Chapter Two #3
Soon enough, Meraud and her small crew waved them off, waiting on the ship for further instructions. Jem pulled on his thin boots and shouldered a pack heavy with food. His trunk remained aboard, and they’d send someone back for it and anything else too heavy.
They had only brought two hand-pulled carts, one holding Hedrok on a bed of furs, the other an impressive collection of spears and more food. Everyone carried a pack as well. They hoped provisions from the Holy Place would find them in a day or two, but there were no guarantees. Especially now.
Cador wore his sword on his back and carried his short spear as their small group walked south. His boots had to be sodden, yet he clomped along in them. Once they were off the rocks on the winding dirt path, the sky in the east growing gray and light, Jem had to speak.
“Wouldn’t it be smarter to walk barefoot and dry your boots?”
No reply. Kensa walked between Jem and Cador, Delen pulling Hedrok’s cart with Creeda alongside, the other few hunters hauling the other cart. Kensa elbowed Cador. “He’s talking to you.”
“I didn’t want to assume,” Cador muttered.
Irritation lashed at Jem. “You’re the only one with wet boots.”
“I’ve dealt with wet boots before.”
“Fine.”
“I’ve found a good spanking helps when he’s sulking,” Kensa said cheerfully.
Jem could only sputter and order his mind to think of anything else, and Cador barked, “Bullshit!” as Kensa grinned.
A haze hung over the horizon, and as the brilliant sun rose, it was clear this wasn’t dewy dawn mist that would burn off. Jem belatedly realized the breeze must have turned since smoke no longer tickled his nostrils. He chose to take it as a good sign.
The day’s journey was long and sweltering. The land was brittle, and the distant sky remained unnaturally orange. When they finally reached the forest-ringed fields where they’d camped months ago on their way north, Jem was exhausted and his feet throbbed.
He gratefully sat and yanked off his boots. There were hours of summer daylight remaining, but at least they could rest for a time before continuing.
Delen announced, “There were byghan in these woods last time. We’ll hunt and settle in.”
Settle in? Jem glanced around. Cador and Kensa were going through the spears, the others gently lowering Hedrok to the short grass on his furs.
“But we’re going to keep going,” Jem said. “It’s not like Ergh—it will be light for hours. We might meet travelers with news.”
Delen frowned at him. “We’re waiting here until we have horses. There’s a creek for water. This is far enough.”
“But we can’t just sit here!” Jem pushed to his feet. “I need to get home. I have to find out what’s going on. What if this—” he gestured at the smoke-orange sky “—isn’t from a wild fire? What if war’s broken out? What if it’s smoke from a battle?”
“Then you’re better off here with us,” Delen said firmly. She looked to Cador. “Don’t you agree?”
Cador grunted his accord.
The nerve of them both. “He doesn’t get a say!” Hands fisting, Jem dug his toes into the grass and dry earth.
This certainly caught the attention of everyone else, the hunters frowning. Jem reminded himself they didn’t know the truth about the kidnapping schemes. And they only saw him as Prince Jowan, Cador’s forced husband who must be subservient since he was a weak mainlander.
His cheeks flared as his mind very unhelpfully supplied memories of all the times he’d eagerly submitted to Cador, taking his cock and begging to be mastered. That was different. That had nothing to do with this.
To his surprise, Cador didn’t huff and puff and stamp his wet foot down. He quietly said, “There was nothing between us and the Holy Place that I recall. It makes sense to camp here and rest. Jory will not let us down. He’ll ride like the wind and send us horses soon.”
Of course he’d praise Jory.
Jem grimaced at the petty thought. Jory had been nothing but kind—although if a choice had to be made, he would undoubtedly take Cador’s side.
Jem had been churlish and jealous of him from the start since Jory and Cador had been lovers in the past. Cador had probably been with half of Ergh. And he could do so again!
Except Cador would soon be rotting in the castle dungeon, so perhaps he’d never lie with anyone ever again. Served him right, the betraying bastard.
“I can’t sit here waiting and doing nothing,” Jem admitted.
“Waiting is not easily borne,” Creeda said. On her knees, she didn’t look up from Hedrok’s sleeping form. “Why do you think we’re here?”
Horror prickled Jem’s skin. Creeda had proven how far beyond waiting she would go to help her son. As had Austol for his sister. He felt for their years of agony. Creeda had surely been twisted by the pain of waiting while her child suffered.
Yet how could she even look at him after planning to behead him? Much less dare to offer him advice on the difficulty of waiting. He couldn’t find an adequate response aside from the roar of resentment and fury he choked down. He remained silent.
Creeda spoke again. “We can pray.” She held out the bundle of twisted twigs to him.
He bit back the instinct to deny the gods and tell her he didn’t believe. This woman had wanted to see him beheaded to satisfy her vicious idea of these so-called gods, yet now she suggested he pray to them? She offered her sacred talisman?
Despite his revulsion, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse in the face of Hedrok’s ravaged form. A strange anxiety gripped him. He didn’t believe the gods could be real, but what if he was wrong? What if praying now could possibly help this suffering child? And all the children?
He forced his feet to move and knelt close enough to her to take the charm. The gnarled sticks were surprisingly smooth to the touch, surely worn down by her fervent movements. It was only dead wood. There was no magic in it. No malevolence.
Holding the twigs, he bowed his head dutifully as Creeda recited a prayer to Tan, Glaw, Hwytha, and Dor, the gods of fire, water, wind, and earth.
Her low, worshipful tone should have been a comfort, yet it made Jem sick.
Reminded him of the sack over his head, the twine digging into his neck.
The thought of staying the night and a whole day—and likely another night—near Creeda and her pitiful son was unbearable.
Eyes closed, he was helpless against the flashes of memory: Austol’s pinched face, the suffocating sack, bruises and pain, Bryok’s fevered fury in torchlight, the dark fall to the dred nest, clawing his way back up…
He was clawing at his head before he knew what he was doing. The moment Creeda’s prayer ended, Jem thrust the talisman back to her and escaped into the trees as though he had to relieve himself. Heart thumping painfully, he leaned against an oak and tried to catch his breath.
A familiar chirping reached him. He opened his eyes to spot a female dillywig flutter from one branch to another. Her feathers were mottled brown, and she was absolutely beautiful. Tears filled Jem’s eyes, and he wiped them with his knuckles, scoffing at himself.
He’d returned to Onan in one piece, and now he just had to get back to Neuvella.
He brushed away the line of blood under his fingernails and straightened his unruly hair.
He must go on ahead. He’d move much faster without Hedrok slowing them down.
Not that it was the poor boy’s fault, but his cries grated at Jem’s ragged nerves.
Creeda had her prayers, but Jem had to know what was happening in his homeland, dread building with each moment and fearing the worst. He wasn’t even sure what the worst could be. His life in Neuvella had been pampered and safe, and now he feared nothing, no one, and nowhere was safe anymore.
There might be other travelers or a farm he hadn’t noticed on the way north. Surely there must be! If not, he’d meet the servants on their way from the Holy Place and be that much closer to ride south. He could ride on his own now. Austol had taught him well before—
Shutting out the creeping black thoughts, Jem returned to the camp and made sure his pack contained his fair share of food and a flask of water.
When darkness finally fell, the distant sky remained an unnatural orange long after sunset. He ate stringy byghan meat and watched Cador across the small campfire.
After, when Cador handed him a sleeping fur to make a bed, their fingers touched, and the enraging urge to feel more was as strong as ever. He hated that as much as he hated Cador.
Reminding himself this barbarian was as much a stranger as the day Jem had been forced to marry him, he laid out his fur and wrapped himself in it.
Quietly, he watched and waited until everyone else was bedded down or otherwise distracted—even now with Hedrok’s occasional cries of agony, the barbarians didn’t hold back from debauchery.
They were as shameless as ever, coupling—or more—right out in the open.
Yet on this journey, Jem was no longer an innocent virgin.
Now, he could imagine much more clearly the acts accompanying the sucking and slapping noises.
Memories invaded, and he jammed his fingers in his ears before his cock swelled completely.
Once all was quiet and he could make out by the campfire’s gleam Cador’s chest moving up and down in long, sleeping breaths, he crept out from his fur. Anxiety balled in his gut, but he took a cleansing breath and firmed his jaw and his resolve.
As an owl hooted in the forest, Jem made his move.