Page 84 of Spar of Hearts

“It’s an Elf.” Anya gasped, holding a hand to her forehead. This was too much. Too much information to take all at once. She knew the ancient races were rumored to be here. She knew that. Marg was living proof. But seeing this hit her differently.

“Can you keep following that side?” she asked.

Roderick nodded. Anya turned her attention back to the wall in front of her. With the light in hand, she found paw prints etched into the stone. They were practically sprinting from the ground up the wall. It was no wonder she’d missed them at first. She shivered as the familiar shape of a tail came into view, followed by the rest of an intricate carving of a wolf mid-stride, jaws wide, tongue lolling with delight.

Anya gave the moss another squeeze and continued along the wolf’s path. Smaller wolves carved to appear distant multiplied as she went, until a whole pack was running along the stone—and she felt like she was right there along with them, forever hunting beneath the stars. The wolves began to run uphill, almost climbing to the heavens. She was so lost among them that she didn’t notice the rise of a dais beneath her feet until her shoulder brushed Roderick’s. The first wolf’s carving was before her now, depicted sitting atop the dais, head drawn back in a howl. Frosty breath was carved above it, rising into the stone sky. The Elven magic curled into a cosmic swirl opposite the frozen breath.

Both their eyes fell on the inscription between the two glyphs.

Ulv, tråkk der dine forfedre tråkketTa med magien din til skaperen, og kom hjem

“This is the ancient tongue,” Anya said in a hush, tracing her hands over the words. “I only know the word ulv. It means wolf.” She pounded a hand into the wall, startling Roderick. “Damn it! Blackbird might know what this says. Marg tutored her for a while.”

Roderick rested a hand on her shoulder, drawing her eye. “It’s been a long day. You nearly drowned, Anya. Let’s go back and get some rest. Lady Rowan can take a look at it tomorrow. We’ll come back with torches and parchment and map this all out.”

He said it all so confidently. Did he not fear for Sir Oshfeldt? For Lady Rowan, Ornella, Annette and Bernard? And what about Yomira? That storm was far from ordinary.

Anya whimpered, fearing their discovery would vanish the moment they stepped outside. Another smooth howl rolled through the cavern.

“But I hear them. I hear them, Roderick. The wolves, they—”

“—Aren’t expecting us. Imagine how we would react if Elves and Weres came waltzing into Valeria.”

Anya puffed a strand of hair from her face. Roderick was right. In all her excitement and instinctual drive, any thought of diplomacy had been thrown out the window.

“Fine.” She sighed, squeezing the life out of the moss.

Roderick placed a hand on her slumped shoulder. “I’m no expert, but these have clearly been here a long, long time. They’ll be here tomorrow.”

“If they aren’t, I’ll kill you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Chapter 29

Roderick Bryson

Anya had chattered on about the runes the entire way back from the cave. And on the beach. And back at the fire. He’d never seen her talk so much. In fact, he’d never seen her so comfortable around him. The brows that were normally furrowed or high and tight were low and relaxed, without a crease to be seen. The coveted smile he received after their duel was back on her face.

Now she was in his arms again. For warmth, of course. It wouldn’t be safe to sleep right beside the fire, he’d said. She protested at first, insisting on sleeping against the cave wall a healthy foot away. But as the night wore on, her shivers seemed to draw her closer and closer, even after he draped his shirt over her shoulders. He didn’t fall asleep until she was completely wrapped in his arms. But it was morning now, and she had him trapped, arms tightly clung around him, cheek resting on his chest. Was trap even the right word? Could one be trapped in bliss?

Trapped. The thought beckoned memories of Anya’s tears on the beach. What bars had she been talking about? She’d been awake, so it couldn’t have been a nightmare. Her eyes held lucid fear. He couldn’t imagine someone wild and free like Anya being trapped in any regard. She was one to do things her own way. If you didn’t like it, well, she’d cast you into the waves. He could attest to that.

He’d considered asking her about it. He would happily punish whoever sought to shackle her. That was his duty, after all. Though duty seemed to be an ever-growing word nowadays. Duty to his people. Petorus. The Lupus Star. The Princess. And now, Anya. Not Anya the Princess. Just Anya. He’d leapt into the foaming waves to save Anya.

He touched a hand to his lips, then the cheek she had kissed. He swore he could still feel the soft curve of her lips there.

I really did it. I kissed her. I kissed Anya. She kissed me back. That happened.

What now?

Anya hadn’t responded to his declaration. Was it possible the kiss was just in the heat of the moment? Gratitude for her rescuer?

Seabirds cried as sunlight began to slip into the mouth of the cave. A gray gull swooped into the entrance, hopping in a few feet. It cocked its head, and, apparently perturbed at finding no scraps, screamed its displeasure and took off.

Anya wriggled for a moment, then exhaled a long sigh that sent breath tickling across his chest. Perhaps he could wake her gently, slowly, like his mother had done. The memory shot a pang of guilt through his chest. In truth, he’d hardly thought about his parents since leaving the capital. Perhaps they thought little of him either.

He gulped.