Chapter 12 #2
“He did. I cannot bring myself to forgive him for that—we were too close, I loved him too much once as a brother—but I wish I could earn his forgiveness.”
Then, more dryly, but still true, “I prefer debts to be one-sided and in my favor. There’s too much that’s painful and complicated between us.”
“I think by its very nature, Fear, we do not earn forgiveness. It’s a gift.”
Something in his throat worked again.
“Ander has given you many gifts,” I added, “for a man who despises you.”
I wasn’t sure I quite believed Ander did despise him.
“Those favors were for your sake.” He was entirely himself again, glib and charming. “Of course he would want the most incredible of mortals for himself. The fact that I adore you would only increase the delight of stealing you for himself.”
I rolled my eyes. “I am not incredible, not even by mortal standards, and he is not trying to steal me.”
“Liar.”
His hand, still holding the reins, drifted slightly lower down my thigh—close enough that I could feel the pad of his thumb just at the inside seam of my breeches, and I was as aware of that fraction of an inch as I had ever been of anything in my life.
I raised my chin, pretending that I did not notice, that there was no part of me that wanted to seek the friction of his hand.
I could not quite pretend, and he knew it, and trying to maintain my dignity with my ass in his lap was an exercise in futility. “Bastard.”
And still, I didn’t want to move.
He chuckled against my ear, entirely unoffended, entirely pleased with himself, as usual.
We left the darkness of the past behind and focused on the path ahead. The road ahead led into wilder country, and somewhere on it, Obsidian’s third and his “bandits” were riding toward the same place we were.
We stopped for the midday meal on the banks of a stream. Kiegan went down to the bridge to check underneath it for low Fae, and I wasn’t entirely sure if he was teasing me or not. But he was thorough, and something unsettling crept over my skin.
“I’ll take care of the horses. You rest,” Fear told me, taking a bag of food from the roll behind the saddle, then tossing it to me. “You’re not used to sitting on a horse all day.”
I wasn’t, but it was not the horse that was exhausting.
I looked to Kiegan, who gestured to me that all was safe, then made my way down the grassy bank to a large, flat rock at the edge of the burbling stream.
The hazy drone of insects rose from the grass; little purple and white flowers were as profuse as the grass and sweetly scented the air.
I noticed he had chosen this place thoughtfully; we had clear sight either way down the road and into the forest. We would see anyone—or anything—coming in time to respond.
I pulled off my outer tunic and spread it over the rock as a seat, letting the sun warm my shoulders, and then pulled off my boots to dangle my feet in the too-cool water.
Kiegan settled beside me. I unwrapped the bag and set the spread of bread, sausage, cheese, and fruit between us.
“How are you finding the riding?”
I flushed slightly. “It’s…hard.”
He bit into a sausage, thankfully oblivious to my mortal embassments, and said through his mouthful, “I was a disaster my first time. The horse looked embarrassed on my behalf.”
I laughed despite myself. “When was your first time?”
“Preparing for the Trials. Orcs are not horse people.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “We would just as soon eat them as ride them.”
I looked over my shoulder at the horses in sympathy. Fear stood at the edge of the bank with them, letting them drink, and, apparently, deep in conversation with one. The sight made me smile.
“Fear said we’re skirting orc territory. That we might have to ride through it to gain time.”
He had briefed us both on the ride. The route; we were losing time to avoid orcs. King Nez and his underground castle. The masks for disguise. There was no way to escape suspicion once the knife disappeared, but we had to prevent proof.
Still, when I looked at how Fear stood, with his broad shoulders and perfect posture and the way he drew every eye, I thought it would be hard not to know him even masked.
“At least it means Obsidian will believe I could be a hired orc guide.” His tone suggested he hated being here. He tilted his head at me, studying me. “And you could be a little mortal servant.”
I had not considered, until that moment, what being a mortal in low Fae territory meant for me. The little I had been taught of low Fae in school was that they avoided mortals, for reasons our teachers had skipped.
I’d heard rumors since. That mortals, unable to reach the High Fae who cursed them and conscripted them and harvested their magic, had turned their rage on the low Fae they could harm without royal reprisal.
That had been going on, by the sound of it, for generations.
The low Fae would have their own reasons for disliking a mortal in their territory.
I added it to the list of things that could kill me before this trip ended.
He was not distracting me that easily from his distress. “At least?”
He shrugged. “My father would like to have me eviscerated for killing my brothers.”
Eviscerated was a strong and vivid word choice, especially for a man whose vocabulary was usually not terribly expansive. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He must need to share the burden of what had happened. Otherwise, he’d never bring it up.
“Gods no.” He scoffed.
“Are you all right going into orc territory?” I would kill Fear if he wasn’t.
He nodded. “It’s family business. Orcs are private. The truth would embarrass my father. Unless we run into him, no one knows. And if we run into my father, we’re all dead.”
Cheerful thoughts.
We rode as late as we dared, but we were in low Fae territory, and it did not serve us to be out after dark. We stopped when we reached a waystation warded against their tricks.
Two plain rooms, wooden shutters over the windows, and a fireplace that still functioned. Kiegan took one glance in the second room and said, “The cot will only hold one. I will take the back room.”
He was the size of two of us, but I was not going to argue. I started a fire in the fireplace, disturbing something that flew up out of the chimney. I was thankful it went up and not in.
“Can you cook, Fear?” I asked.
“I thought we could picnic,” he said, which was an answer.
“Spoiled prince,” I teased, though I knew that being a prince had left him far from spoiled. At least in my often-hungry childhood I had been well loved.
Kiegan went out to check the territory around us. I worried about him in the dark, as mortals didn’t stir in the woods at night in Stonehaven.
“He’s the most dangerous thing in the dark.” Fear was spreading our bedrolls out on the floor.
“Unless he runs into other orcs,” I said.
Fear tilted his brows at me, and I didn’t want to risk giving away Kiegan’s secrets, so I held my tongue. Fear sat back. He’d arranged our bedrolls side by side, touching each other, which seemed like more of the day’s punishment extending into our sleep.
I fed a little more tinder to the fire. “Perhaps I should sleep beside Kiegan, given the constraints on us.”
“We’ll be fine. You could come over and kiss me right now, and I would be reasonable.”
I crooked my finger at him. “You told me you’d crawl to me if you were drunk.”
“I think you’re confused about what I meant, which is understandable for such an innocent.”
For a moment, despite his words, he looked as if he might just crawl to me across those wooden floorboards and press me down in front of the glowing firelight, the flickering flame casting shadows across that handsome face, his lips caressing my throat.
Then the door slammed open with a bang. Fear’s face didn’t change, but I could feel annoyed with Kiegan for us both.
We ate our meal, which was hardly worthy of a picnic, and when I lay down, Kiegan was already beginning to snore in the next room. The fire was banked low, but Fear was warm beside me. I marveled at Kiegan’s ability to fall asleep so quickly.
I lay in the dark and looked at the ceiling, and I was aware of Fear’s body against mine, even through my blankets and his. I was very tired and this was not helping.
He shifted. His arm slid across my waist, drawing me against him. His jaw nuzzled my temple, and it seemed as if he were tucking me against him.
Moving in his sleep. Probably.
With Fear, probably had a wide range of meanings.
When I turned my head to look at him, his golden eyes were open, glowing faintly in the darkness. His hand moved up to caress my cheek.
“You’re not asleep,” I murmured.
“You’ve been keeping me awake.”
“I’ve done nothing.”
The corner of his mouth moved. In the low light it was barely visible and somehow worse than if it had been fully visible. “Cara, when it comes to me, you’re never doing nothing. You are always distracting me.”
When his fingers brushed my face reverently, the warmth of his palm against my jaw, a rebellious thought rose to my mind. I think I could like to be married to this man.
I turned toward him, my cheek pressing against his throat.
He shifted, the blanket sliding down his hard bare arm, reminding me that he had stripped down to his small clothes before bed since our day clothes were dusty from the road.
As had I; it was the practical decision.
But now he was shirtless, his skin warm against mine, and it felt less practical.
His mouth was warm and unhurried, as if he could see the road ahead of us and knew there was time enough for kissing. But I felt his exhale against my mouth, that slow, controlled breath becoming less controlled, and I smiled against his lips.
My hand brushed over his chest. His heartbeat was faster than I’d expected.
His hand moved from my face to my hair, gentle and deliberate, and I was aware of every place he was touching me and every place he wasn’t. His other hand was at my waist, teasing over the bare skin just above the line of my underwear.
The expression on his face in the firelight was desire laid bare, and it gave me a thrill to know he wanted me as I wanted him.
“Cara.”
He said my name like a prayer, as if I were a goddess and not a dusty-from-the-road mortal girl, tangled in his arms in this smoky-scented room. He said my name so convincingly I might have believed that with him, I was a goddess.
But a goddess he could not have, not tonight.
He pressed his forehead to mine. His hand was still in my hair. Neither of us moved away. “The bond.”
“I know, Fear.”
I kissed him again. Against his mouth, I asked, “How confident are you that as long as we stop short of you fucking me, the bond won’t pull us the rest of the way?”
“Gods,” he said, as if the word fucking on my lips was going to unravel him the rest of the way. “I’m confident. Have you ever known me not to be confident?”
“Fair point.”
“Everything except what would prevent Lightbringer’s claiming is a large territory, but a maddening line.”
“Maddening,” I agreed and kissed his jaw instead this time. The shadow across it was rough against my lips.
“I imagine crossing that line. Often.”
I smiled against his stubble as if I were not suffering the very same affliction. “How dreadful for you.”
“Often,” he said again, as if, with his usual commitment, he had decided a confession was to be made completely or not at all. “Every time you’re within reach. And every time you’re not within reach is worse. My mind is entirely occupied by you, and that shows no sign of abating.”
I felt the same, but it was easier for Fear to be vulnerable. “The timing of this confession is not your finest work.”
His lips ticked upward at the corners.
I reached up and put my hand against his jaw. “I can work within the territory.”
He turned his face slightly into my hand, just slightly, and I felt the movement ripple through every muscle in my body. “The rest I will hold in reserve.”
“That seems wise.”
“That seems extremely unpleasant.”
He settled my body against his in a new way, leaning me against him, and his palm—flat, warm, heavy—slid down my torso, then to my thigh, spreading me open to his touch.
When his hand cupped me through my underwear, I rolled forward into his hand, seeking more friction.
His jaw shifted against my temple as he smiled.
His hand retreated, brushing over my stomach, then sliding into my underwear. Still, he circled, teased; his hands brushed over my lips then away; his thumb slid over my mound then retreated.
The first time he parted my lips, delving inside, was almost too much. My hand closed hard around his arm, fingers digging into the solid line of muscle. He stilled for a breath, then began again. Slow. Maddening.
A quiet exhale left me, thinner than I intended, and I pressed my face into his throat to catch it there, to keep it contained. His skin was warm, steady, his pulse even beneath my mouth in a way that felt like control made physical.
“Careful,” he murmured, though I wasn’t sure if it was a warning for me or for him.
I should have said something back, something sharp, something that proved I was still entirely in control of myself. But my body was growing hot with need and it was highly distracting.
His mouth moved against my temple, my cheekbone, the line of my jaw, in light, measured touches. His muscles shifted against my body as he adjusted to me without breaking that careful control.
I tightened my grip on his forearm, his muscles rippling with the motion of driving me mad. His hand moved slowly enough that I was attuned to every slide of his thumb, every movement of his fingers.
My breath caught despite myself, and I pressed harder into his throat to muffle the sound, my body tightening in response to something I could no longer pretend was manageable.
“Cara,” he said again, quieter this time. A warning, a question…my mind was not exactly at its brightest at the moment. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
He shifted once more, his fingers curling against me rhymically, driving me closer, and the last of my restraint gave way, the tension breaking into something sharper, brighter, impossible to contain. I writhed against him, every nerve awake, every thought scattered and useless.
For a moment, neither of us moved. His breath was even in my ear. Mine was distinctly ragged.
“Sleep,” he said, softer than a command.
Perhaps a plea.
So I took mercy upon us both. I slept, and I did not dream, as if there was nothing dark and terrible waiting for us in the daylight.