azriel reminded him quietly.
Gale’s fingers drew into fists at his sides. “I know that,” he said. “But we’ve been fighting for six years now. People are dying, good and bad. Something has to break and I’ll be damned if it’s going to be us.”
“I understand, my friend. I feel much the same. But we can’t afford to be reckless either. We must be smarter than they, or we’ll only orchestrate our own destruction.”
He knew that Azriel was right, and Gale forced his breath to even, a rhythmic inhale and exhale. Now wasn’t the time to express his frustration. Not when Azriel himself looked so haggard and when other thoughts were weighing on Gale’s mind, other troubles. Azriel was just as much aware of what was at stake as Gale.
He exhaled slowly, the tension easing from his body. “I know,” Gale said. “It’s simply difficult to be patient in times like these.”
Azriel made a sound of agreement in his throat, and with an unconscious decision the subject was dropped. Such discussions were best saved for their weekly, and occasionally nightly, strategy meetings.
Gale’s attention returned to Ione just in time to catch sight of Sabriel slamming his knuckles into her jaw in a move that Ione had been too off-balance to avoid. There was an urge inside of Gale to leap into action, to throw himself in the middle and call an end to their spar. His muscles even tensed, his gut coiling…
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Gale blinked at the warning tone in Azriel’s voice, and deflated back into a casual stance. “What do you mean?”
Another amused smile curled Azriel’s lips as he patted Gale on the shoulder. “Rumors travel far and fast in Paragon. By now, I think everyone knows about your little… disagreement this morning.”
Gale groaned, resisting the childish urge to bury his face in his hands. “Then I hope you have better advice to offer than what I’ve been given so far.”
“Consider the source,” Azriel said dryly, though to be fair Antoinette had been much more help than either Sabriel or Malcolm. “Just let me suggest one thing. Ione doesn’t need to be protected, nor does she want to be protected. And she wouldn’t appreciate you thinking that she does. She would consider it an insult, not just to her skills, but to the person that she is.”
Gale frowned, understanding most of it, but not quite sure of the last bit. He hadn’t meant to insult Ione but was it so wrong to not want her to come to harm? The Varos Flats weren’t a damned picnic after all. Gale himself felt nervous stepping on those tainted lands, and his familiars couldn’t come with him. It was the last place he would want Ione to be.
His attention returned to Ione again, watching as she groaned and accepted the hand Sabriel offered her. Sabriel laughed, and they exchanged words, but Gale couldn’t hear them from this far away. He could only see Ione gingerly touch her jaw before grinning like a fool, swiping her tongue over the cut on her lip.
“I would also suggest,” Azriel added with another smile as he turned toward the door, “that now is the perfect opportunity for that apology.”
“By that, you mean to say that I could take advantage of her good mood?”
Azriel laughed. “Take it as you will, my young apprentice. After all, the best part of any argument is the making up afterward.”
Despite himself, Gale couldn’t fight the heat that bloomed in his cheeks. Hearing such things from Sabriel or Malcolm or even Kieran wasn’t so unusual that Gale was all but immune to their teasing. However, hearing it from Azriel was a whole different story.
“So I’ve heard,” Gale said, and then cast a critical glance over a man who really was like a mentor to him. “And speaking of Kieran, I hope that you’d take a piece of my advice as well.”
Azriel cocked a brow. “Oh?”
“Get some rest,” Gale said bluntly, concerned for the dark circles under Azriel’s eyes and the drawn look to his face. “Let Kieran spoil you a bit. You look exhausted, Azriel, and you could use a little pampering.”
It was Azriel’s turn to look embarrassed, though he hid it well, with a small cough in the base of his throat and averting his eyes. “Now you’re starting to sound like Kieran,” he said with a tired smile. “But I’ll accept your advice nevertheless. Good luck.”
With a tip of his head, an echo of a bow that had been ingrained into every noble who had ever stepped foot in Grayshire, Azriel dismissed himself. Leaving Gale to worry briefly after his commander before shaking his head to clear the concern. If there was anyone who could make Azriel rest, it was Kieran. Azriel would be well taken care of.
It was time that Gale handled his own business.
Ione, done sparring, had finally noticed his presence, so Gale didn’t have to announce himself as he approached where she was standing and swiping a square of cloth over her sweaty neck and face. She looked flushed, sexy, and Gale forced himself to remember that Ione was furious with him and not likely to drag him into the nearest closet.
Unsure how to break the ice without sounding like an idiot, Gale opted for casual. “Stone darts?” he asked, with a pointed look around them and to Sabriel, who was muttering over the nicks and holes in his clothing. “That’s new.”
“Desperate times,” Ione said, panting slightly, and made a face. “Though now I need another bath,” she added with a pointed sniff at her own shoulder.
Images of his lover in the bath, naked and wet, surrounded by steam, instantly crowded Gale’s thoughts. He swallowed thickly, pulse racing through his body.
“Care for some company?” Gale asked, before logic could corral his tongue and remind him that had wanted some space, that she’d wanted to think, and she was still supposed to be mad at him
Amber eyes flickered over him before Ione shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” she said, throwing the towel over her shoulder. Her gaze rested on his cheek where Gale knew the shadow of a bruise to be rather prominent. “And then we should find some ice for your cheek.”
“It’ll heal on its own,” Gale said, not wanting to make a big deal out of something he may or may not have deserved, depending on how one looked at it.
Ione snorted and rolled her eyes, turning to wave over her shoulder. “Thanks for the spar, Sabriel. I think I might actually beat you next time.”
Gale’s cousin grinned languidly, one hand flipping through the air in a parting gesture. “Maybe in a few more years, Ione. And while you’re at it, try forgiving Gale, ne? He can’t help that he’s a bit of an idiot.”
As Gale gaped at his tactless cousin, speechless, Sabriel simply laughed and went on his merry way. No doubt off to find Helene and see what other mischief he could stir up.
“It’s always nice when family is on your side,” Ione observed, the corners of her lips twitching with amusement. She moved past him, heading to the door, and Gale followed along, unashamedly watching the sway of her hips.
“If admitting I’m an idiot means I won’t have to dodge any more vases, then I’m willing to give it a try.”
Ione cut her eyes at him. “I shouldn’t have thrown the vase.”
Notice that she made no mention of not throwing the punch, the thing that Gale hadn’t managed to avoid. And damn, but Ione hit like a man, not some soft woman. He also strongly suspected that she had amped up the blow with a touch of mana, which considering the likes of aether that had been swirling around her, was highly likely.
Gale lifted a hand, gingerly touching his cheek. “I dodged the vase,” he reminded her.
“It was my favorite vase,” Ione said, a touch of disappointment coloring her tone.
Mid-stride, Gale nearly tripped over his own feet at her deadpan tone. He couldn’t tell if she were serious or joking. His jaw dropped as he shot her an incredulous look, finally spying the humor that sparkled in her eyes.
She reached out, squeezing his arm. “I’m kidding,” Ione reassured him, and then abruptly closed her mouth as fellow members of the Theravada passed them in the hall, sharing greetings
.
Not that it would stop the rumors. Paragon, for all its large, sprawling corridors, was a small community. And since Gale was one of the so-called leaders, his personal life was always up for discussion, with or without his consent. At least he didn’t have a fan club like the boss and Kieran. Gale was grateful that women didn’t giggle when he passed, glancing from him to Ione knowingly and tittering amongst themselves. It was something that amused Kieran and Azriel patiently tolerated as another consequence of being firmly attached to a man like Kieran in any capacity.
“Does this mean you’re not angry?” Gale asked, feeling like a child asking his parents if they forgave him for breaking the cookie jar. Why wasn’t he any better at this? Why was he so bad at communicating with normal people?
Ione squeezed his arm again with a faint sigh. “Not anymore. Though I still think I need to explain why I was so furious in the first place.”
“An explanation would help,” Gale said, because really, he’d been absolutely clueless. Though Azriel’s words had cleared some things up, he’d rather hear the truth from Ione herself.
Ione chuckled and released his arm, but only to grab his hand and tangle their fingers together, something that Gale knew she did for his sake and not her own. He couldn’t help it. He liked the way her hand fit in his, and the subtle way their aether mingled together when their hands touched. It felt so natural and comfortable. And well, there was also a small part of him that felt rather smug holding her hand, as though announcing to everyone in Paragon that Ione was his and no one else’s.
Not that he’d ever admit that last bit aloud. He had the feeling it would result in either another vase or punch and while he could dodge the former, the latter had already proven to be quite painful.
a/n: Little bit of a cliffy here. Don't worry. Next chapter shouldn't take half as long.
Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.
