Chapter 6 #3
“Thirteen years.” Bron wondered where this conversation was headed and why Cimejen had chosen this moment to have it.
The other man’s gaze flickered back to him, a piercing look that sought to see past Bron’s stoicism.
“That’s enough time to earn your place and rise in the ranks, which you’ve done.
Don’t be foolish for the sake of shared history, jin Hazarin.
” He clapped Bron on the shoulder. “The two things men have lost their heads and their bollocks for are power and women. I can personally attest to the second.”
It had been a not-so subtle warning.
Bron had assured him he wasn’t planning to risk either body part. “I’ll update you and Golius if anything happens at the temple when I return.”
The memory of that conversation sat at the forefront of his mind. Circumstances had drastically changed in the hours they’d been gone, and Bron hadn’t hesitated in making a choice, one that would alter not only his future, but that of Disaris and Luda as well.
He glanced down at the top of Disaris’s head, counting the strands of blondish hair intermingled with the brown locks.
She sat quiet in front of him, her weight slight as she rested against his chest. Her slender hands gripped the saddle pommel, fingers restlessly tapping on the curved top.
From his point of view he watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed and savored both her warmth and scent.
Temptation urged him to lean down and nuzzle her neck, to take advantage of the temporary closeness, but he resisted.
He needed to stay objective and clear-headed instead of entangling himself in emotion fueled by nostalgia, longing, and desire.
She’d once been his best friend, his first lover, and the woman who’d pulled his heart out of his chest and shredded it in front of him.
It was hard to stay detached, caught as he was between long-simmering anger wrought by pain, and joy at having her in his arms once more.
Their escort rode in a semi-circle around them but still far enough away to afford them privacy.
Bron bent forward, pretending to adjust the reins he held.
Disaris inhaled sharply and made to turn toward him.
“Don’t,” he cautioned in a low voice. “Keep looking ahead.” She did as he asked, waiting to see what he intended.
“I won’t have a chance to tell you this when we return. Too many ears listening close by.
“Provisions are delivered to the second encampment each evening by wagon. There are several who make the delivery. One parks next to the blacksmith’s forge.
You can see it if you were to leave from the back of my quarters.
” He paused to glance about him. The soldiers accompanying them chatted amongst themselves or scanned their surroundings, uninterested in what he might be saying to the itzuli.
“Two guards on duty patrol that area on a nine-count pass. At count ten, there’s a window of time—very short—when no one is guarding that area.
When that happens, run for the wagon. There will be space cleared on the lefthand side in the back.
Crawl in there. The driver won’t check. He’ll deliver the supplies to the second camp but won’t unload until the next morning at six chimes.
You’ll have to sleep in the wagon until I get there. It won’t be for long.”
She jerked in his embrace but stayed as she was and didn’t raise her voice. “You’ll help me escape so I can find Luda?” He laid a hand over hers at the note of cautious hope in her voice.
“No. I’ll go with you to find Luda.”
She covered her gasp with a cough. “You can’t do that!” she said in an urgent whisper. “You can make up some story for how I escaped your vigilance. Dereliction isn’t desertion. There’s nothing you can say to save yourself if you come with me. You’ll be branded a traitor and a deserter.”
She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. Each of those possibilities had flashed before him between one breath and the next as she revealed Luda’s fate. There’d never truly been a question as to what he’d do.
“I can’t allow you to sacrifice like that, Bron,” she argued.
He hugged her closer to him, her delicate ribs a ladder beneath his hand. “You don’t have a choice, and it isn’t a sacrifice. Luda is my sister in all but blood.”
She didn’t say anything more for the longest time. Finally she laced her fingers with his and squeezed. “I’m so sorry to involve you in this, Bron. I’m forever in your debt.”
“There’s no debt, Disa.” A part of him sorrowed that she’d feel obligated to him. Even when he’d walked away from her, vowing to never again set eyes on her, he would still rearrange the stars if she asked.
They were half a league from the camp when Cimejen met them.
A master horseman, he rode his favorite mare bareback, with only a bridle and his knees to guide her.
His harsh expression didn’t bode well, and Bron braced for more bad news.
“Golius is gnawing at the bit to speak with you.” He glanced at Disaris, one black eyebrow arching to see her riding pillion with Bron.
“On the nature of faith and wise deities.”
They galloped the remaining distance to the camp, parting ways at Bron’s tent when he promised Cimejen he’d report to the general as soon as he’d washed off the layers of plains dirt and changed clothing.
Cimejen pointed to Disaris as Bron helped her off the gelding. “I can keep watch over her while you meet with Golius.”
Bron pushed Disaris behind him. “She stays with me.” The other man’s knowing look instantly made him regret declining the offer. He’d just confirmed Cimejen’s suspicions that the itzuli was far more than just a war captive or previous acquaintance.
“As you wish,” he said. “But keep guards around her, as much for her safety as anything else.” He saluted Bron and turned his horse around, trotting through the winding paths made by the landscape of tents towards the general’s more palatial abode.
Bron guided Disaris inside his tent, bringing a finger to his lips to signal they weren’t to speak of those plans he’d made as they rode back from the temple.
She nodded, then grabbed his hand and lifted it to her mouth.
Her lips fluttered across his knuckles, light as a butterfly’s wings. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Surprised by the affectionate gesture, he almost yanked his hand away, stopping short at the last moment. She must have felt the initial jerk because her grip tightened. She repeated the words he’d spoken to her earlier. “Are we still estranged, Bron?”
A lock of hair had come loose from her braid during their ride. He caught it, coiling it around his finger. “I don’t know, Disa. Are we?”
“I have been and will always be the friend who loves you best, even when it didn’t always seem so.”
He did yank his hand away then, bitten by the memory of her icy expression and flat gaze when she’d told him she no longer wanted anything to do with him.
He still loved her. That would never change, but gratitude disguised as renewed affection made him recoil.
He’d rather have her indifference, even the hatred she had for Ceybold.
At least those were sincere. “I’ve already said there’s no debt.
No need for empty honeyed words.” He didn’t give her a chance to argue, pivoting away to open the storage chest that housed his clothes and his few personal belongings.
He spoke to her over his shoulder as he rummaged through the layers of garments folded neatly inside the chest. “Unless we’re in the middle of battle, Golius demands his officers present themselves to him cleaned up. If you’re uncomfortable with me changing and washing in here, I’ll go outside.”
“Don’t be foolish,” she said, a hint of sorrow laced with amusement in her voice. “It isn’t as though I haven’t seen you without clothes before.”
The reminder sent a wave of sensation purling over every inch of his flesh.
It had been a long time since Disa had held him in her arms, pressed skin to skin with him.
He’d shared a bed with other women since then, but those had been barely remembered encounters inspired by loneliness and inebriation and funded by his soldier’s pay.
He chose the garments he’d wear to his meeting with Golius, keeping his back to Disaris so she wouldn’t see how her words affected him.
He toed off his boots and unhooked his belt.
His fingers were unusually clumsy as he unknotted ties and unlaced lacings on his outer and inner tunics, and finally his thin shirt.
He shrugged all three off and tossed them to one side.
He paused at the lacings on his trousers.
Modesty didn’t make him hesitate; vulnerability did.
As she’d reminded him, she’d seen him naked and far more than that.
But it was a time when he didn’t mind showing her his weaknesses.
Things had changed. He left the trousers on.
Someone had left a basin of wash water, dry cloths, and a pot of soapweed paste for him while he’d been at the temple.
He grabbed one of the cloths to drop into the basin, intending to give himself a quick standing bath.
A tendril of shivers danced up his back when Disaris spoke directly behind him.
He looked down at the slim hand that had reached around him to clutch the cloth he held.
“Let me,” she said. “Please.” She eased the cloth out of his unresisting grip, submerging it in the wash water. Gooseflesh bloomed down his arms and chest when she grasped his hair, twisting it into a thick rope that she draped over his shoulder, giving her an uninterrupted view of his back.
A faint gasp sounded, and Bron emitted a huff of humorless laughter. War had left numerous marks on him, inside and out. All were ugly. “Not a pretty sight,” he said.