WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(80)

Simus rose to his feet. “Snowfall,” he said as simply as he could. “Without you, my life and breath are empty.”

Snowfall’s anger may have faded from her eyes, but he saw her doubt and uncertainty.

Simus took a slow step forward. “I know we haven’t shared, I know we haven’t so much as really touched—”

“We danced,” she whispered, and hope flared in his heart. Simus moved closer, watching her eyes for any sign of rejection. When she didn’t move, didn’t retreat, he reached out and brushed his thumb along her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm and he leaned in ever so slowly, and she leaned forward, and— “Ewwwww,” a chorus shrilled.

Simus jerked his head around.

Pive stood there with five other children, all staring at them with their faces screwed up in various expressions of disgust. “Are you gonna kiss?” asked one of the smaller ones.

“Don’t you have duties?” Simus asked.

They all recognized his tone, and scattered, mounting up on their gurtles and charging off into the gurtle herd. Simus watched them flee, afraid that he’d been too harsh, until he heard some of them giggling.

Relieved, he turned back to Snowfall, and his heart sank to see the blankness back in her eyes. “Snowfall—”




It was too much too fast. She wasn’t sure that she could trust, and yet she wanted to so very much.

Too much.

Simus turned back to her, his face so eager.

And what would that mean, for him, for his people. How would they react, how would Keir react?

She made her face a blank. “Warlord.” She took a step back, away from him into the midst of her baskets, seeking their protection. “You have duties to attend to.”

“Don’t be afraid.” Simus didn’t move closer, his voice a gentle whisper.

Snowfall bristled. “I fear nothing.”

“I do,” Simus said with a wry smile. “I have left myself open to your attack, Snowfall. For a fatal blow from your hand.”

“Warriors do not die from rejection,” Snowfall said sharply. She edged farther back.

“Maybe not die,” Simus said. “But I would break. I would be lost.”

Snowfall looked away, at the grass, at the dung baskets, anywhere but at him.

She heard him sigh, and reach for his belt.

“Here is my dagger.” He pulled it from its sheath. “I offer my surrender to you, Snowfall of the Plains.”

That drew her eyes. Simus took a step closer, keeping his dagger point aimed at his heart.

Horns sounded in the distance, the deep echoing horns of the Singers.

“The Council tent,” Snowfall said. “The raising has begun. You should be there.”

“You are more important,” Simus said.

Snowfall’s eyes went wide. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

Snowfall glanced away. “It seems more complicated now,” she whispered.

“No,” Simus said, taking a step toward her, shaking his head in denial. “No, it isn’t.”

“I never thought...” Her voice trailed off. “I did not think...”

Simus shifted the dagger hilt toward her. “Accept my surrender, Snowfall. Accept my heart.”

“I think we should be cautious.” Snowfall didn’t move any closer, but she didn’t back away.

“I think we should be bold,” Simus countered, stepping around the baskets.

“We may end up killing each other,” Snowfall said.

“Or not,” Simus said, and took another step.

“We will hurt each other,” Snowfall murmured, eyeing the dagger hilt.

“Or not,” Simus said. He started to smile.

“We will regret of this haste,” Snowfall said.

“Or not,” Simus said.

Snowfall tilted her head at him. He was so close, she could feel the heat of his body, see the spark in his eyes. “And that would be the arrogance?” she asked dryly.

Simus laughed and then leaned closer. “Kiss me, or kill me, Snowfall.”

Snowfall hesitated, then reached for the dagger hilt.

A child’s horn called out, a rude bleating noise jarring both of them.

“Pive.” Simus swung his head around, growling at the interruption.

The children, scattered through the herd, were all pointing north.

Both she and Simus turned, squinting into the morning sun to see a cloud of black high above, stretching over the horizon to the north.





Chapter Thirty-Two


“A storm?” Snowfall asked.

“Odd sort of storm,” Simus said slowly, watching as the line seemed to grow larger. It pulsed with movement. He sheathed his dagger.

“Birds?” Snowfall asked, shading her eyes.

“They’re coming too fast,” Simus said. He watched for a moment, uneasy. “Those are no birds.”

“They—” Snowfall bit her lip. “They glow.”

“What?” Simus asked, watching the line with growing unease.

“As if they use magic.” Snowfall seemed confused by her own words.

The herd around him stirred, gurtle heads coming up and looking north. The horses, too, his and Snowfall’s, stopped grazing and lifted their heads, ears flicking nervously.