Chapter 20
HONOR
Thank Rhia I’d never been afraid of tight spaces. The obsidian tunnel wasn’t exactly small, but the impressive darkness created a sense of proximity. Though the tunnel was wide enough for four horses to comfortably walk beside each other, Dewalt preferred half that. I wondered, with all the effort to make the tunnel so wide, why they didn’t make it any taller. I swore Dewalt’s head grazed the ceiling in front of me. He could have slouched farther down, but his posture was just as perfect as the rest of him. I wondered if he intentionally positioned himself directly in front of me to torment me.
Though he’d had it evened out from the botched cut I’d given him, seeing how much shorter his hair was made my stomach twist; I couldn’t help but feel responsible. He’d always kept it pulled back, the shaved sides and tattoos visible, but ever since it had been cut, he’d worn it down. Barely skimming the tops of his shoulders, it was still longer than most men chose to wear. I was sure he missed the long, glossy strands which had once hung down to the small of his back. I looked down, studying my hands holding my horse’s reins, and began to twist my mother’s ring on my finger. It was easier to look at than the arrow-straight back of the man before me.
I was frightened of horses, but riding was really quite boring. The horse required little from me, and after the stress of mounting the enormous creature, it was quite easy to let my mind wander. I didn’t even need to hold the reins, so I let go. Laughing at the exhilaration the simple act gave me, I thought of all the ways I’d changed in the last few months. I wondered again if I should start using my full name. Gifted by my deceased mother, it would make sense to pay respect to her by using it, but it didn’t feel right. Especially because it was inspired by the gods. Honor, because my mother had preferred Hanwen. I wondered if she would have chosen to worship him if she knew she’d die due to wrath and violence. No—I didn’t want to use the name.
Dickey cleared his throat beside me, and I was suddenly glad for Dewalt’s choosing him to come with us. I could barely see him in the dim torchlight. With the obsidian walls absorbing the glow, it was hard to make out anything in the dark. Except the boy’s ginger hair. It caught the orange tones from the fire, and the brightness matched Dickey’s disposition.
“How did you talk the tailor into making you a cloak so fast?” he asked, nodding toward the warm, pine-green garment wrapped tightly around me.
My face heated, and I swore Dewalt’s perfect posture got even more straight as I watched. “It was a gift,” I answered, hoping he wouldn’t ask.
“From who?” Dickey asked. I gave it a moment, wondering if perhaps Dewalt would answer so I wouldn’t have to. When it became clear he wasn’t going to, I sighed.
“The cap—I mean—the duke gave it to me.” Dewalt’s head tilted to the left the tiniest amount, and it filled me with doubt. I wondered if I’d referred to him incorrectly; titles had always confused me. I’d found out he was still a duke after our meeting with the Crown, and I had tried to figure out how to address him. General Holata, Duke of Somewhere had been what I’d settled on, since he hadn’t been given lands yet. But I couldn’t say that, of course. If I ever had to refer to him in such a manner, I thought ‘Your Grace’ would be best.
When I felt Dickey watching me, I averted my eyes. The gift had confused me. Beautiful, the woolen fabric was everything I could have wanted in a cloak. I’d been used to the white I’d been forced to wear as a novice, and I’d never been able to choose something for myself. Somehow, Dewalt picked exactly what I would have wanted. After being taught that wanting fine things was an affront to the gods, it almost felt wrong to accept such a gift. Simple, with the only adornment being the metal buttons holding it shut at the neck, the cloak was practical. The wool had been dyed a dark evergreen, and I loved it—nearly as much as I loved the woolen breeches he’d also brought me. I’d never been allowed to wear trousers, let alone ones as tight as this. But the interior was plush and warm, and I didn’t think I’d ever take them off again. Then there were the gloves, the boots, the warm shirts, and the note he’d left. I pressed my lips together when I thought about what he’d written.
Now we’re even.
“Dewalt?” Dickey asked, sputtering.
“Why so surprised, Dickey? Did I or did I not purchase new boots for you last autumn?” Dewalt finally broke the silence, and I was surprised to hear his playful tone. In the light of the torch beside him, it was hard to make out much of his profile aside from the shadow of his eyelashes cast over his cheeks. His beauty was severe, made of sharp lines and harsh shadows. Striking, like a blow to the chest. But the laugh lines of what I knew to be a brilliant smile softened him, dimming his intensity.
“Well, that’s because you like me, and I couldn’t afford—” Dewalt made a small sound deep in his throat, and the young man beside me gulped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say you dislike the princess,” Dickey stuttered. I stiffened at the title. Not just because he wasn’t supposed to refer to me as such once we left the palace, but because I was no princess. As far as I was concerned, Declan being my sire was not something I’d ever claim, no matter if riches or an easier life awaited me. I didn’t want it. Despite the elven-blood he gave me, I barely even knew how to use magick, and I had little desire to learn. I was my mother’s daughter and nothing else.
“First thing: who said I liked you?” Dewalt asked, amusement glinting in his eyes before he turned forward. Dickey instantly relaxed. It was odd, seeing anyone treat Dewalt with such deference. In the last few weeks I’d indirectly witnessed his leadership, listening as ailing soldiers spoke of him, I’d never heard him be punitive or hateful. By all accounts, he treated everyone with kindness and respect. Except me, apparently. And yet, Dickey appeared nervous until he sensed Dewalt’s mood. I wondered if it was because of his relatively new status as a soldier in the king’s army.
“As for the affording it, I don’t remember novices being paid a wage. I wasn’t about to listen to her whining,” Dewalt added.
“I don’t whine,” I said, narrowing my eyes at the back of his head. Despite myself, I noticed he didn’t correct the notion that he disliked me. But part of me couldn’t blame him for it. The bigger part, the louder part, was still vexed by his harsh words which had rubbed against my skin, chafing against all my other failures.
“Your horse begs to differ.”
“That was a conversation between me and Pansy. Or Petunia.” I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember which. Whatever her name, she’d heard me grumble quite a bit as Dickey helped me clamber atop her. “You shouldn’t have eavesdropped.”
“I suppose my concern was misplaced then. I should have given the horse something to muffle your noise instead.”
I was about to tell him I’d like to do more than muffle his noise—perhaps throttle his neck—but I bit my lip instead. I wished I could have purchased my own things. Some of my mother’s things had earned a fair price when I’d sold it, but between having to buy new clothing and paying for my room above the tavern, I’d almost run out. I knew I could have stayed at the dormitory—repaired after what happened before the siege—but I didn’t think I could see the women there. Not after I was certain about my own paternity. How could I look any of them in the eye, knowing I had the blood of their tormentor running through my veins?
Anything left over after handling my necessities, the meager amount I received from helping with the dying and injured, had gone straight to the dormitory. They needed it, deserved it, more than me. I would have frozen if Dewalt hadn’t helped me.
“I never said thank you. I certainly would have been miserable without your gifts.” I did my best to hide any irritation in my voice because I spoke true. He said nothing, though he nodded to show he’d heard me. I pulled the warm cloak tighter, shivering harshly. My right shoulder had been aching from the cold and when I accidentally jerked it, pain shot through me. I winced, stretching and rotating my arm to ease the ache.
“We’re going to stop for the night,” Dewalt said, his voice crisp as it echoed down the long tunnel. I’d never been more relieved; I was freezing, and my rear end was hurting. It was strange, being cramped together. But we were sheltered from the elements, and that was something to be grateful for. I couldn’t imagine being outside in the wind we could hear a few feet above us. Salas, her short red hair only a shade lighter than Dickey’s, placed torches in a few of the sconces littering the walls. The other woman, whose name I couldn’t remember, used a length of rope stretched across the tunnel from sconce to sconce to secure the horses on our side of it. Dickey was busy lighting a fire when another man approached, giving me a timid smile before averting his eyes. He was tall, almost as tall as Dewalt. But where one was lean—all keen angles and strength—the man who approached was thick with visible muscle. He seemed kind enough from our brief interactions, even if his bulk intimidated me.
“‘Scuse me, Miss Nor,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “May I help you with your pack? I’m Turman, by the way.”
“Uh, sure. Thank you,” I said, smiling back at him and moving out of the way so he could do as he wanted. While Turman was laying out my things, Dewalt walked past, not even looking at me. Sometimes I missed his suspicion. At least then he would have had a snarky comment for me, rather than cold indifference. Did he avoid speaking to me, or did it not even cross his mind? Did it eat him up inside like it did me?
I’d had to preserve some dignity, and I wouldn’t let myself apologize to him any more. The last time I’d said I was sorry, all he’d done was stare at me. I’d realized then that the apologies hadn’t been for him and had only been my own heart seeking peace. Though the queen had assured me I’d done nothing wrong, I knew the truth. If I’d been paying better attention, Dewalt wouldn’t have nearly died in my arms.
“There. Closest to the fire so you’ll be warm, my lady,” Turman said, smoothing a hand over his light hair. “I can try to find you an extra blanket too, if you want?—”
“No, no. This is enough. I wouldn’t want special treatment. This is perfect,” I said. “Thank you for your kindness, Turman.” When I smiled at the soldier, he blushed, which made me blush. But when he picked the spot nearest mine, my stomach cramped. Feeling the heat creeping up my face, I settled onto my bedroll and pulled my gloves off, aware of more than Turman’s gaze. When I surreptitiously peered over at Dewalt, I hadn’t expected to catch him staring. All he did was raise an eyebrow as he glanced pointedly at Turman. Ducking my head, I fiddled with my mother’s ring. I wasn’t sure if I was reading him properly, but Dewalt seemed to be asking a question to which he was the only answer. I had no intentions with Turman whatsoever, romantic or otherwise. Skies, I’d just met the man. I had no intentions with anyone. The only time I’d ever had any physical intimacy, it hadn’t served me well. I closed my eyes, drawn back to smooth lips caressing my own while clever fingertips touched forbidden parts of me, and my mouth went dry.
Shaking my head, I unlaced my boots, and willed myself to think of something else. Everyone finished their tasks, a few of the soldiers walking back in the direction we came from to relieve their bladders. I pretended it was impossible that someone might have done exactly that on the stone floor beneath me; I resolved to hold mine for as long as possible. Once everyone was settled, a soldier named Runin passed out hardtack, some sort of dried meat, and cheese. Arms crossed and mouth a straight line, Dewalt appeared grave from where he stood, watching as we rubbed our sore muscles and choked down our food. Well, I was the only one who struggled with it; the rest of the soldiers appeared used to it. As I chewed, my thoughts repeatedly strayed to Dewalt, and my eyes followed each time. I couldn’t help my worry. Though the siege had taken its toll on everyone, it was hard to see him without a smile on his face. He was known for them, even if he never spared any for me. There was a grim somberness to him that I didn’t recognize. Surely he was sad over the loss of his friend, the general he was replacing, but I wondered if there was more to it.
I watched him as he approached one of his soldiers, leaning down to speak to a man with a shock of blond hair peeking out from beneath his cap. To my surprise, the man lifted his chin to meet my gaze while Dewalt spoke. His large, icy blue eyes made him somehow appear both sleepy and something else—something almost wicked. He grinned at me, and his elongated incisors took me by surprise. Mine weren’t so exaggerated. His ears were pointed at the top, and unabashedly, I stared at them. Usually, the sharp tipped ears of those with elven-blood were dulled by inter-marriage with conduits or mortals—or in my case, a hot knife—but this man’s ears were intact and perfect in their severity.
Dewalt stood behind him, glaring, as his soldier approached me. He turned on a heel and disappeared before the blond-haired elven spoke.
“I’m Fletcher,” the man said, holding out a hand. “I’ve been told we have something in common.” When I grasped his hand, expecting an awkward handshake while I stayed seated, he tugged me to my feet instead with a strength I didn’t expect from someone smaller than me. “And I don’t mean our beauty.”
I couldn’t help my laugh as I stumbled into him.
“I’m Nor, but I think you know that already. You also hate horses?”
“Aye,” he said, laughing just a bit too loudly for our cramped quarters. “Given what I’ve been told, I think I’ll phrase my question a bit differently than I normally would. What do you know about our magick?”
“There. You’re all set,” Turman said, placing his hand on my shoulder after securing my things to my horse. I flinched at his touch. I didn’t like being touched without my permission, let alone where my scars were. Exhausted from becoming better acquainted with my magick the night before, spilling my blood to create complicated wards around us, I wasn’t attentive enough to stop him. “May I ask you something?”
I looked around, uncertain about what he’d want from me. Everyone was prepared to go, half the soldiers already on their steeds and ready to leave, while Dewalt did a sweep of where we’d camped for the night. He was very adamant that we left the place as we’d found it. I wasn’t sure how he’d planned to do that, considering there was now horse excrement on the ground. Fletcher waved at me, and I nodded in response. He’d been a good teacher but I wasn’t eager for another lesson. It was tiring, and I felt almost guilty using it.
“What can I help you with?” I asked Turman. Sometimes I wished I didn’t feel as if I had to always have a smile on my face, pretending to be pleased or polite or happy. Mostly, I just wanted to be left alone.
“Well, Miss Nor, I was wondering if perhaps you wouldn’t mind leading us in a prayer to Hanwen?” My skin iced over, and my body went still. My mouth twitched, but I was able to catch my smile before it fell. It was one thing to pray with the dying soldiers, holding their hands and speaking the soothing words of the final blessing while they slowly drifted into unconsciousness. Those prayers were memorized—rehearsed and second-nature. But to lead a prayer with these soldiers, I’d need to be specific. I would be expected to speak aloud and hide the fact I’d rather curl into a ball than speak to the God of Wrath. I’d barely prayed to Hanwen before, but I certainly couldn’t now. Not with so much pressure. Not with what had happened. My throat worked as Turman stared at me. He cocked his head at an angle and was about to speak before he was interrupted by a hand clasping his shoulder.
“Pray to him on your mount. It’s time to go,” Dewalt said. I wondered if he did it on purpose. Did he even realize he rescued me? When it came to the gods, I was of two minds; I hadn’t forsaken them, but neither could I pray to them as if nothing had changed. Dewalt’s gruff interjection had saved me from having to choose. Dewalt handed Turman a torch before reaching over to adjust the strap securing my belongings. After unfastening it and pulling it tighter, he gave the horse a gentle pat. “Do you need help up?” he asked, kneeling down to re-tie his boot. He wouldn’t look at me. It was so unlike him, I was stunned into silence.
He must have known why I froze, and letting me avoid eye contact was another kindness. It took me aback after so much indifference over the last few weeks. When he finally stood, towering over me despite my own height, he had an expectant look on his face, and I quickly realized he was waiting for an answer.
“No, no. I’m fine,” I muttered before sticking my foot in the stirrup and clumsily hoisting myself up onto the patient mare. Finally situated, I leaned forward, panting into the horse’s mane. I wondered when that would get any easier. Exhaling, I ignored Dewalt’s expression. Lips nearly non-existent, he was clearly smothering a laugh.
“You’re with me today,” he said, patting my horse’s rear to urge her forward.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
I couldn’t contain my grunt of frustration.
I watched as Dewalt threw his long body into his saddle, effortless and graceful. He reached into his pack, pulling out an apple, and I tried very hard not to think of him naked in the baths when he bit into it. I struggled to hold that image at bay until I noticed what he wore around his wrist. Twisted with black cord, it took a moment for me to realize the bracelet was made of his hair. The hair I’d cut when he insisted upon it—when he’d been bleeding out in front of me. I knew his hair was smooth, so it probably didn’t feel too awful, but the bracelet appeared frayed. I’d cut it so poorly—no two hairs were the same length.
He cleared his throat, and I jumped. He knew where my gaze had been based on his frown.
“I can braid that for you a little better, if you want,” I began. He gently snapped his horse’s reins, a clear indication of a finished conversation. I scowled. “That was rude, you know.” As my horse ambled along beside his, Dewalt didn’t bother looking over at me as I spoke. “You could’ve said ‘no, thank you,’ or ‘what a kind offer, but I’d rather not.’ Or?—”
“I don’t want you to touch it. I don’t want you to even look at it, Nor.” Carefully measured, Dewalt’s words were quiet and steady. But their meaning struck deadly. And still, I wanted to push the issue. Perhaps it was because I’d met him when he was covered head to toe in feces, but I’d never felt the need to shy away from conflict with him like I did other men. In Dewalt’s disdain, I’d always felt safe. It was when things shifted that everything went awry. So I pushed, painfully eager to stay in that muddied space where I was secure in his frustration, the honesty of it the only thing I could count on.
“And how do you propose to stop me? Will you gouge my eyes out?”
“So you can deafen your horse from all your wailing? I think not.” And before I could say anything else, he pushed his own mount forward in order to give my horse a piece of his apple. “I’m so sorry, Petunia. Perhaps she’ll be quieter once she’s tired.”