time.” He chuckled, then shouted, “Airnaugh!”
The catamounts coiled back, tails sweeping and ears pinned flat to their heads. The release was swift and powerful, launching them up and over the river in a graceful arc, far more elegant than any bridge. Cate gasped but held tight, her dark hair and the long sides of her burgundy velvet coat rippling behind her, her eyes wide.
The cats landed with a loud thump on the other side of the river. Rook scratched his mount behind the ear and it rumbled in acknowledgement. Only the Ragnorian caste members—where the rulers and warriors belonged—were allowed to own and ride the amazing beasts. It was thought to be beneath the Makcay, whose feet never touched the ground and were carried by palatines from the Vaquin caste anytime they went outdoors. This was likely the only chance Cate would have to indulge in such a ride once the Shadow King knew who and what she was.
Her green eyes sparkled, and giddy laughter bubbled out of her, even as she breathed hard. “That was amazing!” She twisted around to look at the river behind them. “That had to be a good thirty-foot leap.”
Rook remembered the rush it brought to the blood the first time his catamount had leaped a gorge in the craggy Meru Mountains that separated Shadowland from Wyldwood. It had made him feel powerful, invincible. It pleased him enormously that it had affected her the same way.
“We’ve at least six hours to go before we reach Seaneath.”
Cate’s hand strayed to her stomach, pressing against it. She said nothing, but Rook thought he heard a slight growl. The Uplanders could not go as long without sustenance as the fae could. He needed to stop and feed her. “But before we go any farther, we will eat.”
A grateful smile curved her lips. A flicker of heat licked at the edges of his control in response.
“Settle,” he commanded his mount. The large cat lowered its belly to the ground, tucking its massive front paws beneath its chest. Rook slid with practiced ease from his saddle and pulled free the provision packs Borgen had fastened to his mount, then went to assist Cate.
“Settle,” she said, her tone calm, confident, and commanding. Rook couldn’t help but smile. Cate would make a fine queen one day—if she chose him. If she chose the king, then she’d be an esteemed Seer in the court and a royal consort, but never a queen.
The thought of Cate as his father’s consort burned like acid in his stomach. Sunlight slanted through the trees, the beams made her skin glow, and they highlighted the glossy curls dancing around her head and shoulders in the freshening breeze. She deserves to be a queen , he thought as he settled on a fallen log overlooking the shimmering waters of the Ulean.
He offered his hand to assist Cate from her saddle. She slid off easily and into his arms. While the temptation was there to seduce her in this beautiful setting, Rook knew better. They would have an audience. For among the trees, shrubs, and flowers—even in the water of the Ulean itself—there were Illith fae watching them. They knew better than to intrude uninvited but would be intent on them all the same as they chattered and moved about, rustling in the leaves. He couldn’t risk them reporting any improper thing he did with Cate back to the king. As much as he didn’t wish it, he released her and walked to a log along the banks of the Ulean.
Rook dug into the pack and pulled out a loaf of aman, a wedge of hard yellow casin, two chalk bars, and two gilly fruit. It was hardly royal fare, but suitable for their travels.
§
“What are those things?” Cate asked, pointing at the spiky purple fruits she’d seen hanging from the trees along the coast.
“Gilly fruit.” Rook pulled a small knife from the sheath at his waist and sliced one open, revealing the deep crimson heart of it, almost the color of beets, sprinkled with tiny black seeds. He quartered it, then offered it to her. “Some of my
The catamounts coiled back, tails sweeping and ears pinned flat to their heads. The release was swift and powerful, launching them up and over the river in a graceful arc, far more elegant than any bridge. Cate gasped but held tight, her dark hair and the long sides of her burgundy velvet coat rippling behind her, her eyes wide.
The cats landed with a loud thump on the other side of the river. Rook scratched his mount behind the ear and it rumbled in acknowledgement. Only the Ragnorian caste members—where the rulers and warriors belonged—were allowed to own and ride the amazing beasts. It was thought to be beneath the Makcay, whose feet never touched the ground and were carried by palatines from the Vaquin caste anytime they went outdoors. This was likely the only chance Cate would have to indulge in such a ride once the Shadow King knew who and what she was.
Her green eyes sparkled, and giddy laughter bubbled out of her, even as she breathed hard. “That was amazing!” She twisted around to look at the river behind them. “That had to be a good thirty-foot leap.”
Rook remembered the rush it brought to the blood the first time his catamount had leaped a gorge in the craggy Meru Mountains that separated Shadowland from Wyldwood. It had made him feel powerful, invincible. It pleased him enormously that it had affected her the same way.
“We’ve at least six hours to go before we reach Seaneath.”
Cate’s hand strayed to her stomach, pressing against it. She said nothing, but Rook thought he heard a slight growl. The Uplanders could not go as long without sustenance as the fae could. He needed to stop and feed her. “But before we go any farther, we will eat.”
A grateful smile curved her lips. A flicker of heat licked at the edges of his control in response.
“Settle,” he commanded his mount. The large cat lowered its belly to the ground, tucking its massive front paws beneath its chest. Rook slid with practiced ease from his saddle and pulled free the provision packs Borgen had fastened to his mount, then went to assist Cate.
“Settle,” she said, her tone calm, confident, and commanding. Rook couldn’t help but smile. Cate would make a fine queen one day—if she chose him. If she chose the king, then she’d be an esteemed Seer in the court and a royal consort, but never a queen.
The thought of Cate as his father’s consort burned like acid in his stomach. Sunlight slanted through the trees, the beams made her skin glow, and they highlighted the glossy curls dancing around her head and shoulders in the freshening breeze. She deserves to be a queen , he thought as he settled on a fallen log overlooking the shimmering waters of the Ulean.
He offered his hand to assist Cate from her saddle. She slid off easily and into his arms. While the temptation was there to seduce her in this beautiful setting, Rook knew better. They would have an audience. For among the trees, shrubs, and flowers—even in the water of the Ulean itself—there were Illith fae watching them. They knew better than to intrude uninvited but would be intent on them all the same as they chattered and moved about, rustling in the leaves. He couldn’t risk them reporting any improper thing he did with Cate back to the king. As much as he didn’t wish it, he released her and walked to a log along the banks of the Ulean.
Rook dug into the pack and pulled out a loaf of aman, a wedge of hard yellow casin, two chalk bars, and two gilly fruit. It was hardly royal fare, but suitable for their travels.
§
“What are those things?” Cate asked, pointing at the spiky purple fruits she’d seen hanging from the trees along the coast.
“Gilly fruit.” Rook pulled a small knife from the sheath at his waist and sliced one open, revealing the deep crimson heart of it, almost the color of beets, sprinkled with tiny black seeds. He quartered it, then offered it to her. “Some of my
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