37. It’s Still a Bad Idea
It’s Still a Bad Idea
Mariana
The following week was pure misery. Soggy, sopping, mucky misery.
Rain pinged off our armor in a relentless assault.
Mud turned the High Road into a treacherous bog.
My boots and socks were in a constant state of wet, rubbing cold blisters into my heels.
A branch had ripped a hole in my tent, spilling a torrent onto my bedroll.
Fires were impossible, and therefore I was wracked with a damp chill that never fully subsided, my gear perpetually soaked.
There was no ignoring the misery, either—not with my magic twinging with every pinprick of rain.
The worst part, however, was the memory of Faren’s arms around me, and the knowledge that, if I asked him to, he’d do it again.
For the past five nights, I’d craved his crushing warmth with a selfishness that he didn’t deserve, a disquieting depth of need.
If I gave in, I was certain that the need would only grow.
Pushing him away in Waldron had hurt, but not as much as it would’ve hurt to have him and lose him once we returned to Fenrir City.
We were already too entangled for our own good.
Still, try as I might to forget the decadence of his embrace, as we rode in silence through a never-ending deluge, it was all I could think about.
That is, except the torturous rain.
By the time we arrived in Brine, I was thoroughly glum. Night had fallen, and the lanterns of the town poured honey light into the silver-streaked darkness.
Faren, who had seemed equally as sullen as I, perked up at the sight of civilization. “Drink?”
Utterly beaten by rain, I did not have the willpower to deny him—or myself.
We handed Simon and Sunny over to the care of a stable hand, discarding our armor with the saddles, then shuffled into the Lark Inn he looked like the most handsome drowned rat I’d ever seen.
A harsh chortle bubbled out of me. It grew into unfettered, convulsing laughter, maniacal after so many dismal days of riding and suffering in silence. Faren eyed me, dubious of my outburst—but then he was laughing, too, the both of us quaking with the horribleness of it all.
“Awful,” I choked out. “Truly some of the worst travel days I’ve experienced.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so horrid,” Faren said on a laugh. “Inside or out.”
His admission warmed me, and I chased the sensation with a more measured sip of cider. “Me neither,” I admitted.
With a crooked smile, he rested his arm along the back of the bench behind me. “Considering our magic, I believe we’ve been quite valorous in the face of our struggle.”
“Ugh, my magic. Never have I hated it more.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Want to know a secret?”
“Yes.”
He took a tentative sip from his mug. “In addition to the ability to increase my sensitivity, I’m one of those rare touch magicians who can also dull their senses. Helps me last longer”—his gaze cut to mine, and he winked—“in the rain, I mean.”
“You bastard,” I said, even as my face flushed. “And here I thought we were suffering together.”
“Hey, now,” Faren soothed. “It takes considerable effort to keep my skin dull for days on end—and I can’t do it when I sleep. I suffered plenty.”
I scoffed, feigning annoyance.
“How can I make it up to you? Should I increase my sensitivity for the remainder of our journey?”
There was nowhere else for my mind to go.
I thought immediately of our kiss and the way he’d groaned with relief.
Lost in the overwhelming sensation of my own magic, I hadn’t considered the malleability of his.
My magic never ceased, but the idea that Faren might’ve used his to heighten his pleasure and feel more thoroughly sent a wave of desire through me.
“That won’t be necessary,” I mumbled.
“How might I repent, then?” he went on, oblivious to my fluster. “Perhaps a gift? I could purchase us a room for the night?”
A room. Singular.
“Faren…”
He turned his palm up in a placating manner. “I wish only to make right how I’ve wronged you.”
“Sure, you do.”
“Think about it,” he said with an easy shrug.
But thinking about it was all I’d done for the past five days. Thinking about it was the problem. The rain had eroded my resolve, and there was nothing I wanted more than to go upstairs with him. But we couldn’t. Nothing had changed, and no amount of bad weather could wash away our circumstances.
“I take it back,” Faren remarked, and a brief comet-flash of panic streaked through me at the notion that he’d thought better of the idea, too. But then he continued, “This week isn’t the most miserable I’ve been.”
“Oh?” I asked. “What was?”
Just then, the innkeeper arrived at our table with two bowls of braised mutton, roasted carrots, and smashed potatoes. We dug in, and Faren spoke as he ate.
“I was twenty-six and had just taken my Oath,” he began.
“The Mighty sends all new recruits into the Axe Mountains for survival training. There are group drills, as well as stints in pairs and solo. For the partnered portion, I was assigned a fellow named Warner.” Faren lifted an eyebrow in a comically foreboding expression.
“The weather took a turn that week, sleeting and snowing in fits, with terrible wind. I was well-prepared, of course—”
“—of course,” I parroted.
“—but Warner…he grew up in the city and was impressively useless.”
I chuckled over a bite of mutton.
“On the first night, he didn’t secure his tent properly.
It took flight in the wind and snagged in the branches of a tree.
Warner climbed the tree to retrieve it, slipped and sprained his ankle, and I awoke in the middle of a snowy night to him wailing.
” Faren speared a potato, popped it in his mouth, and rolled his eyes.
“We had ten miles to travel. I had to craft him a splint, and the going was slow. Over the next three days, he managed to lose our map, a boot, and—during a particularly perilous river crossing—half our rations.”
I broke into laughter, and Faren joined in.
“That was definitely worse than this rain,” Faren finished.
“What ever happened to him?” I asked, half expecting to learn that he’d perished.
“Oh, he’s one of my best friends,” Faren said. “You carry a man out of an icy river, and you form a bond for life. He’s still useless in the wilds, but he’s a fine knight.” Hearing his own words, Faren’s face shifted like a change in wind.
“What is it?”
His temple pulsed. “Nothing, I…” He shook his head. “That life just feels so far away, at the moment.”
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes cut to mine. “I’m not.”
My heart thudded against my ribs, and I set down my fork, giving Faren a warning look.
He forced a smile. “Of course, thinking back on it now,” he continued, “the lot of us would’ve looked like children compared to you.”
“I’ve had plenty of wilderness mishaps,” I said.
“Yes, but have you ever lost a single boot while trying to find a place to take a shit?”
My laugh was hearty. “No, I can’t say that I have. How in the Fates did that happen?”
“Fuck if I know. Warner has a talent for nonsense—but he’s an excellent friend. Always has my back.”
Now it was my turn to frown. I’d never had camaraderie like that.
Except, perhaps, over the past couple weeks.
Tracing the handle of my mug with a finger—my cold hands still prickly and numb—I said, “I’m glad this journey wasn’t the worst you’ve experienced.”
Finished with his meal, Faren rested his arm along the back of the bench again, adjusting his seat so that my shoulder fit neatly against his chest. “No experience with you could ever qualify as the worst.”
“Faren…” I admonished again, but I didn’t move away.
“What, I can’t compliment you?”
“Do you not recall our argument in Waldron?”
“Was it an argument?”
I lifted my chin, our faces mere inches apart as I met his gaze. “Wasn’t it?”
“An argument suggests we’re on differing sides of a conflict,” Faren said, “but I’ve recently become convinced that we’re on the same side.”
“Is that so?”
“Mhmm,” he hummed, nodding, insistent. “I think we both dislike the constraints of our circumstances. Do we not?”
He waited for my answer, seconds ticking by until I finally relented. “We do.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said, about what we shouldn’t do,” he went on, a gentle teasing entering his tone. “I’ve decided it’s stupid and I disagree.”
My lips kicked up in a half smile. “I thought we were on the same side.”
“Oh, you disagree with what you said, too.”
“How would you know?”
Faren tilted his head, his temple grazing mine, lips meeting the curve of my ear.
Goosebumps rose along my neck as his voice dropped to a rumble.
“Because I know.” He drew back enough to look me in the eye, and his smile turned wicked.
“More to the point: there’s something about this inn that makes me feel like the world can’t touch us. ”
His arm across my back. My shoulder overlapping with his chest. My thigh pressing into his. Everywhere we touched, I burned. “Me, too,” I rasped.
“I would very much like to take advantage of the feeling,” he admitted. “Have you thought any more about that room?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“It’s still a bad idea.”
He chuckled and slid his hand across my shoulder, dragging my wet hair off my neck. My magic rushed to the contact, sensing every crease and callous on his palm. He cupped my nape, giving rise to another wave of goosebumps.
“I wasn’t asking if it’s a bad idea,” Faren murmured. “I was asking what you wanted.”
I glanced away, out at the pub, knowing that there was no lying to him when he could feel my body’s response so plainly. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”
“It matters to me.”
“Yes, well, it shouldn’t.”
“I’ll tell you what,” he drawled. “I’m going to purchase us a room—one room. I will sleep on the floor if you want me to, but I’d prefer not to let you out of my sight.”
“Afraid I’ll run off before I’ve delivered you safely back to the capital?”
“No,” he said, sounding amused. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to sleep without you near.”
“Is the Mighty Knight afraid of the dark?”
“In a way,” he said. “This whole journey has led me to feel as if I am in the dark.”
“Oh.” I winced, thinking of our Orders. “That’s my fault, isn’t it?”
“It is,” he replied simply, leaning in again to whisper against my cheek.
He inhaled as if he needed extra breath for what he would say next.
“I am in the dark. I am lost in the woods, and somehow you, Mariana, have become my guiding star. I feel as if I’ve stumbled far off course, I am more disoriented than ever, but when I’m with you, I don’t much care to find the path I was once on.
I don’t much care for anything other than to look up and see you and know that I am finally heading in the right direction. ”
I pulled back to meet his eyes; they gleamed in the lamplight. “Or heading to your doom,” I said weakly.
He dragged his thumb along the sharp edge of my jaw. “You’re aware of the state of my Order, sweetheart. If this is doom, then I welcome it.”
My stomach flipped. How was it that Faren—charming, boisterous, honorable Faren—could say such disastrously heartfelt things to someone like me? An enemy?
“You asked what I want,” I said hoarsely. “I want to avoid dooming you.”
He smiled, then, bright and defiant. “Too late.”
With his thumb still on my jaw, I lifted my chin, allowing him to guide me home. Our lips brushed, and while I was no stranger to powerlessness, I’d never felt powerless like this. If he was lost in a forest of shifting loyalties, I was drowning in a sea of selfish desire.
“Fine,” I said against his mouth. “Get the room.”