Dragon Vessel (The Chronicles of Rithalion Book 2)

It was a beautiful evening, sultry and filled with magic. Lanterns containing glow stones lit the pathways throughout the gorge, and fae danced and cavorted along the bridges spanning from one side to the other. The moon rose, filled only half-way with the stardust that kept it glowing night after night, and the stars littered the heaven with their brilliance.

True to Shaladrea's words, the entire city of Rithalion celebrated, everyone in his or her own way, with friends and family. The Lady had opened the gates to her fortress, and the most influential in Elvish society had come to share the night with one another, a rare occasion indeed. The castle was festooned with garlands. Torches set within filigreed wall sconces and massive floor braziers kept the place awash with light, the rare chandelier filled with baskets of ancient glowing rocks spaced between. Outside there were hanging lanterns and colorful light orbs, enough to make many places appear as though it were daylight. Vivien found herself walking amidst elders she'd met only in passing, pure elves that dominated the upper tiers of society. She walked among the high-elvin captains and generals of the army, master healers, artisans and smiths. There were even more people like herself, half-elves of high standing as a result of marriage or mastery of some profession or skill. Master bards played delightful melodies, the notes reaching even the farthest reaches of the celebratory grounds, the songs so touching they could make one's heart soar.

It was a celebration, and everyone was bare-headed. There was no formality, and it brought them closer as a people. Some part of her ached to be in the company of the rest of the La'athai, instead.

Vivien kept glancing around, seeing more and more faces as the evening slowly progressed. None of them were Tor, and none the Wolf. One absence she rejoiced, and the other she mourned. She supposed she didn't blame the latter, for he was not one for things such as this, no matter how many formalities he'd once undergone as a lord of his own manor. She remembered those occasions as rougher, but more honest, more open than these. She glanced over at the Lady, surrounded by men and women alike. They luxuriated in her presence, basked in her charisma. Nearby was her father. He wore his formal mages robes, but allowed himself the luxury of relaxation as he drank his third glass of wine. He smiled often and freely, and Vivien loved to see it. At his side was the Lord of Swords and Truth who, even while sitting, was standing at attention. The men had become close since the battle, and she wasn't surprised. They had more in common than they realized.

Vivien sipped at her own wine, enjoying the warm sparks of berry and hints of plum with a robust finish. It was enough just keeping out of the way and watching. After the war council, she had managed to escape her husband, taking herself to her tower and remaining there until she knew it was time to dress for the celebration. The Lady had helped her don the gown, and after, she had plaited Vivien's hair. Each braid was then placed into a whole and wound upon the back of her head. When Shaladrea was finished, they both stared solemnly at themselves in the mirror.

The Lady's voice was soft. “I am sorry I made you uncomfortable in the war council today.”

Vivien shook her head. “Don't be. You were right to counter him.”

There was no need to say whom. “You know, he doesn't own you.”

Vivien simply nodded.

“I just want to warn you, it doesn't matter that Torialvah rescinded his grievances against you. There are some who will still make a play for you. The men may approach you tonight at the festivities.”

Vivien inwardly shook a little at that thought and took a deep breath. “All right.”

Shaladrea's blue eyes clouded. “Do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Don't send them all away. Allow yourself to be happy for once. Enjoy their company. Because I know they will more than enjoy yours.”

Vivien stared into the Lady's eyes in the mirror, saw the sincerity there. She tried to smile a little and nodded.

Shaladrea smiled and once more there was light. She brushed the back of her hand against Vivien's face. “I love you more than you know...”

“Vivien?”

She startled out of her thoughts and turned around. Her breath hitched in her throat when she saw him, and her heart stuttered. He was dressed in tight-fitting black trousers, black boots, and a finely tailored sleeveless green doublet with gold embroidery. His beard had been closely trimmed, and his long, curling mane was gathered at the nape of his neck with a leather tie. “Ravn, what are you doing here?”

He spread his arms. “What, am I not supposed to be here? I thought the celebration was for everyone.”

She shook her head. “No, no, no! You are supposed to be here. Only, I didn't think you would be.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Why not? This isn't a place for wolves, eh?”

She simply stared at him impassively until his smile faded. “No, no it's not.”

He regarded her intently. She could tell there was a plethora of things he wanted to say, but he uttered none of them. Instead he took her hand. “Let's walk for a few moments. I heard someone say that dinner will be served soon, but we have time.”

Vivien looked around at the rest of the guests, who were beginning to make their way into the castle. “I'm not sure...”

He tugged on her hand. “Trust me.”

She nodded and followed him away from the crowd and out into the night. Hand in hand, they left, and before long, it was dark as pitch but for the glow of the celebration behind them. They turned a corner and it was then Ravn stopped, pulling her close. Her senses flared to life and she could smell his spicy musk beneath the bath oils he'd used that afternoon, feel the heat of him where he gently gripped her upper arms, hear his heartbeat through the sound of his breathing. She felt a finger under her chin urging her to look up, and then she felt his warm breath against her lips.

The sensation made her start to tremble, and her legs felt weak. He put an arm around her waist, a loose one. His deep voice cracked, “Vivien, are you afraid of me?”

Taken aback, Vivien pulled back. His eyes glowed blue in the darkness, his brows furrowed with hurt. “No.”

“Then why are you trembling when I hold you?”

She studied him for a moment, then opted with the truth even though she was nervous to say the words, making them so much more real. She looked down to make it easier. “It's because of the way you make me feel when you hold me.”

Ravn relaxed and once more put his hand beneath her chin until she was looking up at him. His voice was husky. “And how is that?”

She gave a trembling breath. “That I could be everything in the world to you.”

She smiled then, a genuine smile, one full of promise. “You already are.”

He kissed her gently, lovingly, tenderly. His tongue swept over her lips and she let him in. It slid along hers, slowly and sensually. She loved the feel of it, so soft in spite of the hardness of his muscular body. He deepened the kiss, his lips pressing more tightly against hers, his breaths coming faster. She felt his emotion, usually free like a wild river, being kept in check...

She almost stopped when the revelation flitted through her mind. Somehow he knew she'd been hurt. He didn't know details; no one did. But he knew something had happened. And he was holding back.

The mighty Wolf was holding back. For her. Because he loved her.

And somehow, this night, she loved him more than she ever had before.

She broke away, put her forehead against his chest. His heart was beating fast, faster than usual. Because of her.

“I love you RavnWolf. I love you.”

His arms enveloped her, holding her as tight as he dared. She nestled close, the crown of her head in the crook of his arm. For several moments they just stayed that way, content to be in each other's presence.

And for those moments, she was happy.

Finally they walked back to the celebration. No one was outside, everyone having retreated indoors for the promised feast Shaladrea was hosting. As they neared, they disengaged their hands. Vivien felt a brief moment of loss before looking up to see him watching her. He said something, his lips moving without sound. I am here. Then they walked through the entry.

“Vivien! Wolf! We have been waiting for you!” Shaladrea's voice chimed.

Though Ravn stood tall against the onslaught of eyes, Vivien's heart sank as she found most of the room looking in their direction. The Lady took note of this mistake on her part, but continued on and embraced both her and Ravn. Vivien looked out upon those gathered. Nearest her was the Grand Magister, regarding her with an inscrutable expression, and beside him the Lord of Swords, who glanced at Shaladrea with a look of incredulity. Swansee was there, with the rest of the Council, as well as members of the Mage Elite. Lydia sat at the nearest table, a knowing look in her blue eyes.

Then there was a gruff voice at her side. “Vivien, where have you been?” Torialvah took her hand and pulled her towards him, his gaze coldly taking in the Wolf. Ice swept through her veins at the feel of his touch, and when he kissed her, just like he did in council, she shuddered.

Shaladrea's musical voice shattered the encroaching darkness. “The meal is ready to be served. Come, please sit. Vivien, your father is over here with me, and Wolf, the Lord of Swords is right across.” Vivien felt Tor's hand tighten around hers at the sound of the Wolf's name. He knows we have something together. It's only a matter of time before he questions me. I've done nothing wrong, never taken him inside of me, but Tor will berate me for what little we have done even though society doesn't prohibit it.

The meal went by without incident, only that Tor kept his hand on her the entire time, showing her, and anyone else, to whom she belonged. She knew the Wolf noticed, for his eyes were the color of strong red wine and flashed with bright sparks when Tor held on too hard. The food smelled and looked delicious, but she didn't bother eating. With her stomach in so many knots, she would just lose it all later, somewhere in the bushes for some poor grounds-keeper to find the next day. But she listened to the music being played, and to the surrounding conversations even if she didn't join them herself. She loved hearing her father's voice, and Xadrian's. She remembered them the most from her girlhood. Shaladrea glanced at her a time or two, a crease of worry furrowing her brow, but didn't say anything. To make her feel better, Vivien finally took a roll and slathered it with butter, biting at it every now and then.

Finally the meal was over and many of the guests moved back outside. Torialvah was engulfed in a conversation with another Lord, and Vivien was left to herself. She reveled in the time away and escaped to where the dancing was beginning to take place. She moved among the crowd, smiling and nodding to all who greeted her. Members of the La'athai were there, many of them with their partners. Even Allain, though still bandaged from the battle, stood with his husband in the corner and waved bravely despite his injuries. The Elders had brought their families, and high-elvin men and women stood together, listening to the music play. Vivien stood there too, out of sight unless Tor went searching for her there. She felt the baby move inside and a wave of guilt suffused her. Tor hadn't hurt her, not really. What had happened this morning had just been rough, dominating sex. He'd wanted her, and she was his wife. It was their responsibility to give in to one another's needs, as long as they were physically able.

Vivien blinked away tears that threatened. This is the way it is with everyone, yes? Then why does it seem somehow wrong? Why am I so...

“Lady Valdera?”

She spun around at the masculine voice and found herself looking up into the handsome face of a man she'd never met before. His clothing was tightly bound to him, but flared at the edges. His blonde hair, too, was pulled tight to his head, but splayed into free strands from his ponytail. His eyes were an unrelieved brown, but sparkled to be almost amber deep inside, hinting at constant thoughts that worked in his mind. His long, thin ears marked him as, not a pure, but a high-blood elf and of very lofty station. Even though his voice sounded very little like her husband's, a feeling of relief washed through her. “Yes?”

He smiled and his brown eyes lit with warmth. “I knew it was you even from across the room. My name is Marcán.”

Taken in by his geniality, she couldn't help smiling and returning the banter. “And how did you know it to be me?”

His cheeks flushed and he lowered his eyes for a moment before bringing them back up to hers. “Because of how beautiful you are. They told me, but I didn't believe it until I saw it for myself.”

Vivien just stood there, a wave of heat passing over her own cheeks. For a moment she wanted to believe him, but the next saw her in reality. This man was good, very good, to disarm her so swiftly. “Thank you, my Lord. That is kind of you,” she said, taking a step back.

Seeing her reaction, the man closed his eyes tightly shut. “I'm sorry. That was the wrong thing to say. I didn't mean to...” He took a deep breath and averted his eyes. “I just ruined this.” He then gave a short bow. “I am sorry to have made you uncomfortable.” He gave a sad smile. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

The man turned and began to walk away. Recognizing the sincerity of his words, she found herself calling out. “Wait. My Lord?”

He stopped and looked back. “Yes?”

“What is it you wanted to say? When you came over?”

He smiled and shook his head, looking abashed. “I was going to ask you to dance with me.” He looked over at those who were already doing so, and she followed his gaze. The couples looked content, happy. She remembered a time, many years ago, when she was happy to dance too. “Lady Valdera?”

She looked back to see he was standing beside her again, his hand held out to her. “Would you care to share one with me? A dance?”

She hesitated, but then recalled the promise she had made to the Lady. She hated to go back on her oaths. Fighting the whispering voices of inadequacy, she accepted his hand. “Thank you, my Lord. I would love to.”

Just as they moved to join the other couples, the song ended and another one began. It had been a while since the last time she'd danced, but the movements came easily. Marcán was good, and he had a flare for the dramatic. She easily indulged him, apparently having one of her own, and by the end of the song they were chuckling beneath their breaths and waiting for the next song. The world came to a stop, and as they stood there, hand in hand, so did reality. She forgot her burdens, left them behind as the next song started. Marcán led them into the next dance and she easily accompanied him, step for step, beat for beat. It was liberating to let go, to enjoy the moment. The fact that he was so good at helping her accomplish it was extraordinary.

However, when the music stopped this time, there was someone standing beside them. It was Gregor, one of the La'athai. Marcán graciously stepped aside as Gregor took his place. Vivien raised a brow, but allowed him to lead her in the next dance. He was good, better than she thought he might be, and it told her a bit more about who he was. They laughed together as they moved to the music, and happiness swelled within her.

The song ended and there was another man to take Gregor's place, and after that, another. And then, just as she started to get tired, the song ended, and she found the Wolf standing there. He bowed low and took her hand, his eyes looking up at her almost mischievously.

Drunk on happiness, Vivien chuckled. “You know how to dance?”

He raised a thick brow. “You doubt?”

She thought back to a similar conversation they had once had when they were in the cavern system after running from the fire. He'd caught a fish with his bare hands, and she'd told him she thought it was a lucky catch. “I think you might be running out of luck, my friend.”

He cocked his head. “I guess we are about to find out.”

The song was one of her favorites, not too fast and not too slow. It was a combination of the best of both worlds. Ravn started to move, and right away she could tell it would be different. In no way was this going to be an Elvish dance.

It was one from the Lairdlands.

Vivien called upon all the skill she possessed, a skill she'd perfected over the course of a century, and followed him in a dance she'd never moved to before. As they continued, she noticed that everyone in attendance began to stop and watch. His hands were light where they touched her, and she kept hers the same way. When their bodies touched, it was like they were one for a moment before pulling apart. She followed his steps, kept her eyes locked on his so that he could guide her to the next move. Her heart beat madly, and she could feel his do the same. His blue eyes never left her, flickers like fireflies inside proclaiming his love to her alone. It was beautiful, hauntingly intimate, and more than just a dance. It was like making love. By the time they were finished, all she wanted to do was fall into his arms.

Instead, Tor was there. His hand circled her wrist like a shackle and he pulled her towards him. His voice was low so that only the three of them could hear. “Vivien, I've been looking for you. Funny I would find you here, making yourself so readily available to every man in attendance.”

Her heart skipped a beat and whatever joy she felt fell away like a distant dream. “No, I was only dancing. Everyone dances.”

Tor's hand tightened around her wrist. “Obviously with everyone but me. I never got the word that you would be here.”

She winced in pain. “I... I’m sorry. You are right, I should have told you. But I didn't wish to interrupt...”

“Let her go. You are hurting her.”

Vivien looked up at the commanding tone in Ravn's voice. Oh gods no. Please no.

Tor's crystal blue eyes blazed white. “And who are you to tell me anything about my wife?”

His eyes had become red, with enough light they shone like fresh blood on freshly fallen snow. “I am her friend. And I tell you that you are hurting her. You will let her go.”

Vivien barely kept from wincing again as Tor's grip tightened even more, so tight she could feel the bones shift.

“Walk away barbarian.” Tor's voice was a warning. “Just walk away.”

Huge hands tightened into fists and the knuckles crackled. “No. Let her go, or I will make you.”

Torialvah stepped closer to the Wolf, not intimidated in the least by the difference in height. “And you think you can really do that?”

The Wolf shrugged. “It doesn't matter what I think. But it might matter what they think.” His eyes shifted to the crowd and there, standing at the periphery, was the Grand Magister. At his side was the Lord of Swords and Truth.

Vivien closed her eyes, wishing all this was just a dream and that she would simply wake up. She could only imagine the backlash she would suffer as a result of this night and regretted allowing the Lady to cajole her into coming. Tor's death grip loosened, and he wrapped an arm around her waist. He leaned forward towards the Wolf, and spoke in barely perceptible words, “You're right, it doesn't matter what you think. All that matters is what I have, and what you never will.”