35. Mare #2
"You wouldn't have listened." Brighid pressed her hands to her thighs. "The bard insisted upon it. He was obsessed with the idea of performing for Paragons. What choice did I have? He covered my travel fare."
Bláth snorted. "Ah. So you're not supposed to be away from home."
"Of course not." Brighid flicked her hand dismissively.
Reese stood. "Are we finished here? Mare is injured, and I—”
"Yes, yes, go tend to your woman.” Brighid hid a smile behind her hand. "Oh, having a cute little squire suits you, Reese."
I cleared my throat. "I prefer beautiful. Elegant."
"Why not all three?" Reese knelt beside me, wrapped an arm around my back and under my knees, and picked me up.
Surprised, I gasped and looped my arms around his neck. "Where are you taking me?"
"There's a hole in your side, in case you forgot. I arranged a tent for you, while Brighid was boring you to death."
"She was not boring me."
"Mhm.” Reese ducked through a tent flap and set me down gently on the bedroll. "I commandeered one of their cook pots to make some more painkillers. Wait here."
"You're awfully good at this," I said. "Do all Paragons learn to be doctors?"
"I have a storied past.” He brushed aside the tent flap. "Doctoring was one small chapter."
Before I could ask more, he vanished outside.
Content to be lazy, I lay back on the thin pillow and closed my eyes. My abdomen sang in agony. Moving made it hurt more. Thinking about the otherworldly play made my head throb.
A glorious scent drifted across my nose, and I lifted my lids, wondering if I'd dozed off. Reese stepped back into the tent, carrying a pouch of vials and a bowl.
Kneeling beside me, he dropped the warm bowl into my hands. I perked up, caressed by the familiar scent.
Garlic trout and honeyed parsnips—Father's specialty.
"Where did you get this?" I asked.
"I made it,” he answered, measuring out some of the medicine into a cup.
The man could cook, too? Was there anything he couldn't do?
"I didn't realize you liked Aenir cuisine," I said.
"I don’t. You people smother everything in garlic or honey. Sometimes both.”
"As well we should!" I wrinkled my nose. "Why did you make it, then?"
He smiled. "You mentioned it was your favorite."
I had? When? Racking my brain, I recalled mentioning it in passing, musing to myself, really.
"You remembered?" I blinked, surprised.
"How could I forget anything your beautiful voice says?" He handed me the little cup. "Drink that."
My fingers brushed his as I reached for the glass. Our hands had touched before, but this time . . .
This time, sparks flew up my fingers, and my shoulders shivered. We remained like that for what felt like an eternity, hands delicately brushing.
Finally, I wrapped my fingers around the cup and pulled it to my lips. Reese lowered his hand. It flexed by his side.
Curiosity gnawed through my soul, desperate to know what he was thinking.
The tent flaps parted, and Liam strode in, carrying a bottle of whiskey. He froze, eyebrows raised. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No.” Reese clipped the pouch of vials to his belt and turned away. "I was just leaving Mare to rest." He flew through the tent flaps without so much as a backward glance.
I bit my lip. It felt like a bubble rose in my breast, stealing the air from my lungs and crushing my heart.
Brushing his coat flaps back, Liam sat beside me. "Father always told me that nothing was more dangerous than a man who could cook."
I exhaled. "Is that why you became a baker?"
"Oh, come now, sister.” He popped the cork out of the bottle. "We both know that was just a ruse to fool Father."
"It is not. I've seen the bread loaves you smuggle home."
My brother laughed into his bottle. He smiled at me, and I felt myself breathe again. Sitting beside Liam, bathed in the scent of my Father's cooking, I felt my muscles relax.
The flickering lantern in the corner seemed to grow dimmer as the stars and moons faded into darkness.
Bláth burst into my tent, eyes locking onto Liam's drink. "I knew there had to be booze around here."
Liam hugged it to his side. "Get your own."
Frowning, Bláth batted her eyelashes first at Liam, and when he turned away, at me.
I slammed my elbow into Liam's side and winced when pain stabbed through my wound. "Share with the lady, you brute."
"Ugh.” Liam handed her the bottle.
"Mmm.” Bláth took a drink and wiped her mouth. "If there's one thing I miss about traveling with Reese, it's his cooking."
My hand tightened on my fork, and I felt the snaring vines of envy creeping up my throat again.
"Liam's not a bad cook," I said quickly, glancing between the two.
"Why would I cook for her?" Liam scoffed.
"Oh, I don't know. Why is she wearing your favor?" I leaned toward him, and he shrank away. "Are you wearing hers? What's that?"
I reached for his coat pocket, and he pressed a protective hand to it. "Do you hear that? Sounds like bard rabble. I should make sure they aren't robbing us." Leaping to his feet, Liam fled out the door.
Bláth giggled, leaning to look outside. She met my eye, and I watched her expectantly.
Smile faltering, Bláth knelt beside me and touched my knee. "Whatever happens, you and your brother are safe with me."
"How dramatic," I said. "I was hoping you'd tell me about the handkerchief business."
"Let a lady keep her secrets.” Winking Bláth tucked the bottle under her arm and followed Liam outside.
Setting my empty bowl aside, I tried to make myself comfortable. I'd finally closed my eyes when I heard someone brush through the tent.
The lantern's flames danced across silver armor.
"Reese?" I sat up, and my side groaned in protest. "Is something wrong?"
"No.” He gently closed the tent flap. "I've sat by your side every night, in case you needed me. You were too drugged to notice."
"I'm fine," I assured him. "You need sleep, too."
"Paragons live in hardship, remember?" He knelt and dimmed the lantern. "I'm not spoiled like you." A mischievous glint flashed across his eyes. "You talk in your sleep."
All the blood drained from my face. Had I spoken of the darkness?
"You kept murmuring something about 'Liam, you boor, get the painting.'"
Intense relief floods my lungs. "My bag.” I gestured weakly. "It's in there."
Reese unlatched my bag and sorted through its contents. He pulled out the little painting of Tirnanog's tree, foxes dancing in its boughs.
"It’s—” I sat up, suddenly desperate to explain myself.
“For Liam, really. He had such horrible nightmares when he was little, and the only thing that calmed him down was that painting.
Once I got him to stop crying, he would stare at it until he fell asleep, and .
. . and I guess it stuck, because now I don't sleep well without it. "
I thought Reese might tease me, but he simply reached over and set the painting by my side. "You two remind me of myself when I was younger. Hold onto him. Don't lose your brother, the way I lost mine."
I'd never heard Reese speak with such sorrow, such grief. I wanted to say something to comfort him, to give back a little of what he'd given me.
The tension, the hostility that had passed between him and Quinn—what had caused it?
"Now, get some rest." Reese pulled my blanket up and doused the lantern.
His hand brushed mine again, a note of warmth in the darkness, trailing fingers across my skin.
And then it was gone.