Chapter 47
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAY
“A slow and relaxed breath will help your horse be calm.”
~ How to Tame Your Brumby: A Collection of Raider’s Ban Wisdom.
F rustration gnawed at me as my mind skipped ahead over the numerous paths she could take just to the tower, much less through the city. The chances of missing her were high. I didn’t care. If I could find my oiled cloak, I was out. But it was still eluding my searching hands when I heard the door shut gently.
My heart leaped into my throat as I looked toward the noise in time to see a hunched, cloaked figure pass by, a basket in their hand.
The disguise didn’t fool me. Not when those footfalls made no noise. The worry receded, and fury rushed into the void it left behind, filling my chest. I breathed deeply, drew it down into my toes, grabbed my discarded first-aid kit, and went out to drop the bar over the door behind her.
She pulled off a dark, sodden cap as I walked in, glancing up at me. Exhaustion made her look old. Her eyes were almost entirely black.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t need me,” she said, the words reedy. “There were at least two dozen, and they were mostly archers. You would’ve all been dead, and then I’d be dead, too.”
I tossed the kit onto the divan. Her lips were blue. Blue was better than black, though. She made an attempt to strip the gloves from her hands, fumbling with the leather.
Drawing on patience I didn’t know I had, I offered my palm, wishing I could just snatch her damned hands and do it for her, but forcing myself to ask first and wait for her to put her hand in mine.
She didn’t move.
I stuffed down the hurt and remembered her heartbreak. I’d had my own. Neither of us had dealt with it. Wariness wasn’t unreasonable from her, and patience wasn’t too much to ask of me.
So I kept my hand steady. She didn’t need to know my pulse was racing. “There isn’t a single archer in the La’Angi guard,” I told her, still waiting for her hands. “You need to fix that.”
“Before my father and Raider’s Ban had a falling out, we traded,” she said, looking disoriented. “’Ban withdrew their support decades ago. We never filled the void.”
“Sounds like bad leadership.”
“Sounds like ego and oversight,” she said. “Specifically. Sorry. Was that—did that come across as disagreement?”
She was okay. Rattled and sicker than I thought, but okay. That was enough. And she was talking to me, too.
I was about to close my hand when I saw her eyes flicker down to it. Time stretched out, and I remembered tearing through the tower, searching for her. After the wait this afternoon for her to return, I could linger here all day.
I didn’t need to, though. She set her icy claw-like hand in my palm awkwardly.
My mouth went dry.
Her gloves were sodden and the leather didn’t want to move, but I eventually peeled one back to show skin as translucent as moonlight, woven with black veins. “I was as fast as I could be getting back,” she told me, as if still braced for a reprimand. “And I’m cold.”
I remembered the arrow that had only narrowly missed me. That one archer could’ve done some damage to us, clustered like we were. If there really had been two dozen bowmen, we were all very lucky my bluff and the genuine threat of her archery had been enough.
“I’ll admit I’d have been less concerned if you hadn’t been alone,” I said, and was proud of how the anger in my gut was nowhere near my voice as I pried the second glove off her ice-cold hand. “I’ll get you fresh clothes. Stay in front of the fire.”
I received no objections, which turned some of the anger back into worry. I went upstairs and rummaged through neatly hung dresses of all persuasions. I missed Kadan’s room, which smelled of sea and horse and was filled with laughter and sand. I found shirts in a bureau and some plain skirts. I don’t know where she hid her men’s garb—that would’ve been better, surely, for warmth? The skirts I’d grabbed didn’t match. I didn’t care. She could wear dry clothes and not die.
By the time I returned, all she’d done was unhook her cloak. I tossed aside what I’d brought. “I’m going to help get you undressed,” I told her, tossing her wet cloak further away. “You’re too cold. It’s dangerous.”
I half expected that she’d protest, or rally to do it herself. “Th—thanking you,” she said, shuddering.
Her button-down vest disliked me. It was an excellent disguise, and if I admired that, I had less time to worry. Brown, nondescript, the cut hid her curves and was normal enough that it wouldn’t attract any interest. The buttons were swollen with the water, but they gave way eventually.
“What held you up?” I asked, pulling her equally plain shirt over her head. The laces tangled on her chin, but she twisted to help me free them. An expanse of pale skin underlaid with dark veins was revealed to me, and a leather garment I’d only seen women from the Steppe tribes wear, laced together hard over her belly and breasts. I turned away to get the dry shirt.
What a horrible time to realize my lady was every bit a Matri’sion.
And of course there was no seemly way to comment on that, was there? She took the shirt from me, her hands clumsy as she pulled it down.
“Can you do the laces?” she asked. I reached toward the shirt, but she waved a hand at her breeches.
I did as she asked, keeping my movements impersonal. She struggled out of them herself, and I turned my back to give her what privacy I could, passing her the skirts without looking. But it was impossible not to imagine helping her. Sliding my hands beneath that wet fabric and letting it fall away. Her flesh would warm quickly against mine.
“Were you a squire?” she asked. Though her voice was still reedy, I drew comfort from the unnecessary question. If she was able to make small talk, she was feeling a little better, surely.
“I was. Why do you ask?”
“The way you helped me change. I felt like I was having my armor removed.”
Relief trickled through me, and a little pride, too, because she sounded pleased. “Is that not what I was doing?”
Instead of answering my question, she asked, “Who did you squire?”
She definitely sounded better. “Lord Henry of Ville-under-Sytha. He did a lot of work defending against the Red Hand. A group of nomads who plague Darrius’ herds in the west,” I clarified. “He was a good man.”
“Was?” she asked.
“Poison arrow took him not long after I was knighted,” I explained, the grief an old, dull wound. “I understand his children aren’t following in his footsteps. He’d be grateful they don’t need to.”
She made a quiet noise that I couldn’t decipher. “These are formal underskirts,” she said, a thread of amusement in her voice.
I shrugged. “They’re dry.”
“They are,” she agreed, through chattering teeth. “Thanking you for that. I’m done, Chay.” I turned around again as she folded herself down by the fire. I took a blanket and wrapped it over her shoulders, tugging the fabric snugly. If I lingered longer than I should’ve, she didn’t seem distressed. “The warmth makes the hurt less,” she admitted, swallowing heavily. “I was pinned down between two other archers. I didn’t see them when I got into position. It was lucky they didn’t see me when I did.” She stopped talking for a while, shuddering with cold. “And then they weren’t game to move for a long time. They were sure there was a trap, I think. They didn’t go until after the extra guardsmen circled back.”
I sat down nearby. Was it appropriate for me to offer to hold her to warm her? Was she looking less transparent, now? I didn’t know how vulnerable she felt, or whether asking would make her clam up the way she’d done that day Isolde had tried to get me to teach her the sword.
If I asked, I’d be crossing a line. I knew I would. And not asking would be worse. But I couldn’t do nothing.
I slipped the pins that held my cloak at my throat from the fabric. I wrapped it around her shoulders, folding the fabric over her legs and lifting the hood over her head. So close, I should’ve felt her warmth. She still smelled like rain, and, beneath that, something soft and floral.
The look she sent me was unreadable. But it wasn’t one of trust or gratitude. I let go of the edges of the fabric, forcing myself back.
“Next time,” I said, acknowledging the anger in my belly, circulating in my blood, “just tell me. If what I say is impossible, say so. I could’ve worked with you. I could’ve at least known where to go to look for you if you were wounded.” I couldn’t demand to hold her, but I could firmly request to know where she went and that she didn’t lie to me about taking risks. It was important. For my oath.
She sent me a look from under her lashes. In those eerily black eyes, there was a splash of whiskey again, and I felt a knot of worry ease. “You wouldn’t have locked me in or begged me to stay?”
Yes, she was definitely looking better. I stood, fetching the meals we hadn’t eaten earlier. I tried not to be insulted at the question. It wasn’t easy.
“Audrey,” I said, doing my best to be reasonable, “I believe that you didn’t mean for that to be cruel, so I’ll answer honestly. I’m not in the habit of forcing people to do things they don’t want to do, even when they’re the right thing.” Her eyes flickered up, her expression going blank. I’d already realized my choice of words wasn’t ideal and clarified. “That isn’t an attack on you or the oath I was forced to swear. It’s just an explanation of my own personal code. I don’t like to tell people what is and isn’t right. Because I know the right thing can change. Like today. The right thing was for you to save our hides. I didn’t know that. Neither did you. I don’t like that you gambled with your life, but I did the same.” I set the food down in front of her. None of it would be warm. “Next time you assume I’m the same as the Butcher,” I told her, without looking, “I’m going to be upset.”
She was silent for so long I thought she’d fallen asleep or been direly insulted. I pretended not to worry, busying myself ripping off some bread, and starting the long process of chewing it, though I felt nauseous and exhausted all at once.
“Well, I can’t promise anything,” she said eventually. “Since you’re the first man to even think twice about imposing his views on me.”
When she put it like that, I did feel like a heel. I thought of Luca, sitting in a heavy, plain chair in front of a big hearth and telling us earnestly about how he wanted to protect her. My belly ached. “Darrius thought twice,” I pointed out, nudging a log further into the coals. “We wanted to talk to you and Isolde that day in the orchard. But you didn’t want to talk, so we didn’t.”
She picked up a piece of cheese with clumsy fingers. “I wish we’d spoken to him now,” she admitted quietly.
I knew what it was like to wonder about a life you couldn’t have. “Kadan would’ve made a horrible big brother,” I told her without thinking. “If Darrius had been your father.”
She let out a surprised laugh. “I—well, I suppose it’s lucky he isn’t, then.”
I wondered if I could keep that levity going. “And the way you gazed at Kadan during the tourney would’ve been even more improper,” I added idly, popping some cheese into my mouth.
She spluttered, and I had to fight not to grin. “I did not!”
I shrugged easily and leaned back on one arm. Kadan would’ve loved this. My heart ached. “Sure. It was his horse, then?”
“I do happen to like horses,” she said airily.
“Not blondes?” I prodded, shooting her a sideways look, unable to hide the smile any longer at her expression.
“I am not lusting after your friend.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask who she was lusting after, but I didn’t. There was no good that would come of that answer. “I know,” I admitted. “And even if you were, I’d think no less of you. I just wanted to stir you a bit.”
She eyed me suspiciously, but apparently, whatever she saw mollified her. “Well, then.” She yawned, laying her plait along her knee nearest the fire. “Stirring accomplished, sir,” she said around a yawn. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll be very good company this evening.”
I didn’t tell her she was never good company because that wouldn’t have been true. Instead, I said, “I like your quiet.”
Her mouth twisted in a bitter smile for just a moment. “Noted.”
“No.” I wasn’t letting it go. Not anymore. “Not like that. I mean, it’s nice. It’s just…nice.” She was going to make me find words that I didn’t have, but that tiny, bitter smile made my heart hurt. “I like your words. But I like the quiet as you’re doing things, too.”
“You’re making this awkward, you know? You just undressed me. You saw my breasts. Now it’s weird.”
“ Wild horses ,” I said around a laugh. “Look, my lady, no breasts were seen by me tonight.” If I’d been a better man, I wouldn’t regret that. “I saw a mastodesmos, as is worn by any Steppe warrior who doesn’t like to jiggle about. Seems like a sensible option to me.” Thanking the Old Gods that Kadan wasn’t present to tell her sensible women were my weakness. “I’m being nice because I happen to not hate you. We both need to get used to that.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at me in silence as if sifting through the bounty of excuses and context I’d offered her, trying to make sense of all of it.
“Okay,” she said warily. “Can I sleep now?”
I didn’t want to move away. The thought made panic flutter in my chest. “Am I stopping you?”
“You do keep talking,” she acknowledged and yawned again. “I’m sorry. I want to. But.”
But she’d been out all afternoon traveling the city on foot, single-handedly ending ambushes before they really began, saving lives and having her body ravaged by the plague. She was sick and exhausted. She was vulnerable. I shouldn’t push her.
I’d never been accused of talking too much in my life.
“Can I sit with you?” She looked at me blankly. “You’ll take hours to warm up.” Every moment her face remained expressionless felt like a stone slab being added onto my chest. I struggled to breathe. “You don’t have to move.” I couldn’t hold reassurances in. “I won’t take your blankets or mess up your pile.” I bit my tongue around promises I couldn’t keep.
She blinked at me, her expression still blank. I struggled to breathe.
“You won’t fit,” she finally said around another, even longer yawn. So help me, I felt the blood pooling in my belly and the rush of anticipation. “You probably could,” she admitted, and it wasn’t anxiety that kept me from breathing now. “I suppose we’re pretty resourceful.” I locked my teeth around a response and, oblivious, she burrowed in deeper. There was no expectation or artifice in her manner. Her eyes drifted closed, and I felt the drumming of desire in my veins. “You can sit with me,” she said, the words so soft they were almost lost to the night. “But you don’t need to. I’m fine.”
I dragged the chair the short distance separating us, and settled in.