Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(74)

“I failed,” she said, sniffling. “Joden, I will never fly, no one will. She locked them away somewhere, and who can say where, or how to free them?”

He reached up then, and started to work one of the clasps on her leather armor. Amyu choked back a sob, and started to help him. “You can’t,” she started, and then hiccupped. “We can’t,” and now she was crying in earnest. “We are two broken people and we can’t—”

Joden reached up, and tried to dry her tears with his thumbs. Amyu gave a weak, wet chuckle, wiping her own face. Heaving a deep sigh, she shed her leathers, letting them fall in a heap.

Joden chuffed at her, reaching for her armor and folding them neatly as she unbuckled her sword belt. She placed it on top of the pile and then started to crawl into the bed.

Joden shifted back, lifting the covers for her. There wasn’t much room, but they fit themselves together. Amyu tucked her head under his chin and put her hand on his chest.

Her hair smelled like the night sky on the Plains. Part smoke, part sweet grasses, part open sky. He took a deep satisfied breath, then made sure the blankets covered them both.

“What happened down in the crypts?” Amyu asked.

Joden hesitated, but Amyu lifted her head. “Tell me,” she said. “However long it takes, I need to know.”

He nodded, and took a deep breath as she settled back against him. “Xy-xy-xyson called me,” he started, fully expecting Amyu to fall asleep as he struggled with the words of his story. But her eyes were bright and her patience seemed to have no end.

He explained, struggling through to tell her the part she really needed to know. “He s-s-said ‘i-i-if y-y-y-our w-w-watcher w-w-wishes t-t-to,’ he grimaced at the effort, but he forced the words out. “f-f-fly, t-t-tell h-h-her to re-re-reforge t-t-the s-s-sword.”

Amyu frowned. “Joden, I don’t doubt your truth,” she said slowly. “But I was there. I saw the sword shatter.” Her frown deepened. “I had the hilt in my hand,” she said.

“W-w-what h-h-happened t-t-to i-i-it?” Joden asked.

“I don’t know,” Amyu shrugged. “I handed the hilt to Anna, but then the Warprize went into labor, Atira was attacked, and then saved the Warprize from being killed. I am not sure what happened to it.”

“F-f-find,” Joden said firmly.

Amyu’s face crumpled. “To what end? How do you reforge a crystal sword?” She put her head back down on his shoulder. “Did he tell you that?” she asked, her voice muffled in his skin.

“N-n-no,” Joden admitted softly.

Amyu sighed, and relaxed against him, seemingly going to sleep. But Joden’s thoughts raced like a herd of horses.

What had Xyson said? ‘A Seer, newly come into your power’ Joden frowned, staring up at the stone ceiling above him. What was a seer? There was no mention of that in the songs that he knew, the stories that he’d heard all of his life. Warrior-priests, certainly, but not by that title. But Xyson had said something more. ‘No control, no understanding.’

No understanding, that was a truth. But control? He could control it?

How?

Joden drew a deep breath, but let it out slowly, not willing to disturb Amyu’s sleep. There were no teachers, no tales to aid him in this. He’d have to enter the sparring circle with the visions, trying to command them as they came. Or maybe figure out how and when they came and see if he could create them—

He rolled his eyes. Might as well try to bridle a galloping horse, and the rest of the herd while he was at it.

Joden narrowed his eyes at the stone above him. Best to go to the source. He should go down into the crypts, confront Xyson and ask his questions. The only way to get to the truth of this was to—

Warm fingers pressed on his lips.

Joden shifted his head, to see Amyu’s bright brown eyes looking at him as she frowned.

“Don’t even think it,” she whispered.

Joden raised an eyebrow.

“Going back to the crypts,” Amyu said. “Wandering in the dark, almost freezing to death down there again.” She shifted, reaching up to cup his face. “Enough, Joden,” she said. “We’ll go,” she promised. “In the light of day, with a guide.” She sighed again, still tired and worn. “We will figure this out, somehow.”

Joden felt her shift against him, felt her sorrow in the hand that touched his face. He so much wanted to offer comfort, to reassure her, but the idea of trying to speak, made him tired before he even drew a breath to try.

Amyu shifted again, and he felt her hand lift, about to be drawn away. He reached up and pressed it close.

Maybe he didn’t need words.

Joden turned his head and tickled the palm of Amyu’s hand with the tip of his tongue.

Amyu sucked in a breath, wide-eyed, but she didn’t pull away.

Joden smiled, leaned over, and kissed her. It was long, slow and sweet, just lips soft against one another. He released her hand, and reached to stroke her neck, just below the hairline. Amyu shivered against him.

He shifted then, pulling her with him, so that they faced each other on their sides. Now his hands were free to touch, long slow strokes down the length of her arm, and her hips.

Amyu lifted her chin, granting him access to her tender throat. She moaned as Joden explored it with his mouth. Her skin was soft and delicious, invading all of his senses. He took his sweet time, keep his hands just below her breasts, his thumbs rubbing the central spot between. Her nipples had hardened, and they were a delight to behold, begging to be touched. But Joden held off, leaving them hungry, leaving her in a state of suspense as she writhed in his arms.