A Strange Hymn by Laura Thalassa
Chapter 43
It’s not just that Des is back, it’s that he wants me to train yet again, hence the magical leash that’s all but dragging me out to one of the queen’s gardens. It’s only once I arrive that the Bargainer’s magic dissipates.
I catch sight of the man himself leaning against a tree. In front of him, he holds the pommel of a sword like one would a cane, his outfit today one hundred percent human, from his KISS T-shirt to his leather pants and black, steel-toed boots.
“Morning, cherub,” he says, stepping into the sunlight, looking far too chipper for his own good. He tosses me the sword.
“Morning,” I say back cautiously, catching the weapon with ease. I’m wearing a flimsy fae dress and thin leather and lace sandals. From my attire alone, I can tell this training session will be tougher than the others.
I watch Des as he heads to the side of the gardens and procures another sword for himself.
“What?” he says, his back to me.
I’ve long since stopped wondering how he can figure out my expressions when he’s not even looking at me.
There’s no sense beating around the bush. “Are the rumors true?” I ask.
“What rumors?” He swings the sword in his hand as he approaches me, loosening up his wrist.
Only once he’s mere feet away does the weapon drop to his side so that he can pull me in for a quick kiss.
I close my eyes at the rush he sends through me. He tastes like secrets and deception, my wily king.
I pull away, my eyelids lifting slowly. “That you’re responsible for the disappearances of the queen’s harem?”
He stares at me for a long moment, those silver eyes ever enigmatic.
“That question will cost you,” he says softly.
My breath leaves my lungs all at once.
He did it. Goddamnit, he did it.
“Sword arm up, love,” he says, pulling away from me, “fall into your battle stance.”
I do as he asks, even though my heart’s pounding from his evasion.
“Why?” I ask as he takes position. He and I both know I’m not referring to his instructions.
The two of us begin to circle each other.
“I think you know why,” he says, all but confirming that the rumors are true.
He rushes me then, his sword lifted high.
I spin away, my skirt trailing behind me.
“Is that all you’re going to do, Callie? Run from me?” he asks as I move between the rose-lined pathways. He’s right on my toes. I know if he wanted to, he could appear right in front of me, but for now, he’s content to chase me like this.
All at once, I swivel to face him, bringing my sword up to meet his.
“Are they dead?” I ask.
The corner of his mouth quirks. “Define dead.”
Jesus.
Our swords spark as I drag mine down and away from him. I spin under his shoulder, coming up for an attack from behind. The Night King turns just in time, deflecting my bow.
“Why?” I ask again.
“No one whips my mate.” The vehemence with which he says that takes my breath away, so much so that he almost lands his next blow. Instead I hear a rip as his blade slices through layers of flimsy fabric.
“Defend yourself, Callie,” he growls.
I shuffle backwards. “But … how?” I ask, referring to his previous answer. “You agreed to peace with the queen.”
He comes at me like a force of nature.
“And I will have it. There are many handsome men she can fill her bed with.”
But none would be replicas of men she once had relationships with. Des hadn’t harmed her mate, but he’d taken away the men she distracted herself with.
“How will you maintain peace? Won’t she know it was you?”
“Cherub, have you ever considered the possibility that it wasn’t me?” he says, bringing his weapon down like an anvil.
I sidestep the blow, swiping my sword at him. “Are you taking the soldiers?”
He parries my attack. “What if I am?” he asks. “Will you love me less? Hate me more?”
The answer is eerily similar to the one he gave Mara when she asked him the same question.
I push away from him, backing up. “Damnit, Des,” I whisper-hiss, “I am not some fae queen to trick with your words. Just be honest with me.”
The world seems to go silent, the chirping birds and rustling trees quieting.
He comes at me, swinging his sword menacingly left and right, the blade crisscrossing his body.
As soon as he reaches me, it’s all I can do to block and evade his barrage of attacks.
Our blades lock again.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
All that I hear is the rustle of my dress in the wind and our soft exhalations.
Do I trust Des, the man who saved me from my father, who loved me from afar for years? The man who’s rescued me from myself and set me aflame over and over again.
“Yes,” I breathe.
His eyes soften. “The answer to your question is no,” he says, his wolfish eyes boring into me. “Mate of my soul, I did not have anything to do with those soldiers’ disappearances.”
I feel the truth of his words, like a hit to the center of my chest. All of Des’s confessions have a weight to them, like he’s handing over a little of himself in the process, but this one feels particularly heavy.
“Do you believe me?” he asks, our swords still locked together.
I nod, sucking in my cheeks. “I do.”
His body relaxes, and I sense my opening. I drop my sword, sidestepping Des, then spin, bringing my sword around with me.
The tip of it grazes his forearm, a line of blood sprouting in its wake.
The moment I register that I actually injured him, I drop my sword, staring at the wound in horror.
Did he let me get him on purpose?
Just as quickly, I answer my own question.
No. This was unplanned.
Des stops fighting to stare at the cut in shock.
“You struck me. You landed a blow.” He tosses his sword aside, the battle utterly forgotten. A beat passes, and then he begins to laugh. “You did it. You finally did it.”
He’s gone mad!
Des sweeps me up in his arms, spinning the two of us around. “Do you know what this means?” he asks, staring up at me.
I don’t.
“You are finally ready.”
