CHAPTER 17 #3
I let the stick fall to rest atop my knees and meet his eyes with an irritated sigh and arch of my brow.
“What are you doing?” he asks, glancing at the sword.
I run my hand along the smooth wood, reminding myself why I came.
“When Awri took me to the orphanage, there was a boy there, Elian. She promised him a sword so that he could play with the others. I don’t think he’ll mind that it isn’t from the king.”
“You called it grooming,” he reminds me.
“I did,” I say, “and maybe it is. Or maybe it’s just an act of kindness toward a little boy who wants a toy sword so that he can play with his friends.”
It infuriates me to no end that he seems shocked by my declaration.
What must he think of me if such a simple act surprises him?
I decide I don’t care and lift myself off the boulder, slipping the letter opener into the dagger sheath sewn into the thigh of my leathers, clutching the sword in my other hand.
I scold myself when his eyes follow the movement of my hand as I slide the dagger home without so much as a glance toward it. I don’t give him time to ask any questions and step toward the cover of the forest.
“Now where are you going?” he demands.
I sigh, not wishing to explain myself any further. “To deliver the sword.”
“On foot?” He sounds even more surprised than he had about the gift.
The male clearly finds me incapable of even walking a short distance.
“On foot,” I confirm with a nod.
“You won’t make it back before dawn,” he says.
I shrug, relieved that if the journey does in fact keep me out until dawn, I will have avoided my demon for one more night.
“For the love of the veil.” He snatches the sword out of my hand and strides toward his horse.
“What do you think you’re doing? Give that back!” I yell, chasing after him.
He ignores me, strapping the sword to his saddle as he says over his shoulder, “I’m taking the sword to the orphanage, and you’re coming with me.”
I come to a stop behind him, my eyes narrowing on his back. When he turns to face me, his brow is etched in hard lines of determination as he points at me and says, “I’d like to get some sleep tonight, and that’s not going to happen as long as you’re galivanting all across A’kori, unaccompanied.”
I open my mouth to protest but my breath leaves my lungs in a woosh when he grips my waist with both hands and lifts me onto the horse, sidesaddle.
He swings himself up behind me, and before I can slide back to the ground in protest, he clicks his tongue and the horse leaps into the dark of the woods.
Wind tears my hood from the crown of my head, settling it between my shoulder blades. The general hooks my waist, pulling me tightly against him until I can feel the hardened cut of his chest on the side of my arm.
I’m not entirely sure he can see me glaring at him as we race through the forest, but I don’t let it stop me. When the mount cuts a tight corner around the base of a towering cedar I begin tipping forward, my balance precarious to say the least.
The general’s arm hardens around my waist, and he slips me more snuggly between his thighs. The act would be entirely unnecessary if he’d given me a chance to position my legs on either side of the mount. I will never understand why ladies prefer sidesaddle, dress or no.
After briefly considering throwing myself off the horse to make my displeasure perfectly clear, I decide against it.
There is no need to risk an injury to make a point the male is already well aware of.
Instead, I let my body settle against his.
I can do little but trust his arm around me as the horse runs through the night, and remaining rigid in my seat won’t serve me, it will only wreak havoc on my muscles, which I would regret in the morning.
With a light tug on the reins the horse slows to a walk when we break from the forest. Again, I debate throwing myself to the ground but smother the thought when my eyes find the orphanage just ahead.
We have emerged behind the building, out of the woodland where I’d seen the children at play.
I hate that I’m a little impressed that he found his way so easily through the thick overgrowth of the forest, but it isn’t something I’ll ever admit to him.
The general doesn’t dismount when he unstraps the toy sword and leans it against the front door of the building.
“I’ll send a letter in the morning, explaining that you carved it for the boy.” The heat of his breath is a soft caress on the shell of my ear when he says it.
“Why not just send the sword with the letter?” I ask, as he turns his horse toward the cobbled streets of A’kori.
“I didn’t think you’d agree to it. You seemed rather determined to deliver it tonight.”
“You could have asked,” I say, clearly annoyed despite the fact that I would have absolutely insisted it be delivered tonight.
“I’ll try that next time.” He chuckles, and the sound glides down my spine like a featherlight touch, sending a rippling wave of goosebumps across my skin.
I shudder at the feeling it provokes, and he wraps the length of his cloak around me to buffer me from the cool evening air.
It seems we are both content to ride in silence.
I take in the view of the harbor, the light of the city after dark twinkling on the rolling waves of the sea.
Firelight flickers in empty windows and not a single soul walks along the well-lit stone streets.
“Why did you carve the sword for the boy?” His voice is near a whisper.
“I already told you.”
“You told me it was a kindness. You didn’t say why.”
I keep a studied gaze on the houses as I answer, letting my eyes wander deep into the shadows of their darkened halls.
“You can’t think too highly of me if you think I need a reason to be kind to a child,” I say, “Maybe you think I’m incapable of kindness because I’m La’tarian, or human, but in either case you’d be wrong.
I’ve seen enough suffering to last a lifetime.
I’ve watched as those who could give chose not to, willing to let those who’d been born without suffer an undeserving fate. ”
His body tenses behind me.
“I decided long ago not to be one of those that stood by.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I chose to act instead of remaining complacent, even when that kindness was an act of futility.”
“There is no futility in kindness,” he says, and I huff a bitter laugh.
“Maybe not on this continent,” I say.
“Did it ever occur to you that there might be something to that?” he asks.
“It occurs to me that the A’kori have more than they need and still leave those across the sea to suffer their fate,” I snap.
“La’tari propaganda,” he bites back, “You should know that the A’kori send regular shipments of food to the coastal villages, we’ve factored those shipments into every harvest since the war ended.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I say, “If that were true those villagers wouldn’t be dying of starvation.”
“They wouldn’t be,” he agrees, “That is, if the La’tari military allowed them to keep those food stores.”
His cloak does nothing to block the chill that settles into my bones when he speaks the last. My entire being rebels against the idea that my people would steal food meant for the poor.
Memories of my younger self surge to the forefront of my mind, memories of a small boy and an apple that helped him along to his untimely death.
Isn’t that exactly what I’d seen? The La’tari regime taking food stores from the coastal villages to feed their ranks and bait the starving into conscription.
“The king would never allow that,” I say and as soon as it slips off my tongue, I can taste the lie that it is.
“You don’t believe that,” he says quietly.
I don’t argue. There is nothing to say. He has no idea just how deeply this hard truth cuts into the core of the woman I am. I tell myself that it isn’t without reason those food stores were taken. But what reason could be good enough to allow those people to starve?
We settle into an uncomfortable silence, the guards only offering brief nods as we pass through the gates of the palace grounds.
Without the flickering light cast by the bright pillars that illuminate the streets of A’kori darkness falls like a thick blanket around us, the moon obscured by a patchy layer of clouds passing overhead.
“I never had the chance to apologize earlier.” His voice breaks the silence. “For how I made you feel this morning.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” I assure him, “You didn’t say anything I don’t already know.”
“I know what you think you heard, but I never said the king wouldn’t find you attractive.” I laugh, and he adds, “I can tell you don’t believe me. I just don’t know why.”
“Why did you laugh at me then?” I ask, pinning him with a stare, daring him to convince me he’d meant anything else.
“I laughed because your uncle does nothing to conceal his intentions. It had nothing to do with what I personally think of you. You shouldn’t let it deter you from pursuing the king when he returns, if that is your wish.
I’ve known him my entire life and I assure you; he is more concerned with the quality of a mind and the sincerity of a heart than he is about things pertaining to vanity. ”
“I’m not entirely sure that’s a compliment,” I say.
He releases a heavy sigh and a whisper muffled by my hair, “So difficult.”
“Besides, I already told you, I have no designs on your king.”
His gaze doesn’t shift from mine, but he remains quiet, and I think he might leave it at that when he says, “I believe you. But if you change your mind, I will put in a good word for you.”
I know I should snap the offer out of the air before the wind drags it away. It’s everything I’ve waited for, but I bristle that he finds me incapable of making it in front of the king on my own merit. I have never been one to beg for help.
“I’d think if someone was worthy of a meeting with your king, you wouldn’t need to speak on their behalf,” I say.