Page 137 of Sword & Sacrifice

“I think,” she said slowly, “the future is brighter than it seems. At least, if the alliance works out as you hope.”

He was quiet for a long time before he admitted, “I didn’t want to leave Silas. We were …”

She didn’t try to finish his sentence, didn’t speak over him. She simply waited.

“He suggested a marriage alliance, but I didn’t accept, and I fear his advisers will push him to pursue other options.”

Her brow furrowed in distress. “I see. Forgive me for asking, but did you talk the issue through with him?”

Archer glared at her but eventually shook his head. “I couldn’t find the words.”

She laughed, then covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny, but it is so very … you.” She clasped her hands in front of her and surveyed the city around them. “This will take months to clean up, possibly years, but it isn’t something you need to oversee. If you need to return to Bellacosta—to return to Silas, to find a way to work together—that’s what you should do.”

No matter how badly he wanted to accept the offer, he hesitated. “A king should be with his people.”

“A king should serve his people,” she corrected. “Sometimes, that means forming alliances with other countries. Think of all the good Bellacosta’s provisions could do. How much easier our lives will be when other countries are willing to trade with us again without severely increasing their prices.”

Archer considered it for a long time. Part of him wanted to return to Silas, part of him wanted to be with his people, to help them rebuild their lives. “I’ll wait until the roads are clear, until it’s safe to travel.” A group of soldiers had volunteered to journey down the mountain to clear the trees from the path. They could process the felled trees into lumber for repairs or to trade for other supplies. “And then I’ll return to him.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad you didn’t run off impulsively,” a voice said from behind him, “because it would be incredibly embarrassing if we somehow missed each other on the road.”

Archer whipped around and stared at the man in shock. The tawny curls had grown past his ears and the wind whipped them into a fluffy mess. It’d been less than a month, yet the changes in Silas were so severe, Archer almost hadn’t recognized him. The beard he’d wanted to see, that small sign of victory as Silas grew stronger and healthier, now covered the lower half of his face. Unexpected hints of red and gold mixed with the brown. All his fancy Bellacostan fashion had been put aside for more practical clothes. He’d wrapped himself in a thick wool coat, a scarf around his throat, bundled up tight against the cold.

Silas’ lips quirked in an uncertain smile. “Sorry, I would have written, but well … all of our best messengers are already here.”

Standing there, surrounded by the mountains and the hardworking Arnsveldian, Silas so perfectly matched Archer’s fantasies that he questioned if any of it was real. Was it an illusion? A dream? Some cruel trick? Archer couldn’t breathe, couldn’t take a step forward, couldn’t speak a single word, afraid the image would fade away, leaving him alone again.

Another voice cried through the air, “Archer! Helena!” Emmaline flung herself first at Archer, wrapping her arms around his middle, and then at his mother, holding her in a tight embrace. “Oh, I missed you both! I have so much to tell you! But first I have to find Mama, so it will have to wait until later. Goodbye!” Like a spring breeze, as quickly as she arrived, she blew away again.

Silas fidgeted, twisting his fingers in front of himself. He glanced between Archer—who still hadn’t spoken—and his mother, who was watching him with guarded curiosity. “I know you aren’t particularly good with words, Archer, but please say something—”

Archer swept Silas into his arms and stopped his pleas with a firm kiss. Silas reached up, entwining his arms around Archer’s neck, pressing flush against him. His lips parted, inviting Archer’s tongue deeper inside. Archer readily accepted the invitation, wanting to taste every inch of Silas after being separated for so long.

When they finally pulled apart, Silas’ eyes were a little dazed, his breaths short and fast. “That works too.” Then he ran his hands through Archer’s hair and pulled him down for another kiss.

Behind them, Archer’s mother cleared her throat, and they finally sprang apart. “Perhaps some proper introductions are in order? I’m Helen Kasen, Archer’s mother.”

“Ah, of course.” Silas held his hand out to her. “Silas Meris.”

“The King of Bellacosta,” she said, accepting his hand. Her eyes roved over him, taking in the travel-worn clothes, muddy boots, and windswept hair. “You look like you’ve had a long journey.”

“Yes, well, the roads are a bit of a disaster. No offense.” He grimaced as he looked around at the destroyed houses. “It looks like Adelaide had good reason to call you home.” He hesitated for a moment before asking, “And Valerian, is he … is Alistair …?”

“Dead,” Archer said. As Silas’ expression fell, Archer realized he’d misspoke, and corrected, “Alistair is dead. For good this time. Valerian is … recovering.”

Silas sighed in relief. “I see. Though, I admit it’s a little hard to believe that Alistair is finally gone, after as many times as he slipped through our fingers.” He shook his head. “No, I won’t let him have any more power over me. He’s gone, and I will move forward with my life. Speaking of.” He glanced at Archer’s mother and asked, “Do you mind if I borrow him for a private conversation?”

Slight amusement crinkled her eyes. “Of course. I’m sure there’s an intact room in the castle, somewhere appropriate for a meeting between two kings.” A subtle reminder that they not only had much to discuss, but an audience.

As much as Archer wanted to lift Silas into his arms and carry him straight through the castle gate, he restrained himself and gestured for Silas to walk with him. While they walked, Silas looked curiously about him, as if truly taking in the sights for the first time.

Archer had eyes for nothing but him. How does he see Casselarn? Can he imagine himself making a home here? He couldn’t read Silas’ expression, couldn’t guess at the other man’s thoughts. He wished Silas had seen the city in its prime rather than in the aftermath of Alistair’s attack. Before homes were destroyed. Before sections of the wall had torn away and crumbled.

Just past the wall, Silas paused and arched his head back to view the castle. The castle itself had survived the attack mostly unscathed. Though it was several hundred years old, its solid architecture had withstood the earthquakes with minimal damage. The ground between the gate and the castle was churned up from Alistair’s creations crawling up from the earth, but none had been born from the castle’s stone.

“It reminds me of you,” he murmured.

Archer arched a brow, but Silas wasn’t looking at him to catch the silent inquiry. Clearing his throat, he asked, “How so?”