Sequel to Starlight and Stone
The war’s been won. The kingdom’s prospering. And magician Tris finally gets to marry Harth, the love of his life, now the newly crowned king.
But no royal wedding is simple. Especially not when a stranger appears, claiming to be Tris’s brother and only living family. Tris wants to believe him, but Harth doesn’t trust the new arrival.
Amid magic and politics and secrets, can Tris and Harth protect each other and their happy ending?
Around eight days in to this unexpected discovery of family, Tris came into the shared private royal apartments late, already apologizing; he found his other half already present and having got the bedroom fire going, simple hands-on competence. Harth had kicked off the worn-in boots of the day and taken off the long embroidered coat that’d been a gift from an apprentice seamstress upon her young king’s triumphant return; he hadn’t changed otherwise, and his hair was loose tumbled gold in the lamplight.
Tris lingered for a moment, appreciating the shoulders, waist, powerful thighs under tight trousers. He offered, “I’m sorry, I should’ve been finished earlier ... I was trying to learn about crop rotation and why sometimes the magical field-repair doesn’t take as well as it should ...”
“Patterns,” Harth said, “and seasons, right? And it’s all right, I was running late too. I only agreed to an after-dinner meeting with the librarians because I thought they’d be efficient. It turns out they have a lot of ideas about reopening -- and expanding -- the Great Library.”
Javern had, in the manner of tyrants, ordered the Library to be closed; the century-old structure had escaped real destruction, but histories and supposedly disloyal texts had been burned, and the building had been surrounded by iron bars and locks. The basement vault had proven a useful resistance meeting-place, when they’d finally begun moving to take the city itself. The librarians had also been very usefully furious at the Usurper, and splendid at organization.
“The Library’s important.” Tris stepped out of his own boots, wincing at the shift of weight, catching his balance. “And yes, about the patterns -- apparently leaving fields fallow matters, and changing which crop grows where also matters. Mir was trying to explain different types of grasses to me, and I had the overwhelming urge to run away to the Caves of Night and dive headfirst into the Obsidian Pool until all the professorial lectures were over.”
He’d thought Harth would laugh, and he did get a quick flash of smile, though Harth also said, “He’s very helpful, isn’t he? Your brother.”
“He wants to help. We tried one of those knitting-spells -- the structure that’s supposed to sort of sink in and add strength -- to the ...” He waved at his leg, vaguely. “It didn’t work. A bit. It’s better, standing. He knows techniques I don’t -- he’s much more patient than I am. Listening. I’m trying to learn.”
The square stone walls and wood beams of the bedroom got quieter, for a moment. The fire sang to itself in the hush. The room had been growing warmer, with the burgeoning heat and the new thick tapestries, the ones with scenes of sunrises, starlight, forest, hills: landscapes of Lindisfane.
Harth said, voice extremely neutral, “Would you want him to stay longer? If you’re learning from him?”
“Oh ... well, yes, obviously. I know he can’t; he needs to get back to his people.” Tris considered distance and priorities. “Maybe he’ll visit.”
“He’s making himself fairly ... indispensable isn’t the word I want.” Harth’s eyes were tired. “But you just said you need him.”
“I didn’t say that. Though this has been nice -- someone who at least understands how magic feels, the shape of it, the scent, the texture ... he says there are a few more hedge-witches, local wise folk, out in the villages. Nobody the School cared about, but it might be worth finding them.”
“You would ... do that with him? Go and find magicians?”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
“You asked.” Tris did not know he was about to ask the next question until it fell from the tip of his tongue. “You don’t like him, do you?”
