Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Disaris listened to the tumbling lullaby of the river as she trailed behind Bron.
The first village near the Hayman lim-stone lay beyond the line of trees ahead of them, an hour’s walk north and less than that by horseback.
She wasn’t sure either of them would make it that far without stopping.
And if they did stop, she doubted they’d start again.
Bron hadn’t exaggerated when he said the four-day journey from the Nesting Grounds to the Hayman stone would be a challenging one.
Fueled by fear and relief that they’d managed to escape the encampment and Cimejen’s clutches, they’d raced across the plain that night with Bron in the lead, serenaded by the howl of wolves and the laughter of jackals.
They hadn’t gone too far before Bron slowed their pace to a steady trot.
Without the full moon’s light, the plains were a sea of rippling black water, with no border or definition, only the whisper of bluestem grass that purled like the tide in the ceaseless wind.
Even with the light, it was difficult to see details, and Bron had employed his sorcery to alter his vision so that he might see better in the darkness.
She’d jerked in the saddle hard enough to make her mare shy when he turned to stare at her over his shoulder.
The combination of kohl-smeared face and the radiant green eyeshine that looked more vulpine than human gave him an otherworldly appearance.
“Stay behind me,” he said. “And don’t veer from the path I take. I’ll act as a wayfinder while we ride at night.”
She’d followed his instructions, hands tense on the reins as she waited for her horse to inevitably step into an unseen hole or crevice and fall.
They rode through the night with brief stops every few leagues to rest their mounts and give them water once they’d cooled off.
Dawn saw Disaris yawning in the saddle, and her buttocks and thighs were on fire from so many hours of endless trotting.
She didn’t ask Bron to stop longer so they could sleep.
She feared what lay behind them more than she craved rest and wanted as much distance between them and the eunuch battle mage as possible.
Daylight revealed the track of flat plain, extending in every direction as far as the eye could see.
Disaris felt horribly exposed and silently thanked the gods when they crossed into a section of sward where the bluestem grasses grew as tall as a man and even higher.
She was about to ask Bron if he wished to stop when he raised a hand and called a halt.
“We’ll rest here for a few hours,” he said when she rode up alongside him. The kohl he’d worn to change his appearance had rubbed off on the edges of his hood and smeared in multiple places around his eyes and forehead from perspiration. It gave his pale features a ghastly aspect.
“I didn’t think you could look any scarier than when you pulled me out the wagon, all painted for either war or sacrifice,” she teased. “But I think you’re even more frightening now with it smeared all over you.”
One variegated eyebrow rose as he helped her out of the saddle.
She groaned and leaned on his arm as needles of sensation returned to her numb backside and legs.
His hands flexed on her waist. “You’ll make me vain with all these compliments you’re showering upon me.
” He swiped at his forehead with the side of one hand, frowning when it came away dark with kohl.
Disaris pushed his hand down. “Stop. You’re making it worse. We’ll be here for a while. I’ll clean your face for you.”
While she rummaged through the provisions bag he’d brought with them, Bron unsaddled the horses and staked down their lead lines so they could graze on the lush grass.
Seated within the feathery shelter of the lofty bluestem, she only saw the top of his head as he went about his tasks.
When he returned to her side, he shouldered off his cloak and spread it on the ground.
“Sit here,” he said, folding his tall frame until he sat cross-legged on the garment.
She joined him, bringing a waterskin with her and a scrap of fabric she’d cut from the lining of her borrowed skirt. She’d have to be careful with how much she hacked away in the future. The frock and shift she wore underneath it were her only pieces of clothing.
“Hold still,” she ordered, positioning herself so that she faced Bron. “I’ll make you pretty again.”
He snorted but didn’t move as she wet the cloth and began to wipe away the smeared kohl.
Each swipe across the contours of his face reminded her of how she’d once explored them with her lips.
He’d grown even more handsome as he aged from gangly adolescent to a powerful man in his prime.
His looks were thought unusual by most, but to her, he was sublime in every way.
The cloth was stained black in patches by the time she was done, as were her fingertips and the underside of her nails, but she’d managed to get all the kohl off his face. His hair was another matter. That would require soap and more water than they had to spare.
She recalled the bed maidens who’d come to their rescue when Cimejen confronted them in the alleyway.
A man and a woman, both beautiful, both adorned in finery and exquisitely painted to enhance already stunning features.
She wondered which of them had applied the kohl to Bron’s face.
It had been a wise move and made with the knowledge that cosmetics had the ability to change a person into someone nearly unrecognizable.
“Tell me about your friends,” she said, wringing out the cloth until it was nearly dry and setting it aside. “You called them Elal and Uzmina.”
He shrugged. “They’re the two most popular bed maidens in the Nesting Grounds and the best sources of information for anything that goes on there, as you saw for yourself when they explained how they ended up our rescuers.”
She uncorked the waterskin to coat her suddenly parched throat.
The question she most wanted to ask was one both inappropriate and none of her business, and she swallowed it back with a drink of water and passed the waterskin to him.
“It was generous of them to help us, especially if Cimejen finds out it was them who brought him low.”
His throat flexed as he drank, and Disaris found hard not to lean forward and press a kiss on his neck.
He might swat her aside for the impertinence.
Depending on the situation, his behavior toward her alternated between protective affection to reserve and suspicion.
Lust as well, she thought, remembering those stunning moments in his tent he’d kissed her senseless and almost swived her standing up before a messenger halted their frantic foreplay.
They may have been estranged for years, but they were still spark and tinder together.
Her curiosity about the pair of bed maidens stemmed from more than just casual interest. Were either of them more than just friends or helpers?
Was Bron a patron or a lover of one of them?
The idea that he might be a lover to one of them made her queasy.
Jealousy was a hard taskmaster, and she had no right at all to feel it.
Too bad her heart refused to listen, and her mouth refused to stay quiet.
“They both seemed like friends. Have you known them long?”
He corked the waterskin and set it next to him. His eyes were no longer the glowing green from the night before as he peered at her. “Quit dancing around, Disa. Say what you want to say. I can hear it in your voice.”
The problem with a long-term relationship like theirs was he knew her far too well.
She closed her eyes and inhaled a breath for courage.
When she opened her eyes again, he was still watching her, now with that maddening stoicism he always reverted to when he expected to hear something unpleasant or painful.
“Is one of them your lover?” she asked in a rush, cringing inside with each word spoken.
Regret for the question rose up her neck and into her face on a heated tide.
The stoic mask remained in place as he continued to stare at her. “Why would you ask such a question?”
Her gaze fell to her hands, knotted in her lap and white-knuckled. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe because I’m a little jealous, a little envious. Someone has taken the affection that was once reserved for me.”
She let out a startled squawk when he suddenly lunged for her, pushing her onto her back so that his looming figure blotted out the sky above, and his hair curtained her head in a white drape.
Fury flashed in his pale eyes, ice-blue a moment earlier and now red.
“No one,” he said between clenched teeth, “stole my affection from you, Disaris. You threw it away. On a rainy afternoon in the second week of the month of Saminos three years ago. Do you not remember? Because I do.”
They stared at each other for several moments, Bron’s body heavy on hers, his face a mural of rage, anguish, and confusion that slowly blurred in the film of tears filling her eyes. “I never threw it away,” she whispered, daring to touch a finger to his cheek. “I just set it aside for safekeeping.”
“Bullshit,” he said just as quietly and flung himself off her. He stood in one graceful motion and looked beyond her to a spot somewhere in the bluestem. “Get some sleep,” he said, in a voice devoid of any emotion. “I’ll wake you to ride in a few hours.”
He disappeared into the veil of grasses, leaving her lying on his cloak as tears spilled into the hair at her temples.
She allowed them to fall, indulging in a fit of silent weeping in the hopes that when she was done, she’d be clearheaded enough to explain why she’d once turned her back on him in the cruelest way.