Leaves of Flame Read Free

Tamaell resided with his ruling House, the mountains of the Hauttaeren behind it, streams and falls cascading down its stone face, runoff from the snows that covered the peaks year round. The mountain range cut a jagged swath east and west, keeping the snows and the glacial drifts that had driven the Alvritshai southward locked in the north. But Aeren didn’t turn to gaze along the mountains and their white peaks. They represented the past. He preferred to look out toward the future, toward the dense forests, valleys, and hills that stretched from here to the southern plains. Even now, he could see the spires and tiled roofs of buildings jutting up from the mists, emerging as the light increased.
    The temple of the Order of Aielan began to chime utiern and Aeren glanced toward the east, where a thin arc of reddish-­gold sun had slid above the horizon. Dawn.
    He grunted and drew in a long, deep breath, tasted the chill bite of the coming winter, frigid against his tongue, then exhaled in an extended sigh as he heard footsteps behind him.
    Arms wrapped around his waist and a chin rested against his shoulder. He drew in the scent of jasmine as his hands enfolded those at his waist, the body behind pressing up against his back.
    “You should not be seen here, with me,” he said. The words could have been a slap in the face—­they had been, the first time he spoke them—­but the tone had changed over time. Now they throbbed with humor, with the memory of that first unintentional slight.
    “I know,” the voice responded, the woman’s breath tickling his ear and sending a tingling shiver down his neck and side. She pulled him tighter against her. “But you’ll be departing for Rhyssal House lands in another few days, and I will be forced to remain here, alone. I’ll take the risk, to be with you a few moments longer.”
    “And I’ll be less alone in Rhyssal than you will be here?”
    She snorted and pushed back slightly, Aeren taking the opportunity to turn around within the confines of her arms so he could face her.
    Moiran, former Tamaea of the Alvritshai, wife of Fedorem and mother of the current Tamaell, Thaedoren, shook her head. “You will have Eraeth there to keep you company, as you always have.”
    “Eraeth is my Protector, so he does not count. You have Thaedoren.”
    Moiran’s gray eyes narrowed. “He is my son, and Tamaell besides. He has no time for his mother.”
    “He listens to you more than you know. I’ve seen it in the Evant.”
    “He listens only when it suits him, especially regarding the Evant. And if the lords find out about us—­”
    Aeren silenced her with a firm, lingering kiss.
    As he drew back, a reserved reply of unconcern ready, someone said, “If they find out, they’ll be overjoyed, I’m certain. At least, most of them.”
    Moiran’s arms slid away instantly and she stepped back from Aeren, both of them straightening, the formality that cloaked all Alvritshai—­that formed the basis of their society—­sliding back into place instinctively. Moiran clasped her hands and brought them to rest before her, even as her head rose to face the intruder, her eyes flashing with the authority of the Tamaea, an authority she ostensibly no longer wielded. Aeren simply let his arms fall to his sides, although he glowered into the weak shadows at theback of the balcony where he could barely make out the figure resting in one of the chairs tucked away beside the doorway.
    “How long have you been there, Shaeveran?” he demanded.
    Colin shifted forward, leaning into the light so that Moiran could see him. The brittle stiffness in her shoulders relaxed, although it did not completely vanish. The Alvritshai did not share their private lives with anyone. Not even old friends.
    Colin nodded toward Moiran, then turned his attention to Aeren. “Since before you arrived. I know you enjoy the dawn.” His voice hardened. “We have much to discuss before the Evant meets.”
    Moiran smiled, the