20. Refuge #2
Horace patted Simon’s shoulder with a loud clap. “I’ve learned not to dwell too much on the past.” He forced a tight-lipped smile. “Every visit—every confirmation she’s all right—is a blessing. That’s what I focus on.”
“I’m sorry,” Faren said. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“She committed a crime,” Horace repeated, shrugging his big shoulders as if nothing else could be done. “You’re a Mighty Knight. You understand.”
I don’t, though, Faren thought. I don’t understand.
Perhaps had her crime been violent, he could see the Lord’s justification—but tearing a family apart and condemning a young girl over a theft?
What could she possibly have stolen? Lord Haron had a reputation for being vindictive, but Faren could not imagine any object worth a punishment like this.
Faren almost wanted Heris to deliver his promise and set Mariana free. Did that make Faren a traitor? Had he been so changed by this mission already?
“My apologies,” Horace said with a self-conscious laugh. “I don’t normally speak so plainly around near-strangers. You have a kind countenance.”
Faren placed a hand on his breastplate. The metal was cold and biting, but underneath, his heart beat steadily. “That’s quite a compliment,” Faren said. “Just don’t tell Mariana I called her cunning—I’d never hear the end of it.”
Horace’s raspy chuckle filled the barn.
Faren awoke the next morning a new man.
He sat up and stretched the sleep from his muscles, his touch magic coming alive as he twisted the kinks from his spine, rolled his shoulders, yawned. It was amazing what a wash basin and a full night’s sleep out of the elements could do for his morale.
Last night, after seeing the homesteaders settled in the Bellkeep’s guest house, Leera had deposited Faren in a room of his own upstairs in the main cottage.
In the gray light of dawn, he took in the knickknacks on the side table, the quilt embroidered with birds and foxes, novels stacked haphazardly on a shelf by the door: homey details that could not be found in barracks or inns.
He thought, wistfully, of his family’s estate back in Lothgaim.
As Faren shuffled around the room—gathering his gear, shaving his face, redressing the gash in his arm, and donning his armor—he wondered how often Mariana came home.
He suspected it wasn’t often. Valiant Knighthood was a tough sentence for anyone, but now that he knew she was a touch magician, he understood just how brutal it must be for her; he was glad for Mariana to have this respite.
Today, they would begin the other half of their side quest: hunting the injured Morta.
He hoped the restful night had fortified them both for the task ahead.
Slinging his pack over his shoulder, Faren headed for the door. Hinges squeaked as he emerged, the sound doubling as the door across from his creaked open simultaneously.
He stopped short.
Mariana appeared on the opposite threshold, facing Faren across the narrow hallway.
Her cheeks were puffy from sleep, her hair a wild mess.
Her blouse was rumpled and untucked, no weapons in sight.
She was in the middle of rolling her neck, and a glimpse of the underside of her jaw made his pulse throb.
She was…exquisite.
The thought came unbidden, and a short, bemused laugh escaped him.
Her voice was no more than a raspy grunt. “What?”
“Good morning, Ana.” Faren extended a hand, inviting her to lead the way down the hall. “Did you sleep well?”
Her shoulder grazed his elbow as she walked by, hips swaying languidly ahead of him. She really did have a perfect backside. “What’s it to you?”
Faren dragged his gaze up from where it’d dipped. “I’ve become oddly invested in your wellbeing.”
“Is that so?”
“At least so long as you’re my guide,” he added. “I need you sharp.”
“Yes, sir,” she deadpanned.
The response sent his nerve endings skittering.
Voices wafted up from downstairs, along with the scent of fresh bread and burnt bacon. When Mariana reached the landing, just around the corner from her entire family, she turned.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Her pout was particularly pouty after a good night’s sleep, and Faren steered his attention away from it like he was reining in a bolting horse.
He wasn’t sure what’d gotten into him this morning, but his magic was aware and alight, and he had to actively smother the tingling sensation crawling over his skin.
Attraction. This was attraction.
Faren was not a fool—he knew that desire was a dangerous distraction—and yet the sight of Mariana so relaxed and vaguely undone only intensified his craving.
Mariana, for her part, was still staring up at him with her own expression of bewilderment—but hers was shot through with annoyance. He didn’t know what to make of it—and it didn’t matter.
There was nothing to make.
“Don’t,” she said.
His brow furrowed. “Don’t…?”
“Just…” She waved a tired hand. “Don’t make this more awkward than it has to be.”
His smile was slow and smug. “Are you embarrassed of me?”
She took a single step closer, craning her neck as she fixed him with a cutting glare. “Your gender and presence are already enough to make them…assume. I’m asking you nicely not to make it worse.”
Faren stared down at her, relishing having the upper hand for once. He might’ve found her attractive, but even those confusing feelings—no, they were less than feelings, mere observations—could not distract him from enjoying his newfound leverage. “Assume what?”
“Faren,” she hissed.
“Apologies, Ana,” Faren said, bouncing his eyebrows. “I can’t help my anatomy.”
With that, he sauntered down the rest of the stairs and into the busy kitchen.