Shadow Hand (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #6)(97)

“They are my people!”

“Your people? Your enslavers, rather!” He took another step forward, towering over her. For the first time in all the long ages she had known him, Imraldera saw Eanrin for the dangerous creature he was; a creature older than she could imagine, a creature as much animal as he was man, and all otherness and wild fey menace. His golden eyes snapped with anger, and his teeth looked sharp as a cat’s in that near darkness under the trees.

“This is what I think, Imraldera,” he said. “I think you’ve lost your head over this man who once had a hold on your affection. Don’t deny it, and don’t tell me it was too long ago! I think you’ve forgotten all that good sense you claim. I think a few pretty words from him, and you’d drop everything you’ve worked for since you saw to the Wolf Lord’s death, everything you’ve striven for since you accepted the knighthood. You—”

“Stop now, Eanrin,” she said, and the muscles in her cheeks tensed with the grinding of her teeth.

But Eanrin rushed on, his words an angry torrent now. “You think you can’t put a foot wrong? You think because the Prince has seen fit to use you for his good purpose that you can now start deciding what that good purpose is? Look at this Path we walk! It’s not one of our own, and you don’t know where it will lead, yet because he walks it, you’re willing to go tripping along, sweet as you please!”

“You don’t even know Sun Eagle, and yet you distrust him. You’ve given him no opportunity to prove himself.”

“You don’t know him either! You know only what you’ve stored up in that mortal memory of yours, and I’m here to tell you it’s not so trustworthy as you seem to think.”

Her eyes blazed. She would have struck him in that moment had she not caught at the last shreds of her self-control. Instead, she said coldly, “I see no reason for you to continue with us, then. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions and walking what Paths I choose. I will do as I have purposed, and I’ll do it alone.”

“Alone? Ha!” The cat-man tossed back his head in a mirthless laugh. “That’s a fine joke, that is! So you really believe I’m going to just let you go marching off to certain doom and folly?”

“If you’re so certain it’s doom and folly, you can turn around and wash your hands of it!”

“That I won’t.”

“And why not?”


“Because I love you.”

The Wood held its breath. A hundred invisible creatures watched from hidden places, biting nails, eyes bulging. Their ears rang with the shouts, the accusations, but all these faded away into this one final, quiet declaration. They watched and they did not move, even as Imraldera stood like stone, unable to breathe or speak or even think.

The poet took a step, closing the distance between them. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know,” he snarled. Then, because he could not bear the look in her eyes, he caught her face between his hands and kissed her; kissed her hard, for he had already seen what her answer would be when she found the ability to speak, but he could fool himself still, in this small moment before the answer came.

Imraldera wrenched away, stepping back so suddenly that she would have fallen had he not deftly caught her upper arm. “No,” she gasped, frightened out of her anger. “No, no, no. This is all wrong.”

“Wrong?” Eanrin whispered, unable to look at her now.

She put a hand to her heart, uncertain that it still beat, and was surprised to feel it pounding a thunderous pace beneath her palm. She drew a tremulous breath and closed her eyes. “Eanrin, I didn’t think . . . I’m sorry, I never even . . . I don’t know what to . . .”

She stopped and let that horrible silence linger again, for horrible as it was, it was better than anything she tried to say.

Eanrin spoke softly. “I know. You don’t love me.”

“No, no please. I do care about you! But we are knights; we serve together.” She took hold of his hand and removed it from her arm. His fingers were icy cold. “We can’t . . . there could never be . . . Dragon’s teeth, Eanrin, what about Lady Gleamdren?”

“Who?”

Now Imraldera felt the anger returning, heightened by embarrassment and an odd sensation of shame and even fear. She stepped away from him, shaking her head and glaring furiously. “That woman to whom you’ve dedicated centuries’ worth of romantic poetry! Poetry I’ve been copying for more than a hundred years myself! How . . . how could you?”

Afraid she would disgrace herself with tears and render this whole unbearable scene beyond unbearable, Imraldera turned her back on the poet, pressing her hands to her heated face. He growled behind her, “You know Gleamdren means nothing to me. You’re making excuses. You love this Sun Eagle.”

“No,” she said quickly, without looking round. “No, you don’t understand.”

“But you’ll throw away everything for him. This man you were to marry.”

“I was pledged to him. It wasn’t my decision.” She lowered her hands and raised her head, putting her shoulders back like a soldier ready for battle. “But this is my decision. And I will do as I have purposed. And I hope—” Her voice faltered but she struggled on. “I hope that we can somehow—”