12
Pain erupts through my entire skeleton when I hit the water.
For a second I wonder if my limbs were knocked right off my torso from the impact—but then I discover that I can move.
The water closed over my head, and it’s glugging in my ears, but I can swim upward, toward the clouded light of the surface.
I’m not swimming fast enough, though. My boots, my bag, and my weapons drag against my efforts, weighing me down.
I try to get the satchel off, but I’m struggling with the straps. I can’t get free of them.
My lungs only had a little air in them when I fell, and that air is turning to poison inside my chest, burning in my lungs. I think my ribcage might explode. Bubbles seep from between my lips, and I keep fighting for the surface, but I can’t reach it.
I need to activate a glyph. I can’t remember how. My brain is burning.
The water sloshes faster around me, and I’m hauled upward, dragged toward the light. I claw at my rescuer, frantic for salvation.
Our heads break water, and as I drag in a wheezing breath, Vawn yells, “Syth, it’s me. Don’t struggle. You’ll take us both down.”
The fire in my brain and the panic of my seizing lungs makes it hard to understand him, but I try to stop thrashing. He drags me toward the edge of the pool, but he doesn’t have the strength to pull us both out, so we stay there, clinging to rocks until I’ve coughed myself back to my senses.
“It’s so cold,” I manage through chattering teeth.
“We can’t stay in here.” Vawn’s voice is fractured by little gasps of cold and exhaustion. “Have to crawl out. Come on.”
We move along the edge of the pool to a lower lip of rock and drag ourselves out of the water. I’m shivering so hard I can only lie there, hugging my satchel, wishing we had a fire.
“Need twigs, dry leaves,” I croak. “Fire. Your lighter.”
With a groan, Vawn divests himself of his bag and the carpet case, then searches his pockets for the lighter.
I drag myself up and start grabbing handfuls of forest litter, along with some twigs.
When he passes me the lighter, I manage to ignite the bundle.
Slowly, carefully, I feed the fire to a decent blaze.
As he holds his hands out to warm them, horror splits through my gut. “Vawn, your finger.”
“Oh, that. I left the luck glyph active a little too long.” He inspects his left index fingertip where the flesh has darkened a bit.
“You almost desiccated yourself.” I grab his hand, inspecting it. “There are no cracks in the flesh, so it might heal. But even if it does, you won’t be able to use glyphs on this finger for a long time. Months, maybe.”
“Worth it,” he says. “We survived, didn’t we?”
“We did.” I crane my neck to look up at the cliff face. It’s so craggy and overhung with scarlet ivy that I can’t see the aperture where we emerged. “Fuck, I’m cold. And wet.”
Vawn peers into his bag. “The clothes and cloaks are soaked, but it looks as if the food was well sealed, for the most part.”
“We need to get these wet things off and hang all the clothes to dry, including the carpet,” I say. “And we need to build screens to contain the heat of the fire.”
Vawn looks at me quizzically.
“Never mind, I’ll do the screens. You start hanging our wet things on branches.”
By the time I’ve tied enough branches together to form a couple makeshift screens, Vawn has hung up everything but the clothes we’re wearing. We strip those off as well, placing them over a couple of bushes near the fire.
Last of all, we take the carpet out of his case. To our astonishment, he isn’t even damp. When we unroll him, Severin shakes himself out and does a slow swirl.
“I see we got out of Zeletas,” he says. “It is rather jarring to be shut up in a case and then be whisked out in a completely different place. I enjoy my rest, of course, and the case is quite snug and comfortable, but would it absolutely destroy you to keep me informed of the goings-on? It’s been at least an hour since you last put me away.
” He pauses, tilting contemplatively. “Why are you both so wet?”
“We slid through a mountain and fell in a lake,” says Vawn.
The dry, bland way he says it hits me oddly, and I start laughing. At first, Vawn chuckles, too, but when I don’t stop wheezing with hysteria and humor, he steps closer and wraps his arm around me, pulling me against his side.
“Sit,” says the carpet. “Both of you, sit down.”
We comply, seating ourselves as close to the fire as we dare to be. Severin curves around both of us, with his softer top side against our skin. His surface is dry and thick, and it serves as a more effective screen than the ones I made from sticks.
Within the carpet’s curvature, pressed against Vawn’s side, I finally feel like I’m beginning to thaw. My hysterical laughter fades, and I let my head rest against the prince’s bare chest. I pull my knees up and clasp my fingers over my toes to warm them.
“I hope my boots don’t shrink or smell awful after this,” I say.
“They are fine boots,” Vawn murmurs against my hair. “Very sexy and full of surprises, like those two needle-knives of yours. Custom boots like that, with hidden spots for weapons, are expensive.”
“Who said they were custom made?”
He chuckles. “I know bespoke work, darling. Someone crafted those boots specifically for you, to fit your current size and shape. I’m curious about the maker, because someday I might want a similar pair for myself.”
“You in thigh-high leather boots?” I rear back a bit, imagining it. Fates damn me—he would look fucking gorgeous.
“You like that idea.” He squeezes my shoulder playfully.
“No.” I squirm, but his warmth is so delicious that I don’t pull away completely. “And if you must know, my father made them. He told me to send him my measurements, and the day before I graduated from the Academy, the boots were delivered to me.”
“Your father,” he says slowly. “I feel as if you know too much about my family, while I know very little about yours.”
“Not much to tell. My mother died of tumors growing throughout her body. A quick and sickening death when I was fourteen. My father was a cobbler. Not just a cobbler—an artist with footwear, as you’ve seen.
He went insane with grief after she died.
I couldn’t take care of him and support us both, so I committed him to the Monastery of the Seven Fates in Braeton, where he could live quietly and simply, doing a little gardening or cobbling whenever he felt like it.
I pay a semi-annual stipend for his care. ”
The carpet shifts, fluttering its tassels briefly. “Such a stipend would not cover the materials needed to craft such a fine pair of boots.”
“There was a note included from one of the monks,” I reply.
“He said the materials had been donated. The monastery does receive frequent donations from various wealthy believers, and my father has endeared himself to everyone there. Still, I was shocked by their generosity to give him the leather and things. Of course, he still has his own tools, and his labor is free.”
“Labor is the largest part of the cost for any luxury item,” Vawn says. “Do you ever visit him?”
“Not for two years. I’ve been training, studying, and working, and I haven’t been able to spare the money. Besides... I don’t like seeing him. It’s not good for either of us.”
Vawn’s thumb strokes my bare shoulder. “Not good?”
“I look too much like her. The unique hair color.” I point to my short crop of lavender waves.
“Every time I see him, he gets confused and acts like I’m her, which can get fairly awkward.
When he realizes his mistake, he cries, sometimes for hours, or he becomes angry.
The first time I cut my hair short, it was after one of his episodes.
She always had long hair, so I thought maybe if I chopped mine off... ” My voice trails into silence.
“Did it work?” Severin asks curiously.
“No. After that I kept it short for practical reasons. Less maintenance, no need to braid or tie it back for training.”
Vawn dips his nose into my hair again. “I like it. The style shows off your profile and that lovely little neck. And those perfect ears.” He tugs gently on one of my earlobes, fingering the studs there.
Every touch sends a delicious and terrible thrill of panic through my lower belly. This intimate proximity with him, with all his naked muscles and maleness, his damp hair and his soft lips—it’s more than I can handle. I keep seeing him kneel before Steros, over and over.
“You shouldn’t kneel to anyone,” I say tersely, pulling away from him.
“What an abrupt change of subject.” Vawn’s eyes narrow. “And where is this coming from?”
“You know.” I stand up, moving out of the shelter of the carpet and stepping across the dirt and leaves. The dawn chill sends goosebumps over my skin.
Vawn rises, too, crossing his arms. He’s only wearing his undershorts, and I try to ignore the fact that his crotch area is bulging like he’s half-hard.
“I was trying to secure us an escape route. To save our lives,” he says. “And I was attempting to do it without violence. How would it look if I, the surviving prince of House Molloi, killed the last descendant of a Zeletas founding family while trying to escape mercenary assassins?”
“So you thought it would look better if you sucked his cock.”
The carpet stirs with interest, floating behind Vawn, soaking in every word.
Vawn circles the fire, prowling toward me.
“What do you care if I suck someone’s cock?
You’ve watched me fuck. You played a very naughty role with me at the Lycan.
You know how I operate—the same way you do.
When there’s no alternative, my body becomes currency.
I excel at sucking cock. I’m better than you, most likely. ”
“I doubt it,” I retort.
“Fine. You think you’re better? We’ll have a test. A competition.”
“A cock-sucking competition.”
“Why not? Do you have something against men enjoying other men?”
“Of course not! I mean, I didn’t know that you—”
“I prefer pussy,” Vawn hisses, his eyes snapping. “I expanded my horizons that summer because I was expected to. Since then, outside of a few playful kisses with Tolgan and Loxley, I’ve taken women to bed.”
“That doesn’t matter to me. I couldn’t care less.”
“Then why were you so upset when I offered to take Lord Steros’s cock in exchange for our escape?”
“Because...”
“Because fucking why, Syth? Why?”
I shudder with the force of everything I’m holding in, everything I’m trying not to say. I hug myself tighter, turning away from him.
Above the tall trees, beyond the cliff from which we fell, clouds shift and part. The sky between them is peach-pink, soft and tender as skin. Morning light bathes the glimmering surface of the pool where I nearly drowned. The pool he rescued me from.
A faint heat from behind me betrays Vawn’s nearness. He has come right up to me, his body nearly touching mine. His fingers hover against my upper arms, not touching, but shimmering there. Waiting.
“Why, Syth?” he whispers.
I step forward, out of his compelling presence. “We should go soon. Steros will have betrayed us immediately to the Redemptive Authority, or whatever they called themselves.”
“Anyone who tries to follow us through the tunnel will find the way impassable,” Vawn says.
“They’ll have to leave Zeletas by the bridge or by gondola and work their way around the mountain, through the Crowfang Pass, to this side.
And then they will have to figure out where we emerged.
We have time to let our things dry, to sleep, and to eat something. You should definitely eat something.”
The moment he says it, I’m conscious of hunger in the pit of my stomach. Slowly I turn toward him, steeling myself against his beauty like a prisoner preparing to suffer torture.
His hair is still pulled halfway back, but pink strands have escaped, brushing against his high cheekbones. He’s holding out his left hand, one finger stained by the cost of the luck he used to save us.
The swell of emotion in my heart is as violent as it is unwelcome.
I am not prepared to give my heart to yet another person who cannot love me back the way that I need to be loved.
I gave my heart to my mother, and she took a piece of it with her.
Another piece of my heart died when my father became someone I don’t recognize, someone who conflates his daughter with his wife.
I will not open myself to the possibility of more pain without the promise of equal joy in return.
This journey with Vawn has an end. One or both of us could die.
Or we could reach the Grey Province, get across the border to Tularesk, and seek help from the rulers there, the Twin Lieges.
Once we reach their palace, Vawn will undergo the natural shift from my traveling companion to the rightful king of Belavrin.
If I retain a place at his side, it will be solely as his dutiful bodyguard.
Lines are being crossed, boundaries are crumbling, and while I might not be able to stop it all, I can choose not to yield in moments like this, when it means something. When it’s more than just saucy taunts or playful seduction.
I avoid Vawn’s hand and step around him, fetching a couple tins of potted meat and a jar of fruit from one of the satchels. I toss him one of the tins, and he catches it.
With Severin hovering behind me, I settle down beside the fire.
I open the jar and pull out a glistening slice of peach with my fingers, pretending not to notice how Vawn remains still and quiet, gazing down at the object in his hands as if something valuable has been taken from him, with a shitty substitute left in its place.