Chapter 13
Carver knew the exact moment Bel stepped through the door. The creaky hinges—he’d left them that way on purpose—were a big hint. The way his skin tightened all over was another, and he wasn’t sure he could convince himself the full-body twitch was still because he wanted to chop off all her flaming hair and make her eat it.
A wry smile tried to touch his lips. He groaned instead, the sound sinking into his mattress. Gods, he hurt. The pain burrowed so deep there was no end to it.
“And you thought she’d stay at Spiro’s,” he murmured to the two men who’d brought him home and tried to clean his back and patch him up. Lucky for him, they’d sewn up the lashes that needed closing before Bel got here. If she’d been home, Dex and Silas would’ve left her to it, and then he really would’ve been in trouble.
Dex hmphed in what sounded like disapproval as he peeled the wet cloth off Carver’s back. Cool evening air hit his damp skin, bringing a tiny bit of relief to the ceaseless agony.
“She should’ve,” Silas muttered from near the head of the bed. “At least she made it back.”
Carver hadn’t thought for a second she wouldn’t make it home. He just wasn’t sure of the price she might have to pay to get here.
“Carver?” Bel shut the main door with her usual subtlety and restraint. “Are you here?”
Lying on his stomach, his head turned toward his open door, he growled like a bear in answer.
“What’s going on?” He heard her kick off her sandals—they always slammed against the wall by the door and left marks there—and stomp barefoot toward his bedroom. “What happened?”
“Don’t come in here!” Yelling brought on a shocking amount of pain, and he exhaled harshly.
Bel didn’t listen. Speeding up, she burst into the bedroom, and her gasp might’ve been the most horrible sound he’d heard in a decade.
“Oh my gods.” The look on her face was even more terrible. “Carver?”
Their eyes locked. He hadn’t wanted her to see him like this, but in the end, all he could feel was a rush of relief that they were finally together again. No day of his life had ever seemed longer than this one.
“It’s not pretty,” Dex said. “Twenty lashes.”
“Who did this?” Bel’s gaze swept over his back—or what was left of it. She moved closer, her expression stone cold and murderous. “Why?”
Dex and Silas made room for her at his bedside. Carver suddenly wanted them gone even more than he had before. He had so much to say, and he couldn’t say any of it in front of them.
“Eryx.” He breathed shallowly, trying not to move any more than necessary. “He was going to whip Cleito. I got in the way.”
Bel’s mouth pinched, her nostrils flaring. Flames curled through the whites of her eyes and fire started to burn little marks straight through the shawl she’d used to cover her hair at work the second before she whirled and flew from the room with a snarl.
Carver saw Silas’s concerned frown in his peripheral vision. “She might not have the stomach for this.” The older man lit a lamp, the shadows growing longer even with the shutters wide open to let in the sea air and the last of the day’s sunshine. “The gods know most women don’t.”
Carver had a thousand replies to that but no will to shove any of them up his throat. He heard Bel’s water running and knew she was dousing the fire she’d almost let out. She came back quickly, her hair uncovered and loose now but slicked back and soaking wet. Water dripped onto her dress, streaking it a darker blue around her shoulders and down her arms and chest. She wiped her hands on a clean cloth and then threw it at Silas as if she’d heard his comment and was letting him know what she thought.
“Dex. Silas.” Curtly, she nodded to them both. “Thank you for your help.” Her words were neutral, even polite, but that was a royal dismissal if he’d ever heard one. Dex and Silas must’ve thought so, too, because they gathered their things and left the bedroom. Bel followed them out.
Carver sighed, closing his eyes. It was all a little hazy in his mind right now, but Dex and Silas had asked him about his older scars and the new scrapes on his shoulders, and they’d obviously honed in on the now bluish-yellow satyr-induced bruises on his torso. Carver told some half-truths, which got him nowhere, and eventually ended up giving away things he shouldn’t have. His weakened state and the pain must’ve lowered his defenses, because mission from the gods had somehow left his mouth. He just hoped they didn’t question Bel about it.
And he couldn’t help wondering what Eryx was thinking now that the king wasn’t so focused on inflicting damage. Eryx might chalk up the newer bruises to training mishaps—something Carver couldn’t convince Silas and Dex of since they were his training partners—but old battle scars told stories, even to men who’d never gone to war.
Carver heard the creaky door hinges again and could easily picture Bel’s imperious, you’re-free-to-leave-now look. The gods knew she’d leveled it on him often enough.
“We’ll check on him tomorrow evening after our shift,” he heard Silas say from the living room.
Dex added something he couldn’t quite hear. As far as he could tell, Bel didn’t even answer. The door squeaked again, shut, and the lock slammed down hard. Carver took a long, deep breath even though it stretched the skin on his back. He let it out slowly, deciding to try to master the pain by mentally squashing it. “Mind over matter,” he murmured as Bel returned to his room.
“Why did you say that?” She stopped by his bedside, holding a big jug of wine. Carver eyed it, his mouth suddenly wet and his tastebuds craving the sharp-edged acidity flowing over his tongue. He swallowed the excess saliva as she set the container on the bedside table and leaned over him, inspecting his back.
Voice hoarse, he rasped, “You always say it. And even when you don’t, I can hear you thinking it.”
“I must have very loud thoughts.”
“You have no idea,” he muttered.
She frowned. “Then what am I thinking right now?”
“You’re thanking your lucky fates that Dex is better than you with a needle and that Silas is big enough to hold me down.”
She snorted. “Wrong.”
“Fine, then what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking about all the ways I can make Eryx’s death even more horrific than I’d already planned.”
His chest pulled in hard, squeezing his heart. “How horrific?”
“ Epically horrific.” Fire licked through her eyes again, the unchecked magic turning the blue-green into a glowing turquoise that illuminated half her face in the dimming light. “I can’t wait.”
Carver’s lips twitched. Even that seemed to hurt, but it was worth it. There was something healing in the way a face could move. “It was me or Cleito. I couldn’t let it be her.”
“No.” Her mouth flattened. “But there are no healers here, and you could die of infection. I’ll hate you forever if you do that.”
His smile grew bigger. “I’ll try not to.”
“Don’t try. Do. Mind over matter, remember?”
He nodded faintly. “I’ll let my back know.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Did anyone ask about your scars? Or those bruises? Or the scrapes on your back?”
“Dex and Silas did. Eryx was too busy throwing his weight around and making sure everyone knows he’s powerful even without magic.”
Bel’s eyes narrowed, lessening their brightness on the rest of her face. “And?”
“And let’s hope we can trust them because they might have an inkling that we’re not who we say we are.”
Warily, she asked, “How much of an inkling?”
“Enough to want real answers when they come back tomorrow.”
“Carver!” Sparks tried to pop in her wet hair, fizzling instead. “Why?”
“Well, one had a needle poked through my skin and the other was sitting on me,” he growled. “It was hard to come up with good lies.” Shifting, he dangled one arm over the side of the bed. “ Gods. ” He winced.
“Don’t move, you idiot. If you tear a stitch, I’m going straight to cauterization. And if I see even a hint of infection, I’m burning it out.”
He scowled at her. “You’ll need Silas to hold me down again.”
“Then so be it. And if he tells anyone about us—or my magic—I’ll burn him alive.”
Carver just breathed shallowly again, trying not to move. Bel would threaten Silas if necessary, but she wouldn’t do anything else when their secrets were on the verge of spilling anyway. It seemed inevitable now. “I lost my job today.”
She scooched by his bedside, putting them face-to-face. She was so close that her freckles popped out at him, especially the ones on the bridge of her nose. “I guess that’s the price for buying Cleito a moment of peace with your own skin.” Her eyes shifted to his back, her sympathetic gaze almost the comforting touch Carver knew she wouldn’t give. His eyes dipped to her mouth. Bel’s lips seemed to have gotten all the softness the rest of her didn’t really have, and he wanted to know what they felt like against his mouth.
His eyes flicked back up, finding hers on his face now. “I’m to be executed if Eryx ever sees me again.”
Those lush curves of her lips flattened out. The tension spread to the rest of her face, hardening her jaw and turning her eyes into magic-bright chips of blue-green ice. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll have Cleito soon.”
Carver grunted his agreement, although stealing Cleito would have to wait for his back to heal. He hated to think what Eryx might put her through in the days to come. The king got more fanatical by the hour, as if he could sense the tide turning in Atlantis.
Bel sat back on her heels. “Did they give you anything for the pain?”
“Dex’s family were Magoi healers before Punishment. He knows a few things about herbs, since that’s all they’ve got now. He tried to give me henbane, but I refused. I chewed some willow bark during the sewing up instead.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Henbane will kill you.”
“Not in the right dose. But I didn’t want to be sedated into a stupor, either. I have news.”
Curiosity made a slight crack in the fury hanging over her like a storm. “News?”
Every throb of his wounds seemed worth the memory of the Chaos Wizard’s whispered words, given to his ears alone. “Cleito told me where the key is.”
Bel pitched forward, her eyes widening. “Where?”
They were almost nose to nose again, so close he could smell her almond cream and the hints of baked cherries perfuming her damp hair. “You know that rock formation up north on the eastern shore, not too far inside magical creature territory? The one we saw and said looked just like Athena’s owl?” Bel nodded, her eyes luminous and huge. “It’s somewhere in the cave below it. Cleito said it’s under the water, not above.”
“Not above…” Sliding back a little, she bit her lip. “So we have to swim for it?”
Carver tried to shrug and failed miserably. Grimacing, he said, “Sounds more like dive.”
She paled, the loss of color in her face a shocking contrast to her bright hair and eyes. “Okay. We’re good swimmers.”
Carver huffed, eyeing her in disbelief as he lay there, one cheek squashed against his sheets. “ I’m a good swimmer. You flop around like a fish in a basket.”
“Then you dive,” she snapped.
He smiled, his muscles relaxing under the heat of her glare. “There’s my Bel.”
She stared at him, unmoving. Unblinking. Finally, she shook her head, maybe erasing his last words and going back to the previous ones. “That’s good news. Very good. I’m just sorry you bought it with the skin on your back.”
Carver chuckled darkly, actual humor in the sound. “It’ll grow back.”
“You’ll be scarred for life.”
His gaze locked on Bel’s. “I don’t really care.”
She cocked her head, her mouth pursing in thought. “Good. They’re marks to be proud of. They’re bravery, fight , compassion for someone who needed help. Besides, the most handsome man I know has plenty of scars.”
Carver narrowed his eyes. That had started out well, but now he wasn’t amused. Did Bel mean someone from her past? Or someone he knew? Suddenly wanting to tear a faceless man’s arms off, he growled, “Who?”
Bel abruptly stood, popping up and backing away from him so fast her hip bumped into the table. The jug of wine tottered precariously. Scowling at her, he barely gave it a second glance.
“You,” she growled back, her expression as pinched as he’d ever seen it.
“Me?” Carver’s heart thumped. Heat surged inside him, fiercer than any fire in his back.
She gripped the edge of the table. “Don’t look so shocked, or I’ll take it back.”
“You can’t take it back.” And he’d hold on to it. Bel didn’t say nice things. They were literally incompatible with her mouth.
“I can do anything I want.”
“Say it again,” he rasped.
She scoffed. “Needy, aren’t we?”
“I’m injured. Give me what I want.”
Hot, blue-green eyes speared him to the bed. “You’re tolerable to look at. The scars will be an improvement.” She sniffed, lifting her chin.
Carver relished her reluctant capitulation. If he could get this much from Bel, maybe he could get more. “You’re tolerable to look at, too. And if someone gives you a scar, I’ll rip them limb from limb and feed them to the sharks.”
Her lips parted in surprise. Her color rising, she stepped away from the table and cleared her throat. “Can you sit up?”
“I think so.” He forced himself upright even though it pulled at Dex’s stitches. Wincing, he struggled to stand for the first time in hours.
“Move gently!” Bel chided, reaching for his arm. Gripping his elbow, she watched him from under knitted brows, clearly worried he was about to keel over. And he just might—but only from shock that she was voluntarily touching him. And holding on .
“I’m fine,” he grumbled. He ached from head to foot, and little glowing spots danced across his vision before fading under a long, leaden blink.
“And you’re usually such a good liar.” Frowning, she let go and turned, reaching for the wine. “Here. This’ll come in handy for once.”
“ Now you want me to imbibe?” Carver’s mouth instantly watered again, and he swallowed hard. “That’s a slippery road, princess.” He didn’t want the wine, and yet he thirsted for all it could bring.
“Of course not. I didn’t utterly ignore everything your mother and sister used to talk about back in Castle Thalyria. I’m going to try to kill off potential infection by dousing you with this.” Her eyes flicked toward the large basin where he bathed. “Then I’m going to slather you with honey, because you taught me that just last night.”
Relief coursed through him, its own sort of drug that left him slack. He nodded. As long as he didn’t have to hold that jug in his hands… “Sounds almost erotic,” he murmured.
A tiny pulse of sun-flare heat burst out of her. It was enough to warm the air between them but not enough to burn him. Bel’s still-wet hair dried instantly, gaining volume, and he smirked, absurdly satisfied.
She glared at him. “You won’t think that when you’re sticking to everything and attracting insects.”
“Or when you rattle a beehive next to me.”
“Hmm. Good idea.” She moved toward the bath, chewing her lower lip again—a telltale sign that something was on her mind and likely bothering her. “It’ll be payback for scaring the magic out of me.”
Carver’s gut twisted. He turned with her, taking a few shuffling steps. Had she thought he’d forgotten her? “I’m sorry I didn’t come get you tonight.”
She shrugged. “Dimitri brought me home. It forced me to wait for him, but it was probably better. Then we heard the procession start and took the long way to avoid going along the harbor. Spiro even paid me,” she added as she bent and started clearing the tub of the bloodied cloths Dex had used to clean his back. Without batting an eye, she heaped them into a smaller basin. “He put actual coins into my helpless little hands.”
“Very enlightened of him.”
“He has hidden depths.” She opened the water valve and rinsed down the nearly person-sized bath. “He tries not to show them, but they sneak out when he least expects.”
Carver eyed his bathtub as she cut off the water. It was basically an oversized, wide-mouthed ceramic bowl and wasn’t big enough for him on a good day. He could barely imagine curling into it with his back in shreds. Shaking his head, he said, “This isn’t going to work.”
“Just sit on the edge.” Bel pointed to the rounded lip. “I’ll clean up the mess later.”
“You’re not my servant.” Or his Atlantian wife. Tension cracked through him like a lightning strike.
She let out an exaggerated breath. “I’m not above mopping a floor.”
“I’ll mop it myself.”
“And tear your stitches? Don’t be stupid.” She took a menacing step forward. “Now, you’ll sit your stubborn backside on the edge of the tub and stay there while I pour this entire jug of wine down your back.” Her commanding gaze pulsed with magic. “And you’ll like it.”
So ferocious. So determined. So fiery. Over him . Carver’s heart grew so big it hurt. He grinned at her. “I’ll like it?”
“Stop laughing at me. I’m doing my best.” Bel pushed on his chest, trying to propel him toward the basin. Carver didn’t move, and she did it again. He grabbed her hand, pressing it against his bare skin. Her hand heated, and the scent of hot, sugared cherries teased his nostrils and filled his lungs. Her head snapped up, her eyes wary.
Gravel tumbled through his voice. “You know, we don’t always have to fight.”
She swallowed. “What’s the fun in that?”
Carver’s lips curled, half amusement, half despair. “I’d show you if I didn’t think you’d scorch off every hair on my head.”
Her eyes widened. A blush stole over her face. “That was an accident. And it was more of a hearty singeing than a full-on scorch.” She bit her lip. Again. He should have an obol for every time she did. “I can control that new magic better now. I…sense it coming on.”
His pulse thumped in his veins. “Is that an invitation?” He sure as Hades wasn’t surprising her again.
She stared at him like a scared rabbit hiding in the brush. That rapid breathing, eyes round and nervous, her whole body tense and ready to bolt. “Not exactly.”
He pressed her hand harder against his chest. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s only me.”
“ Only you?” Bel gave him a blistering look. “Let go of me.”
“Why?” Carver couldn’t think of one good reason to let go. He wanted her close.
“Because I asked you to.”
His insides dropping, he let go at once. It was Bel who took a moment longer to draw her hand away from his chest, finally curling her fingers in and lowering her hand. Carver wanted to reach for her again but stopped himself. His need was too strong to ignore completely, though, and he leaned down without touching her, inhaling her mouthwatering scent in the most obvious way he could, his nose almost brushing her neck.
Holding stock-still, she whispered, “What are you doing?” Her shiver leaped toward his skin. If he licked her, would she taste as good as she smelled?
“Ask me to kiss you,” he whispered so close to her skin that his breath swirled back to him, warming his lips. His groin tightened. Desire burned as hot as pain. “Ask me right now.”
Bel’s magic nearly seared him before she reeled it in. She took a step back, then another, exhaling a trembling breath. “Sit.” Looking past him, she focused on the bathtub, not meeting his eyes.
Ah, so she was going to ignore what he said. Carver slowly backed up and sat. He would take it—for now. Her husky voice, flushed cheeks, and the pulse beating furiously at the base of her neck were enough.
Bel picked up the wine and opened it. “Now hold still.” She moved around the bathtub to face his back. “Even when it hurts. Because it will .”
“That sounds like a threat. Very encouraging,” he said as he gingerly wiggled back to hang as far over the basin as he could. The ceramic lip bit into the backs of his thighs, but the discomfort barely registered compared to the lashes on his back. “And imperious. Practicing being queenly?”
“I don’t need practice.”
“Maybe not for the ordering-people-around part. Your subtlety and diplomacy could use some work.”
“That’s what you’re for.”
He chuckled, grimacing at the same time. Now that he’d gotten himself out of bed, moving around was surprisingly bearable, even if it wasn’t fun. Maybe Dex’s willow bark had helped. Or maybe a lifetime of war had taught him what wounds he knew he’d survive and keep fighting through.
Carver forced his shoulders back so that when Bel poured the wine, it would run straight down into the tub instead of dripping all around him. His pants would catch some of it—and be ruined. “Advisor to the queen?” he asked.
Behind him, she said, “Since you’re my husband, I’m pretty sure the title is king.”
Shock tore through him. They pretended to be husband and wife. You’re my husband was a whole different thing. He was still absorbing her startling words when the wine hit his back. Cold. Burning . He gasped. “Good gods, woman, some warning would’ve been nice!”
“How much warning do you need?” She thoroughly doused him again. “You sat. I have the wine. What did you think would happen next?”
Carver shook his head. He laughed. Gods, it hurt, but he laughed. With Bellanca Tarva, anything could happen next.
She drenched him, again and again. The more he growled, the more gleeful she got. So he kept growling, even when something better started to overwhelm the pain. For the first time in a long time, hope for himself bloomed in his chest. He saw a path ahead, and in his mind, he followed it.
Pretty soon, they’d both see where it led.