Chapter 7 #2
I jerk free, heat flaring in my cheeks. “I’ve got it,” I hiss, snapping my attention back to Dav. “We want to see Fortune.”
He blinks once. Then snorts. “You seek fortune? So you admit to being promised riches when you report back to Cups?”
“Not fortune. Fortune,” I say, gesturing to the page in my hand. “As in, capital F. A woman. Big, flowy robe. Sort of spoke in riddles. You know—Fortune.”
Dav raises a thick brow and glares over my head at Declan. “Your woman cannot handle her ale.”
“What, no, I’m not…” I pause, then exhale.
Love and light. Love and light.
I try again. “She’s real. I saw her just like I’m seeing you. She told me her name was—”
“Yes, Fortune. You said.” He crosses his meaty arms and throws another look over me at Declan. “Do you know this woman of whom she speaks?”
“I’m the one who saw her, and he doesn’t need to back up what—”
“I do not have time for your lies.”
“Or manners, since you keep interrupting—”
Dav takes a step forward, crowding into my space. “Get back in the tent, spy.”
He jabs me in the shoulder with one thick finger.
I stiffen, rising like a cobra, and jab him right back. “I.” Poke. “Am not.” Poke, poke. “A spy!”
His eyes go wide before narrowing into slices, his hand moving to his side. Steel sings as he yanks his sword free. The blade glints in the light. My breath catches in my throat, stomach plummeting into my ass.
Before I can so much as scream, Declan steps between us and clocks Dav, a sharp crack of knuckles to jaw. Dav’s head snaps to the side, his grip loosening on the hilt of his sword as it falls to the sand.
Dav stumbles back, hand flying to his jaw, shock and rage twisting his features.
He spits a mouthful of red-streaked phlegm at Declan’s boots.
“You’ll pay for that,” he snarls. He retrieves his sword and sheathes it with a vicious snap.
Then he turns on his heel and stalks off, favoring his jaw, and muttering a fresh string of curses with every step.
A bottled breath whooshes from my lungs, and adrenaline buzzes beneath my skin like bees in a jar.
Blood drips from the split in Declan’s knuckles and spatters the sand at his feet, bright against the sunbaked ground. His injured hand remains curled into a fist at his side even as he shakes out his shoulders and rolls his neck like stepping in to defend me was nothing.
It’s not nothing.
“Come on,” I say, quieter than I mean to. Reaching for his uninjured hand, I tug him back into the tent.
I drop to my knees beside the trunk at the foot of the bed, fingers diving into silk and gemstones, beaded masks and braided belts. I dig until I find something soft. A velvet scarf the color of spilled wine.
“Sit.” I nod toward the edge of the bed.
He follows my direction, folding down onto the bed the way a big cat crouches to observe a mouse. There’s tension in him still, muscles coiled tight beneath his skin.
I kneel in front of him and reach for his hand. His skin is warm. The blood is sticky.
I start to wrap the velvet scarf around his knuckles, trying to focus on the task. But my fingers tremble. I tell myself it’s from nerves. My brush with danger. The adrenaline crashing through my system. Anything but simply feeling his hand in mine.
After all the irritation and arguments, I shouldn’t care that he’s this close. I shouldn’t register every inch separating us like it matters. But I do.
“No one’s ever punched someone on my behalf before,” I say quietly, gaze fixed on the makeshift bandage.
He lets out a breath that sticks somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “I’ve never had to punch someone on a woman’s behalf before.” A pause. “Doesn’t feel as great as I thought it would.”
He flexes his fingers and winces. There’s a jagged split along his middle knuckle, an inky stain blooming against the deep velvet as I finish tying the bandage.
My lips curve. “Well… Thank you.”
He doesn’t reply right away. And when I finally look up, he’s watching me. The flames in the lanterns pulse a slow, flickering rhythm, and the heat in the tent spikes. Or maybe it simply feels hotter under the weight of his eyes on me.
The moment stretches. One breath. Then another.
His coffee-black gaze is steady. He’s looking through me, not at me, peeling back the layers I’ve added to keep myself safe.
My throat tightens. Declan’s hand is still in mine, my thumb smoothing over the velvet as he looks at me like I’m a question he wants to find the answer to. And I suddenly, desperately want him to try.
I’m aware that I’ve fully become a cliché. One punch and my ovaries are ready to hand over the keys to the kingdom. All because someone other than me made me feel protected.
My foot is falling asleep, so I shift, rising onto my knees to let the blood flow back to my extremities. If I’m lucky, it’ll also move to my brain. But since when have I been lucky?
As the space between us shrinks, Declan’s breath catches. Or maybe that’s mine.
The torches flare as his eyes drop to my mouth, and I swear he starts to lean down, to eliminate the gap of air between us, to bring his lips to mine.
My heart is a drumline in my chest, loud and powerful. I want Declan to try to reach me, but I’m not ready for him to succeed.
I pull my hands back quickly, fingers slipping free from his, and rise to my feet so fast I’m dizzy.
“We still need to find Fortune.” I scurry back toward the trunk, hands already digging through fabrics, desperate for a task to busy my mind. “And I need more practical footwear.”
“How are we supposed to find her?” Declan’s voice is low, thoughtful.
“Assuming that guard wasn’t entirely incompetent, he genuinely didn’t know who she was.
Does that mean she’s not local?” He pauses, eyes unfocused, tracking some invisible calculation.
“If she isn’t from here… That might complicate things. ”
The bed frame creaks as he leans back, long legs stretching out over the silk cushions. One arm hooks behind his head, the motion pulling his wrinkled button-down taut across his chest. He drags his bandaged hand along his jaw. “How big do you suppose this kingdom is?”
A chime punctures the air, and I yip, dropping an armful of clothes. My gaze snaps to the corner of the tent where a small bronze bell I hadn’t noticed before sways on a cord.
From outside the tent, someone clears their throat.
Declan pushes up from the bed, his injured fist clenched, ready to fight Dav if he’s come back for more. The sight sends a hot pulse through me, and my traitorous mouth tips into a grin.
Ack, no! I do not get turned on by potential displays of violence in defense of my honor.
“Declan,” I start, but it comes out in a nasally maternal tone that makes me wince.
He ignores it and yanks back the flap.
Tarek stands there, head cocked, arms folded in front of him. “Supplies have arrived from the Everspring along with goods from Pentacles. There are many camels to unload, and Dav volunteered you.”
“Of course he did,” Declan mutters. He glances back at me, a ghost of a smile creasing the corners of his eyes, and warmth rushes under my skin. “Ready to get sneezed on by another camel?”
I glare, mostly to cover the way my stomach swoops.
Tarek sets the pace, cutting a smooth path through the narrow aisle of tents as Declan and I fall in behind him.
“Getting sneezed on by a camel is a great blessing!” Tarek calls back over his shoulder.
Declan huffs a laugh. “Hear that, Amanda? A blessing.”
“And here I thought I was just unlucky. Guess I’ve been wrong this whole time.”
“You said it, not me.” Declan winks.
The caravan hums around us as we wind between the tents.
Bells jingle from awnings, each with a slightly different pitch that makes the campground sound like it’s singing.
Smoke from the roasting of peppers and meats coils through the air, tangling with the earthy bite of incense.
Performers brush past, their laughter sharp as broken glass.
Two children chase each other around a dozing donkey, shrieking with delight until their mother snags them and ushers them inside.
Tarek points out the community bathing area and the healer’s tent. “Over there”—he points at the spacious section of yurts surrounded by guards—“is where the sister queens reside, as well as the Great Families.”
Declan walks close enough that his arm brushes mine whenever people pass by. Tarek glides ahead of us, his shoulders relaxed, his cheery whistle catching on the breeze. Dav loomed like a guard dog, all threat and jagged corners, while Tarek practically bounces along the path.
“The tents are beautiful,” I say as a couple slips into one, their conversation still clearly audible behind the fabric, “but silk doesn’t exactly make solid walls. Doesn’t everyone hear every private moment?”
Tarek shrugs, casual as ever. “What sorts of conversations would neighbors need to keep from one another?”
A shiver slides down my spine. I lean closer to Declan, whispering, “So basically everybody’s always listening?”
His jaw ticks as he scans the rows of tents. “Then we need to be careful with what we say.”
I nod. “I’m sure they’ll be listening to us, especially since they believe we’re spies.”
“Always assume they are,” he says quietly. “A place like this— We don’t know the hierarchy, the rules, or who answers to whom. Until we do, we keep our heads down and blend in.”
His gaze remains trained forward as if mapping escape routes. It’s unsettling and steadying all at once.
“I like it better when we’re not arguing.” His hand brushes against mine as we walk, fingers grazing like it’s an accident, but then he lets the contact linger, warm and steady. “Leaves room for other things to happen.”
The words sink straight to my veins, so distracting that I trip over my own feet. I stumble, heat rushing to my cheeks, and cover it with a snort. “Don’t flatter yourself.”