Chapter 35 #2
She looked up to find his face much closer than expected, close enough to see amusement lighting up his eyes.
“I’m starting to think,” he continued, voice dropping lower, “that you might need assistance after all. Unless you’re planning to throw yourself at every tree between here and our destination?”
The words sent heat flooding through her despite the cold. “I wasn’t—I didn’t throw myself at anything!”
“No?” His hands were still on her arms, steadying. “My mistake. Must have been gravity.”
“Gravity,” she repeated flatly, trying to ignore how warm his hands felt even through layers of wool.
“Terrible thing, gravity. Always pulling people in unexpected directions.” His thumb brushed against her sleeve, possibly by accident. “We should probably keep moving before it strikes again.”
He released her then, stepping back with that same almost-smile, leaving Cassara to follow on legs that felt decidedly less steady than before.
They walked in silence after that, Gideon occasionally offering a hand when the path grew particularly treacherous. Cassara reluctantly accepting the help with as much dignity as she could muster, which wasn’t much when she kept needing it every few yards.
Finally, the trees opened up to reveal their destination—a small pond, its surface frozen into a perfect mirror of ice. Morning sun scattered diamonds across its surface, and near the shore sat a modest wooden shack, weathered but well-maintained.
Cassara stopped short, staring at the scene. “This is where you were going?”
“Problem?”
She gestured at the frozen pond, then at him, trying to reconcile this pastoral setting with Gideon’s usual intensity. “I just… what exactly are we doing here? Secret training? Hidden beast observation? Some sort of tactical—”
“Sometimes,” Gideon interrupted, already heading for the shack, “things are exactly what they appear to be.”
“Which would be what?”
But he’d already disappeared inside. She heard rummaging, the scrape of wood against wood, and then he emerged carrying two pairs of what looked like boots with blades attached to the bottoms.
“These should fit,” he said, offering her a pair with the same casual air he might use to hand her a practice blade.
Cassara stared at them like he’d just presented her with a live explosive. “You want me to strap knives to my feet.”
“That’s… one way to look at it.”
“And then do what? Walk on ice? On knife-shoes?”
The corner of his mouth twitched again. “The general idea is to glide, not walk.”
“Glide,” she repeated, voice climbing slightly. “On a frozen pond. On blades. Attached to my feet.”
“Have you never—” He stopped, reading something in her expression before understanding finally dawned. “You’ve never skated before.”
It wasn’t quite a question, but Cassara felt compelled to defend herself anyway. “There aren’t many frozen ponds in the southern provinces. It’s all temperate coastline and managed forests. Snow is… theoretical.”
“Theoretical,” Gideon echoed, and now he was definitely smiling. “Well then. Consider this your practical examination.”
He sat on a cleared log near the pond’s edge, already working on his own skates with ease. After a moment, Cassara joined him, handling the skates like they might bite.
“For someone who scaled a failing stabilizer mid-flight,” he observed, “you look remarkably concerned about recreational footwear.”
“That was different. Physics on an airship makes sense. These are just—” She gestured helplessly at the skates. “Chaos with laces.”
“I promise,” Gideon said solemnly, though his eyes danced with suppressed laughter, “the skates have no documented casualties. Well. Minimal documented casualties.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“I’ll catch you if you fall.”
And somehow, that was even less reassuring. Because the memory of his hands on her arms, his chest solid against her palms, was still far too fresh. And the prospect of repeating that experience, possibly multiple times, on ice…
Theoretical snow had been so much simpler.
Cassara stared at the skates in her lap like they were a particularly complex glyph structure. The laces seemed to go everywhere and nowhere, through holes that made no logical sense.
“Here,” Gideon said, and before she could protest, he was kneeling in the snow in front of her. “May I?”
She knew she should say no, insist she could manage herself and maintain the careful distance that kept things… uncomplicated. Instead, she found herself nodding, extending one booted foot.
His hands were sure as he unlaced her winter boot, fingers working with the same confidence he brought to combat drills.
When he slipped the boot off and cradled her foot to slide on the skate, Cassara had to focus very hard on the tree line to avoid thinking about how gentle his touch was.
How his thumb brushed her ankle as he adjusted the fit.
“Too tight?” His voice was perfectly professional, but when she glanced down, there was something else in his expression. An awareness that matched her own.
“It’s fine,” she managed.
He bent his head to the laces, dark hair falling across his forehead. Each pull was careful, tightening the skate enough for support without cutting off circulation. His fingers skimmed along the leather, checking the fit, and Cassara found herself holding her breath.
Stop being ridiculous, she told herself firmly. He’s helping with footwear. Knife footwear. Nothing more.
But when he switched to her other foot, his hand lingered just a moment at her calf and she remembered other hands. Other promises. The ghost of Auren’s touch that still haunted her skin, the ache of his absence that sat heavy in her chest.
“There.” Gideon rocked back on his heels, surveying his handiwork. “Think you can stand?”
“Of course I can stand.” The indignation helped mask whatever else was threatening to show on her face. “I’m not completely helpless.”
His mouth curved. “We’ll see.”
Standing proved to be optimistic. The moment she put weight on the blades, her ankles wobbled alarmingly. She grabbed for the nearest support, which happened to be Gideon’s shoulder.
“Graceful,” he observed.
“Shut up.”
“Like a newborn fawn.”
“I said shut up.”
“If fawns were particularly angry and wore knife-shoes.”
She tried to glare at him, but it was hard to look dignified when clinging to someone for dear life. “Are you always this irritating when you’re not captaining?”
“I have hidden depths.” He stood slowly, letting her use him as support. “Ready to try the actual ice?”
“No.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.”
The journey from log to pond edge took approximately forever. Cassara shuffled forward in tiny, wobbling increments, Gideon’s arm steady under her death grip. Every step felt like balancing on sword edges, which, technically, she supposed she was.
“This is impossible,” she announced when they finally reached the ice. “People don’t actually do this for fun. You’re lying to me.”
“Would I lie to you?”
“Yes.”
He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Your faith in your captain is truly inspiring.”
“My captain doesn’t usually try to kill me with footwear.”
“First time for everything.” He stepped onto the ice with infuriating ease, turning to face her while skating backward. Backward! “Come on. One foot, then the other.”
Cassara stared at the ice. It looked solid enough, but she’d thought that about snow-covered ground too, and that had betrayed her repeatedly.
“Cassara.” Gideon’s voice was gentle. “I meant what I said. I’ll catch you if you fall.”
The echo of his earlier promise sent warmth through her chest. Which was dangerous. Which was complicated. Which was—
She stepped onto the ice.
For exactly three seconds, she stayed upright. Then physics reasserted itself with violent enthusiasm. Her feet shot in opposite directions, her arms flapped frantically, and she would have crashed spectacularly if Gideon hadn’t darted forward to catch her.
“I hate this,” she informed his chest.
“You’ve been on the ice for less than five seconds.”
“Five seconds too long.”
His laugh rumbled through his chest, and she realized belatedly that she was essentially hugging him in the middle of a frozen pond. She started to pull back, but her skates had other ideas, sliding again.
“Okay,” he said, steadying her with hands at her waist. “New plan. Hold onto me and let me pull you. Get used to the feeling first.”
Pride warred with self-preservation.
Self-preservation won.
She gripped his hands as he skated backward, drawing her slowly across the ice. It was terrifying. Her legs kept trying to do different things, her balance non-existent. But after a few minutes, she started to understand the glide, the way momentum carried her forward.
“Better?” he asked.
“Marginally.”
“Such high praise. I’m overwhelmed.”
She squeezed his hands in retaliation, then immediately regretted it when her skates wobbled. “Why are you being like this?”
“Like what?”
“You know what. Teasing. Relaxed. You’re practically… cheerful.”
His eyebrows rose. “I’m not allowed to be cheerful?”
“You’re Gideon Delvanir. You brood in corners and make tactical assessments and look disapproving. You don’t make jokes about fawns.”
“Maybe,” he said, pulling her into a gentle turn, “I only brood when there are people around to see it.”
“So the mysterious captain thing is an act?”
“Would you respect me less if it was?”
She considered this as they glided, well, as he glided and she clung. “Depends. How much is act versus actual brooding?”
“Seventy-thirty.”
“Which way?”
His grin was answer enough.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered, but found herself fighting a smile. This version of Gideon, light, teasing, unguarded, was dangerously appealing. It made her wonder what else hid beneath his carefully curated mask. Made her want to find out.
Which she shouldn’tt want. Because she was with—