“Not a problem,” Brynden said, offering Elyse his hand to stand. “Not only am I a trained warrior, but Elyse can handle herself.”
Keyain scoffed. “No offense, Elyse, but you don’t have a lick of defense training.”
“Ah, but she knows magic,” Brynden said, grinning. “Show them.”
Elyse reached out to aithyr, second nature to her already, and transferred the magical energy into her hand, creating a flame. Both Keyain and Marietta jumped back in surprise.
“Stop that,” Keyain hissed, looking around the balcony and the street below. “You know you can’t do magic so openly.”
Brynden laughed, shaking his head. “That’s only true in Satiros. Chorys Dasians do their magic in public and often.”
Keyain sighed again. “Fine, go. When you’re ready to return to the palace, please send for a carriage.”
“Well, of course,” Brynden said, bowing his head.
After a few departing words, Elyse glanced back at the table towards Marietta and Keyain. Already he was whispering something to her, his expression furious. Marietta just swirled the wine in her cup and took a sip, ignoring him. What in the hells was going on between them?
Chapter Seventy
Elyse
Elyse held Brynden’s arm as they walked along the river path. The sun dipped below the buildings, the orange already fading into black as stars twinkled. Light globes hung in the air, setting the willows planted along the path in a golden glow. In the distance, a bard played a tune on a lyre, his deep voice rolling along the river. As she looked up at Brynden, her heart skipped a beat.
He stared down at her with a serious frown, concern in his eyes. Brynden turned to her, coming to a stop as he caressed her face. “This feels too much like an ending. I’m not enjoying it.”
“All things end, Brynden.”
“But not before they start,” he said. “Elyse, what lies do you speak of? Please, tell me all you want to know, and I will tell you all I can. Please, I’m desperate.”
Elyse bit her cheek, wishing that they didn’t need to have that tough conversation. “Well, you can begin by telling me about your previously betrothed, Simi.” The name became awkward on her tongue after repeating it in her head so many times.
Brynden paled. “What did Sylas tell you?” he asked, anger biting his tone.
“That I’m not the first you’ve been serious about. What happened to Simi? Do you still love her?” Elyse regretted the last question as soon as it left her mouth.
“No,” he whispered. “I don’t love her, and I ended our betrothal right before she died.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then gazed back down at her. “What I feel for you is more intense than anything I had with her, I promise you that. I’ll talk of any other lies you know of, but please let this one go for now.”
Guilt tossed her stomach from the sad tone of his voice. “Well,” she said, hesitating, “could you tell me your age?”
“That wasn’t a lie.”
“No, just a convenient assumption.”
Brynden sighed, his hand falling from her cheek. “I’m much older than I appear, a blessing from my family traits.”
“How old?”
“Very. More than twice whatever you assumed.”
“Brynden,” she protested.
“Come to Chorys Dasi, and I will tell you my age.”
Elyse shook her head, frustrated. That just confirmed what she already knew. “Explain the scent, the smelling.”
Brynden hesitated, brushing back a lock of her hair. “This one is difficult to explain. Lean into me; tell me what you smell.”
She leaned into his chest, his arms wrapping around as her nose filled with his juniper and citrus scent.
