I’ve been missing the Broken Balance series a great deal. And yes, I still intend to write Sands of Hanubi: Book 2, but somehow it keeps getting pushed back amidst a flow of other projects, and for that I apologize. Until then, here’s a vignette for those who wonder what Fayr and Sygmund have been up to ever since the events of Ashes of Dearen: Book 2. Um… spoiler alert if you haven’t read that book yet.
Sygmund struggled to step quietly as he entered Fayr’s tent, bringing a draft of frosty air with him. His entire body was stiff with cold, and his legs ached from riding a snow-bear all day. The huge, lumbering creatures scared him half to death, and he considered himself a brave warrior. But unfortunately, he understood why the northern clans had undergone the task of taming such ferocious beasts. Traversing the steep, icy crags of Buffridge was impossible without them.
As he crouched by the low embers of the fire and peeled off his frosty clothes, he wondered—not for the first time—how he had ended up on such a gods-forsaken corner of the world as this one. Many years ago, he served the prosperous nation of Dearen as an honorable knight. Even after the disappearance of safra, he had continued to lead a privileged life in the Dearen palace, where the walls still shimmered with beauty and the sun sent warm beams through the hallways. He had never gone hungry, and even when he suffered from the wounds of swordplay, he did so for an honorable cause.
Not anymore. His exhaustion and soreness came from riding a fucking snow-bear, and he had only done that in order to fish and hunt. For his efforts, he’d killed one hare and snagged two copper-back fish. Somehow he did not feel triumphant.
Then he looked over at Fayr sleeping in a thick bundle of blankets, and a fresh wave of warmth flowed through his limbs. Even now, despite great tragedy and loss, she looked as beautiful as the first day he ever encountered her in the Garden of Delights. He crept closer, not yet wishing to wake her, and watched the golden fire-light flicker across her skin. She still looked so young, as if in her early twenties, despite the fact she neared forty years of age. Most remarkable about the youth in her face was its ability to counteract her long gray hair. Once, when she ruled as Queen of Dearen, it had shone a deep, lustrous purple—an inherited trait from the goddess of joy. When Friva awakened and inherited a new body, the bond between her previous descendents shattered, leaving Fayr’s eyes and hair gray and ashen.
Sygmund lifted the blanket, allowing his gaze to rove her sleeping body as he slid into bed behind her. He pressed his chest to her back and felt her warmth spread through him. He wrapped an arm around her, ever so gently, so he could brush the gray hair from her face. He watched her eyelashes flutter as she swam in her dreams. His hand continued down the curve of her neck to the top of her chest, which pushed and pulled at his palm as she breathed. He tilted his head so his lips could caress her cheek while he breathed the soft, sweet scent of her body. Then his fingers wrapped around her breast.
Fayr inhaled sharply, then let out a sleepy whisper. “Sean…”
Sygmund recoiled as if slapped in the face. He would have moved more carefully if he could have controlled his reaction, but instead he flailed and flung the blankets off both of them as he shot to his feet.
When Fayr finally pulled herself from whatever ridiculous dream entertained her darkest fantasies, she opened her eyes to see Sygmund pacing shirtless next to the fire. She pulled the blankets back over her body with a murmur of complaint. “Sygmund. What’s wrong? Come back to bed.”
What’s wrong, she asked? He hardly knew where to begin. Everything was wrong. Everything was fucking wrong, and had been for years, but he endured it all because he loved Fayr dearly, and he wanted to make her happy. Yet in a single breath released while she slept, Fayr had dashed any remaining illusions that she had come to care for Sygmund more than her former husband: Sean Wolven, a man who had lied to her from the moment he met her, an assassin who killed her own brother, a mortal whose own sister embodied the god of wrath, Belazar. Fayr had barely been married to the son of a bitch for all of one year. Her relationship with Sygmund had lasted nearly ten years in its place. And yet she murmured Sean’s name while she slept.
He nearly said these thoughts aloud. He wanted to yell and scream at her, to kick at the fire and burn the whole tent down. After all, that’s what Sean would have done. Maybe a display of pure, frothing rage would arouse her dormant passion.
But he wasn’t Sean. And as he stared into the flames, contemplating his response, he thought of a different way to channel his anger. Something that would heal his own wounded pride, and wipe Sean from Fayr’s mind forever.
“I thought there was a… bug in the blankets,” he said at last. “Sorry I woke you.”
“Oh. Well, now that I’m awake, we might as well make the most of it.” Even her sleepy smile managed to drip with sensuality. She pulled back the blanket once more, then lifted her gown and opened her legs…
Knowing the true source of her interest made Sygmund’s stomach churn. “Maybe… we should talk first. How was your trip to town?”
Fayr’s face darkened immediately. She folded her legs and stared into the fire, its coppery flames reflecting a lost splash of color against her diamond-like irises. “Fruitless. It took me nearly all day to find a translator. By the time I started asking people if they had ever seen a young girl with white hair, they were all preparing to go home for the night.”
He nodded slowly, not surprised. Wherever they went, the story repeated itself. They struggled for a few months to get acclimated to a new setting and community. They began to search for Fayr’s lost daughter. And they found absolutely nothing.
“How was your hunt?” she asked weakly, as if that subject would be more cheerful.
“Fayr.” His voice was sharp, full of sudden resolve.
Fayr sat up straighter. “What?”
“I’ve been thinking. We’ve been looking all this time for your daughter. But we know so little about her. You only knew Kaylen as a newborn baby.”
Fayr stiffened. His words hurt her. But she needed to hear them.
“We have no way of guessing her current lifestyle, her personal motives, even her appearance—other than her white hair. She might even keep that covered, to pass as normal.”
“Are you saying we should give up?” she snapped. “Because if that’s how you feel, I won’t drag you along unwillingly.”
“No,” he said, though the fact she would cast him aside with so little hesitation threw salt into his wounded heart. “I’m saying we need to change our tactics.”
“You mean look for Er’Mekan?” Fayr shook her head. “Looking for a god would be even harder, I think. At least Kaylen is my flesh and blood.”
“I mean that we should look for Sean Wolven.”
This time Fayr jolted as if stricken by lightning. For some reason, he enjoyed seeing her react that way. For years now, they had stopped speaking of Sean, pretending that he never existed. At least if Sygmund forced Fayr to acknowledge the man who haunted her, she would remember how terrible he had been, and consider how any prospect of encountering him again was altogether horrifying.
“S… S… Sean.” The name that had drifted so effortlessly from her lips in sleep now struggled to roll off her tongue.
“Yes,” said Sygmund firmly. “He’s looking for Kaylen, too, isn’t he? He started the search long before we did. With all his Wolven prowess, perhaps he’s had some success. And something tells me he’ll be easier to find. He’s really quite… predictable.”
“He’s… he’s… he’s not the man he used to be,” gasped Fayr. “He gouged out his own eyes. He’s a wandering blind man now. Who knows where he might be?”
“Something tells me he will act as he always has—lying, killing, or doing whatever he must to get what he wants.” Sygmund felt a sneer pulling at his lips—one he wanted to hide, but failed to restrain. “Besides, maybe finding him would give you some amount of… closure.”
She blinked at him with surprise. He hated the hope he saw in her eyes, even though he sensed its reflection in his own gaze.
He planned to get closure from the reunion, as well. For if they truly managed to find Sean Wolven again, Sygmund would kill that fucking Wolven, once and for all.