Chapter 11
There is a horrible pounding in my head that grows louder by the minute. Begrudgingly, I open one eye just slightly enough to find the room awash in sunlight. It’s too bright, so I throw the covers up over my head until I’m cocooned in darkness again. But the pounding doesn’t stop.
There’s a vial of dried feverfew somewhere in my pack, along with other medicinal herbs and tonics. If I can just make it there. With a groan, I muster enough strength to push myself up into a sitting position.
The door bursts open suddenly, and I barely have time to cover my exposed chest before Captain Murphy is standing in my bedroom. There’s a brief flash of concern in his gray eyes before they’re overtaken with anger. His gaze scours the room looking for … what exactly is he looking for?
OH. Does he think there’s someone else in here?
It’s only at this realization that the events of last night emerge from the whiskey-induced haze. The memory of his sword, his whispered words, and the almost kiss—all of it barrels into me so quickly that I sink back down under the covers before he can notice the red flush that now colors my face.
“It’s past dawn.” There’s a light thud on the small bedside table, the sound of something being deposited with haste, that causes me to sink further down into the bed. “I told you. I don’t slow down for hangovers, princess.”
“Can I at least have a bath first?”
I can practically feel his eyes boring into me despite the blankets over my head. “Hurry.”
It’s only when the door shuts and I’m sure that the captain is gone that I drag myself out of bed. A small glass of water sits on the bedside table next to a vial of dried feverfew, gifts from Cal.
I suck in an unsteady breath as I repeat his name over and over again in my head. The name that I couldn’t bring myself to utter before. The name that will likely be my doom.
The fate-filled dreams didn’t haunt me last night, and I choose to believe it’s because of the sheer volume of alcohol that I consumed and no other reason.
Absolutely no other reason.
The pounding starts again and this time it is actually my head and not my escort. I chew the herb and wash it down with the water before I start the arduous process of packing up the clothes that I scattered across the room last night in my drunken stupor.
It takes longer than it should thanks to the liquid sloshing around in my empty stomach, but when I finally manage to stumble down the hall to the bathing chamber, I’m instantly greeted by a roaring fire under the cast iron tub. The clean water inside is gloriously scalding.
Another godsdamned gift.
Whatever this is between us is starting to feel alarmingly uneven—something I need to rectify immediately.
I audibly groan as I slip underneath the hot water. Maybe I can scald off my shame and the memory of the cocky bastard’s words.
“When you kiss me...” not if, when.
We’re standing on the edge of a cliff now, and as much as I would like to blame him for the shove towards the drop-off, it’s as much my doing as his.
This connection is a death knell, and we lost any chance of fighting it the moment I said his name and accepted our fate.
The fire that burns between us guarantees a blood sport with no winners left standing in the end.
I can fight a lot of things, but can I really fight destiny? Right now I need to focus more on fighting this hellacious hangover.
We’ll cross into the Ruby Region today, with its major city only a few days further.
While it may be our closest neighbor, its governor is no fan of mine.
For that reason, the emerald cloak stays safely tucked away in my pack.
I’ll wear the browns of the common folk to avoid drawing any additional attention to us, though I’m certain the Captain of Corinth will be recognizable no matter what color he wears.
My only hope is that word of his traveling companion hasn’t spread all the way to Governor Rollins yet.
I try my best to indulge in one last cup of coffee before leaving the inn, but I end up vomiting both it and the whiskey I consumed last night outside the stable.
The ride is more treacherous than I anticipated.
There is entirely too much alcohol still in my system and it sloshes around with my horse's every step. Cal doesn’t appear to be particularly happy about our late departure, though he never says anything about it.
He never says anything at all, actually.
When he finally decides to put me out of my misery and let me off of this damned horse, I nearly fall to my knees in relief.
There’s a small stream nearby, the cold water instantly soothing me as I splash it on my face. I lay down on the bank for a moment and try to soak up a tiny amount of warmth from the sun.
The weather this late in the winter vacillates between warm and downright cold. Spring may be right around the corner but you can never count out a snowfall before the equinox. Today is mild and I close my eyes to relish in it. A shadow blocks out the sun and I groan at the loss of the warmth.
“We need to keep moving, princess.”
I pop open an eye and see him standing over me with a hand outstretched. Reluctantly, I take it and let him pull me up. He drops my hand the second my feet are under me.
“We need to talk about last night,” I demand. Better to get this over with now.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“There’s plenty to talk about!” I call after him as he strides over to his horse. “You forced me into something I was not ready for.”
Cal turns abruptly towards me, scowling at my implication. “I didn’t force you into anything. Maybe you don’t remember—”
“That’s not what I meant,” I interrupt, pinching the bridge of my nose.
This isn’t off to a good start and I am in no condition to go into all the reasons that I didn’t want to say his name. Rehashing them won’t turn back time anyway. My grave is already dug. Time to lie in it.
Ungracefully, I mount my mare, trying not to upset my stomach again.
“The gods have decided that we’re … something. I don’t know what that is and the only way I’m ever going to make sense of this is if we talk. So unless you want me to spend the rest of our journey talking about the social injustices in Corinth, you should probably answer my questions, Cal.”
I add his name for emotional emphasis and the flare of his nostrils tells me that my arrow hit its intended mark.
“What do you want to know, Ivy?”
There it is again. The fluttering of my magic like the beating wings of an insect, the maddening sensation that happens when he says my name.
“How about we start with the basics?”
“I’ll make you a deal. I will answer one question every half hour until we stop for the evening.” There’s a sparkle in his gray eyes, another glimpse of his hidden, playful side.
“And how many questions will that be?” I ask.
“Four, but you lose a question every time we have to stop for you to vomit.”
I roll my eyes. “That hardly seems fair. I can’t avoid that.”
“Then you should probably avoid whiskey,” he says flatly.
“If only you’d given me that advice before I drank an entire bottle of what was most likely the worst liquor in all of Corinth,” I joke, shuddering at the memory of the first few sips of the burning swill.
“Ah, but then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of watching you turn green.”
Nausea rolls again in my gut at the reminder. But truth be told, that verdant hue of unwarranted jealousy was pretty damn evident on both of us.
“I’ll take your deal,” I say, changing the subject, spurring my horse towards the road. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight,” he answers matter-of-factly.
“Awfully young to have such a powerful reputation, great Captain of Corinth.”
“I could say the same for you, Poison Ivy.”
I’ve been called that name hundreds of times, but it feels like a punch in the gut to hear it from his lips now. My magic recoils at the sound, stinging as it hides deep within me. A silent moment lingers between us and I can’t help but wonder if maybe he hates it too.
Does our strange connection make his nickname hurt more when I say it? Does he even know just how connected we truly are?
“Are you going to ask anything about me?” I ask.
“I already know everything about you.”
“Stalker,” I tease.
“Maybe,” he teases back. “Or maybe I’m a soldier well-briefed on his assignment.”
Despite his tone, there’s a harsh truth to his words that stings in a way I didn’t expect. A stark reminder of what this really is, stripped bare of alliances predestined by gods. He visibly winces before collecting himself, searching for words to soften the growing tension.
“You’re not an assignment. You’re—”
“I wasn’t given enough notice to study up on you, Captain,” I interrupt. “So I’m afraid you’ll have to start from the beginning.”
I don’t need whatever backpedaling he’s attempting. This is an assignment—a forced arrangement for the both of us. I shouldn’t care how his words make my magic retreat or my stomach sink, and I’m not going to start now.
“There are very few people who know anything about me, princess. I doubt you would have found out anything, even if you had notice I would be escorting you, at least not anything with any truth to it.”
I’m tempted to ask about the legends, about the heinous acts he supposedly committed to earn his promotion to captain, but I know all too well how rumors grow to take on a life of their own. And I’m not sure I want to know yet if there’s any truth to his.
One day I’ll have the stomach to ask; I have to, but today is not that day.
“I heard that you were a broody asshole, which so far seems to be true.”
Cal lets out a deep belly laugh that catches me so off guard that I nearly fall off my horse. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you talked to my brother.”
There it is, the tiniest bit of trust, the start to discovering exactly who the captain is and how I can use him.
“You have a brother?” I ask cautiously.
“Nice try, but it’s not time for another question. I believe you have another … twenty-six minutes or so.”
“There you go, further cementing my opinion.”
A lie. If anything, I respect his hesitation to withhold information from me. I wouldn’t trust his instincts if he didn’t. And I have to trust him if I have any hope of keeping Lord General Marks off the throne.
I cannot let whatever this is brewing between us keep me from what I must do: use him.