Chapter 16
Sixteen
Ivy
Iwake at a gust of icy air slipping beneath the layered blankets.
Casimir follows the draught, returning from his time on watch. He must have swapped with Stavros, who was sleeping on that side of me the last time I was conscious.
Alek mumbles and pulls deeper under the blankets at my other side. It’s just occurred to me that there should be one more man squeezed into the tent with us when Casimir speaks by my ear at a whisper.
“Rheave came out maybe half an hour ago. He’s sitting off by himself under the trees, not even with his hood up. I tried to convince him to come back and warm up, but he didn’t listen to me. He seems to pay more attention to you, if you want to try to convince him.”
I muffle a groan and swipe at my eyes. Does the daimon-man want to turn the body he’s so determined to keep alive black with frostbite?
Why would he want to be out there in the freezing dark anyway?
I can’t really complain about the interrupted sleep. Since I used my magic the other day, the men have refused to let me take any of the watches. They want to ensure I have all the focus I need if another occasion arises, so I’ve been getting the most rest out of any of us.
I give Casimir a quick kiss and squirm out from under the blankets.
The nights have gotten increasingly chilly as we’ve continued north. We’ve mostly gotten through by cuddling close together to share body heat, which the small tent makes kind of necessary regardless.
I’m not sure what’s been more torturous: the occasional wafts of frigid air that manage to reach us anyway or lying so close to my lovers without being able to do more than cuddle. Having Rheave sharing the space doesn’t exactly set the right mood for an intimate encounter.
But I’m not going to let him freeze just for a little privacy with my men. Sighing, I pull my cloak close around me and tramp out onto the frost-laced grass.
Stavros is poised on a stone a couple of paces from the tent, his own cloak covering most of his massive form and his body tipped toward the smoldering firepit.
He’s partly buried it to limit the smoke, but it still emanates a faint glow and a little heat through the earth to take the worst edge off the chill.
He glances over his shoulder toward me with a sweep of his gaze over my form.
“Are you all right?” he asks in a quiet voice, taking a casual tone despite his obvious concern. He’s been asking that question more frequently than usual since the day I called on my magic by the road.
I match his tone. “Just making sure the daimon doesn’t become as much ice as clay.”
Stavros gives a muted chuckle and tips his head to the left. Following the gesture, I spot Rheave’s muscular form sitting cross-legged between two trees several paces beyond the edge of the clearing.
Like Casimir said, the idiotic daimon hasn’t even bothered to raise his hood. His chocolate-brown curls are going to end up as frosted as the grass, which crackles under my feet as I walk over to him.
When I get closer, I see he has his bare hands splayed on his knees rather than tucked into his pockets like any sensible person would. Because of course he isn’t a person, and also not especially sensible as far as I can tell, though I’m not sure what’s typical for a spirit-creature.
Julita lets out a soft huff. What in the realms is he doing? Attempting to transform into an ice sculpture?
“I suppose I’d better figure that out,” I murmur, treading between the trees.
Rheave doesn’t stir as I come up beside him. His eyes are closed.
I peer at his hands and face in the dim moonlight, but I can’t tell whether they’re already turning blue.
“Hey,” I say, unsure whether he’s even awake. Can a daimon fall asleep sitting up?
Rheave’s vibrant eyes blink open. He looks up at me and frowns. “Why are you out here? Isn’t this your time to sleep?”
“Isn’t it yours?” I retort. “I’m guessing you didn’t sleep as a daimon, but I’m pretty sure that body of yours needs it. And it also needs to avoid turning into an icicle.”
The daimon-man considers me with a gleam of curiosity rather than concern in his eyes. “Is that a thing that can happen to humans?”
What am I going to do with this guy?
My tone comes out dry. “Not exactly, but bodies of flesh can freeze if they do things like, I don’t know, sitting out in the forest in the middle of the night with no heat source nearby.”
Rheave shrugs as if the idea doesn’t particularly bother him. “I was never cold when I was a daimon. Or warm. Or anything like that. It’s interesting to feel it. Like the air is biting you, but not that hard.”
The breeze blowing past us is definitely nippy. I tuck my own hands deeper under my cloak, out of its reach. “So now you’ve felt it. Why are you staying out here?”
“The way it feels keeps changing a little. Some parts tingled. Some stopped feeling at all.” He taps his fingertips against his knees with apparent delight.
Panic jolts through my nerves. “How long have you been out here?”
I bend down to press my fingers to his cheek and then the back of his hand. The latter feels outright frigid.
My magic jostles inside me, clamoring to flood him with heat, push back the chill.
But where would that heat come from? Everything around us is freezing except me, my men, and the fire I don’t want to snuff out.
I wrap my hand around Rheave’s as if I can squeeze some warmth back into his skin and tug at him. “You’ve had enough trying out the cold for now. Come on—we need to get you warmed up before you do any permanent damage to yourself.”
Rheave pushes slowly to his feet and looks down at our clasped hands. “I don’t feel bad. I’m sure I’ll be all right, Little Vine.”
Is that what he’s going to call me now? I might be ‘little’ compared to him, but I’ve still got the ivy resilience.
I step away in an attempt to drag him toward the tent, my throat constricting with worry.
“That part where you can’t feel anything?
If you leave it very long, it becomes permanent.
And then the bits with no feeling fall right off.
Do you really want to start losing pieces of this body?
I don’t think the scourge sorcerers are going to build you a new one. ”
To my relief, my final comment finally rouses him to action. Rheave strides with me over to the tent, grimacing as he wobbles on legs that must have gotten stiff. “Mortal bodies are very fragile.”
“That’s right. How about you keep that in mind from now on?”
I push him into the tent, tug off his cloak which might as well be pure ice, and draw him down with me toward the blankets. Casimir is still awake, rolling over as I nudge Rheave toward him.
“He’s already going numb,” I whisper, wanting to avoid waking Alek too if I can. “We need to warm him up as quickly as possible.”
Rheave makes a faint sound of protest, but he lets me push him closer to the courtesan. The two of us tuck ourselves against the daimon-man’s body, even though I wince at the cold still seeping from his clothes.
“Put your hands in your armpits,” I murmur at him. “Pull your face right under the blanket so it’ll soak up the heat too.”
Rheave ducks his head. His silky curls graze my jaw.
I pull the blanket higher over him and instinctively set my hand against his arm to reassure myself that he’s still got some warmth in him. That he isn’t totally frozen.
The constricting sensation in my throat has spread down through my chest. What if he has done real damage to himself?
The realization creeps over me so gradually but undeniably that my heart clenches up too. As exasperating as the daimon-man can be, I appreciate the brightness and wonder he’s brought with him. I’ve enjoyed his company.
I don’t want to lose him.
What am I supposed to do with that knowledge or the ache that’s come with it?
Our breaths rise and fall together. Gradually, the heat we radiate penetrates the cold we carried with us.
Despite the tangled emotions inside me, I lift my hand to rest my palm against Rheave’s cheek. It’s still cool but not totally cold anymore. He’s okay.
A rush of relief tinged with absurd humor passes through me. At least his ridiculously beautiful face shouldn’t be marred by his embracing of the northern night.
I tap his jaw lightly to get his attention. “Let me feel one of your hands.”
He adjusts his position, rolling onto his side to face me. I expect him to reach for my hand, but instead he places his palm against my stomach.
A flicker of an even more confusing emotion lights low in my belly. A deeper heat than his sunny smiles ever provoked.
I clamp down on it, mentally shaking my head at my reaction. This man is gorgeous and bizarre and makes me wonder about things I never did before, but he’s also not really a man.
And I’ve got three other men I’m very much devoted to. Even Signy, after all her heroics, stopped at a trio.
I grasp Rheave’s wrist the second enough warmth has seeped through my over-tunic and dress for me to be sure he won’t be losing any fingers and ease his hand away.
Rheave lifts his head from beneath the blanket. It’s nearly pitch black inside the tent, but I can feel him looking my way. Maybe he can make out my face even if I can’t see his.
The second I let go of his wrist, he reaches for me again. He touches my shoulder and then slides his hand down almost to my elbow.
We’ve never slept next to each other before. My men have always insisted on surrounding me, and the daimon-man has settled for taking the spot closest to the flaps where he can still serve as some kind of protection.
I didn’t realize he was going to be touchy-feely about our current position.
Julita lets out a giggle. He is all about feeling new things, isn’t he? If you could snap the rest of the scourge sorcerers’ army out of whatever spell they’re under, they’d be dopey as puppies.