CIRCE

vii

They have been given a diplomatic suite in the eastern wing of Starka Stronghold. Though still made of that cold, ashen stone brick, the hearth of the lounge blankets the suite in a soft, fire-born heat. They have been given their own rooms as well, an accommodation easily afforded in the expansive stronghold.

Lonan sits on the edge of her bed. She fidgets with her hands as her gaze drifts off. The stone grays and fur browns of her room bleed together in an innocuous blear beneath her thoughts.

Orende has kept spies in her own home, hidden throughout the forest, to her complete unawareness. It infuriates her, igniting such a deeply internal fury that it feels as though it had been born with her. How had she never noticed? How had none of her own scouts or soldiers or spies noticed the Mountain Born among the trees? What had given King Arawn the audacity to make such a move? What makes her think that she can get away with it?

Vaguely, Lonan feels that anger spark in her blood as a faint, firey gleam pulses through her veins. That brings her sharply, swiftly back as a heat accompanies it, yanking her into the present. She forces herself to breath, stamping out that anger. Magic is influenced by emotion and for her it has always fed off of her anger the best. Which is why, even now with King Arawn and her spies, Lonan must compel herself to calm. Anger will do nothing but get her into trouble. There is no fight she can win against King Arawn, not with the prowess that the king's armor and prowess whisper about.

With a soft sigh, Lonan directs her aimless gaze to her hands. In the cold weather of Orende, they're beginning to hurt. Her knuckles and wrists ache, and slowly, she can feel her hips and knees and elbows stiffen into that same inflamed pain. She's going to have a flare soon. She knows so by her hurting joints.

Of course it has to be now too, when the theotans loom closer and closer, and she's been trapped within Orende in a not-fully-willing show of diplomacy. Of course it has to be now when her body decides to fuck her over, right at the point that she needs it most.

There is a knock on the door to her bedroom that makes her tense. However, when the voice calls out, deep and rumbling and comfortingly familiar, Lonan eases.

"It's Tannier."

"Enter," She calls back.

Tannier pushes open the door and steps quietly inside, closing it behind him. He joins her on the bed, sitting down beside her as his eyes, soft and so blue, turn upon her. Gently, he reaches over and takes her hand, cradling it in his as his thumb rubs lightly between her knuckles. Her hand is small in his. She's always been a bit of a small built person, but next to Tannier she's a head shorter and almost dainty.

"I know the meeting must have been..." Tannier hesitates as he tries to find the right word, "a lot, but I think you made the right decision."

Lonan sighs quietly. "Yet I still worry."

When do the theotans arrive? What will they do? What should The Eijoa do? Is King Arawn truly well meaning? What has happened to the humans? Will the Orendi let her go back home? There is a steady, nagging line of questions in her head that spiral relentlessly, bringing forth one worry after the next. It culminates into a cesspool of fear and dread and fury that sits at the back of her head, slowly nauseating her. First Orendi spies, then the theotans, and now they are here, unmoving once more as though all they can do is wait for the next bad thing to happen.

She doesn't mention her anger.

"I worry too," Tannier says, "but we have an ally now. We know where we stand now, Lonan. We can learn from our past to make our decisions now."

He falls quiet abruptly. Tannier has never been one to give extensive input. He once reasoned to her that it was because he is nothing more than a guard, and guards are meant only to protect. However, Lonan has always ignored such a reason. He is one of the few people she is close to. Perhaps the only person she is close to. She holds more value in his opinions than he cares to realize.