Crocotta's Hackles (The Incarn Saga Book 3) by Katharine Wibell

Author:Katharine Wibell [Wibell, Katharine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Phaesporia Press
Published: 2018-11-29T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

The Puppet

Varren stood before her, his loose curls, though neatly groomed, falling over his forehead, framing a face that had grown gaunt. His eyes were mere sunken pits; yet deep within them the old blue sparkle still struggled to be seen.

“Varren!” Lluava gasped. Whatever anger she might have had toward him and his decision was replaced by a sudden worry. The way he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt exposed his diminished muscles. His whole form looked thin. Too thin.

“Lluava,” he replied as if in disbelief. Had he doubted her return? Did he think she had perished in the frozen wasteland? Varren stepped forward and embraced her. Lluava felt the warmth of his body, inhaled his scent—a mix of rosemary and fennel, a calming smell that reminded her of her mother’s kitchen. She relished being back in his arms.

Eventually, she forced herself to step back from him.

“Have you been well?” she asked, wanting to know the cause of his deteriorating appearance.

“As well as any man who has worn a crown,” replied Varren. His eyes looked lovingly at her. “You look well. Your age becomes you.”

“My age?”

“Eighteen. A woman grown.”

“I had forgotten about my birthday.” While she had been wandering alone with Apex in the tundra, Lluava’s birthday had come and gone unnoticed. Varren remembered.

“Maybe you should celebrate yours when mine comes around,” said Varren with a smile. As always, his smile made Lluava’s heart quicken. But that ceased when she remembered what Varren’s twenty-first birthday would entail.

Looking into his eyes, Lluava saw no guilt, no sense of regret, not even a shred of embarrassment. Her inner heat began to manifest. How could he do this to her? How could he not have realized? What had happened to his feelings for her? They certainly were still there; she could tell by the way he looked at her, the way he held her.

“Is something the matter?” questioned Varren, completely oblivious to her growing anger.

Taking a breath, Lluava forced herself to broach the other issue at hand, supposedly the more important one. “What are you doing about the war? The Raiders are nearly upon Cronus.”

Varren furrowed his brow. “No. No. That cannot be. You are wrong. The Raiders are stuck in the North. The Berserker Legion fled into the Yorrick Forest. Remember?”

“That happened before I left.” Lluava gestured northward. “Talos and Byron have been there for weeks, a month maybe, trying to slow down the Raiders’ march to the capital. Surely you have knowledge of this? Hasn’t the High Council discussed this issue during their sessions, open or closed?”

“I—I—” Varren floundered. “I have rarely attended the Closed Council since I returned.”

“That’s been months!” exclaimed Lluava. “Spring is around the corner. What have you been doing all this time?”

Varren shook his head, sending his dark curls bouncing. “Talos was just here. Months? No. I’ve been working on the wedding.” He rubbed his temples as if he suddenly had a splitting headache. “I need to take a seat.”

The young king retreated into his private chamber, and Lluava followed.

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