Chapter 22
Rowan stared into the dark. She listened to water drip off the trees and watched the tattered clouds split apart to reveal swathes of glittering stars. Casrian had woken her at midnight for her watch. The rain had stopped by then, and she started a small fire.
She tried not to watch Casrian sleep. He took up too much of her attention as it was without her noticing that he looked younger without his brows drawn together in disapproval or admiring how the firelight touched his skin.
Looking at him now, it was impossible not to see the boy he’d once been. He was a noble. An orphan. A bastard.
Well, she’d been right about the last one, anyway.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes and stretched out her mind toward the trees.
An alien awareness acknowledged her with the barest brush against her consciousness.
She accepted that as an invitation to sink deeper into the connection, slipping past branches and sliding down the trunk of the nearest willow into the buried roots.
In her mind’s eye, she saw the network of threads that connected one tree to the next in a glowing, tangled web.
The willows seemed uncorrupted by the rot.
At least, they felt fine to her, but they were flighty, unserious things, drunk on the rich swamp water nearby.
They’d already forgotten about the storm that had passed only hours ago, let alone the days before. She stretched outward, leaving the small copse and moving deeper into the woods, searching for signs of the captain’s missing men.
She found a stand of pine trees to the east that remembered a group of men passing that way.
Pine trees had good memories, but they weren’t as talkative as the willows.
She caught only the barest of impressions, too indistinct to know whether they were the captain’s men or someone else.
Occasionally there were merchants or brigands that passed through the woods.
The pines told her of metal and fire and the stomp of horses’ hooves through the soil.
She followed that path farther east, stopping where the threads dimmed into something she didn’t like.
She withdrew and adjusted course, reaching until she recognized the familiar warmth of an old oak.
Oaks grew tall and burrowed deep. They had always seemed more aware to her than other trees.
This one remembered a group of men as well.
A small group that had passed below its branches only days ago.
They’d moved away from the river, into the hills to the east, probably in an attempt to escape the woods. Away from the fort.
She didn’t dare reach farther. The oak warned her against that, almost gently pulling her back from the threads that led deeper into the woods.
It spoke of the spreading darkness that way.
Of damp and black rot and devouring insects.
Rowan silently thanked the old mother for her help before returning the way she’d come.
She disentangled herself from the web and settled back into her skin with a sigh, letting her senses ground her—the cold, the dripping rain, Casrian’s steady breath, and the pop of the fire.
The smell of damp earth and brackish water.
She opened her eyes to find the sky beginning to lighten in the east.
So.
The patrol had passed east, away from the river and the fort along its banks.
The rain would have washed away most of their tracks even if she could find where they’d come out of the swamp.
Casrian believed his men were moving toward the fort.
He’d want to continue in that direction if there was no trail.
How was she going to convince him to go east? She didn’t want to lie, but she couldn’t very well tell him that the trees had told her to turn east.
Casrian might not be as heartless as she’d once believed him to be, but he wouldn’t overlook that.
Just look at how he’d reacted to the charms, and everyone used charms. If he even suspected she could talk to trees, he’d think she was casting spells.
And then the man who shared his blanket because her teeth were chattering would turn back into the cold asshole she remembered from Jarn.
He believed in his work.
He thought he was preventing the spread of evil.
Protecting the innocent.
She wasn’t evil. She was trying to protect people too. She shouldn’t have to hide like this.
Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her shins and tried to decide.
The fire died down to embers and she listened to the willows they’d camped beneath.
Their roots tangled in the wet soil. Their long, thin branches drifted in the wind.
She waited until there was enough light to see by, and then she touched Casrian’s shoulder to wake him.
His eyes opened immediately with an alertness she found enviable.
It always took her a good half hour before she even felt alive in the morning.
She stirred the fire and then went down to the river with a cake of soap while he boiled water for tea and got himself ready for the day.
She wanted to wash the smell of swamp off of her and even though she stared at the dark water for a long time after she stripped down, she eventually managed to work up her courage and wade into the water, praying the whole time there weren’t any serpents waiting for her.
The river smelled clean here, though it was cold.
She washed quickly, scrubbing the mud from her hair and dunking herself in the running water until the stench of the swamp left her skin.
She was shivering and covered in goosebumps by the time she hauled herself back to the bank and pulled on her clothes, but it was worth it to feel clean again.
When she returned to the camp, Casrian was waiting. His gaze slid down her body, gauging her readiness to travel.
He lifted his chin. “How’s the leg?”
“Good,” she said. “I washed it out again. I don’t even know if I’ll bother to wrap it back up.”
“You should. Wounds tend to go bad quickly within the sphere of a witch’s influence. Put some salve on it.”
As if she didn’t know her own business. She braided her wet hair while Casrian went about the camp, rolling the blankets up and packing their supplies.
When he turned to her with an expectant look, she raised her brows. “What?”
“Grab your knife. We’ll take a half hour to train before we head out. Have you eaten?”
“The bread’s gone.” So was the cheese he’d bought off Tilly. All they had left was the jerky and a couple of hard biscuits.
“Eat, even if you have to choke it down. You’re too skinny as it is.”
She huffed, insulted. “Who’s leaving bruises now?”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on. I’ll go easy on you since you’re feeling so fragile this morning.”
“I’m not fragile.” No one had ever called her fragile in her life.
He moved to an open space and took up a fighting stance, his legs spread, his arms open and loose at his sides. His hands were empty, but he still looked annoyingly confident in his ability to handle anything she threw at him. He grinned at her. “Show me how tough you are then.”
She tried. Dear God, did she try. Just one good hit was all she wanted. She didn’t want to hurt him. She just wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. She’d stitch him up again if he bled.
But she couldn’t even get close enough to snag his clothes, let alone make a cut.
He didn’t go easy on her as far as she could see.
He knocked her on her ass at least a half-dozen times, critiquing the way she fell of all things.
But she got up every time he backed away, and she thought once or twice she saw a gleam of approval in his eyes when she dodged a kick or blocked a hit.
After a time, he wrapped her up in his arms and held her while she struggled to break free. His hand was locked around her wrist where she held the knife. At least she was warm now. She panted, trying to catch her breath. His breath against her cheek was steady and even.
“What did you learn from this?”
“That every time I see you, I should turn around and run. I knew that already. I don’t know why I keep forgetting it. You’re trouble.”
His laugh vibrated through her back where it was pressed to his chest.
“You like trouble,” he said in a voice that had gone deep. “A girl from Toam. How could you not?”
Before she could answer that insult, he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck and let her go, dancing back away, leaving her breathless and glaring at the stupid smile on his face.
“Once you’re engaged in a fight, it’s harder to run,” he said.
“More likely that you’ll be caught, especially if you’ve drawn spectators, which you will if you’re anywhere out in public.
The lesson is you’re going to wear yourself out just chasing me around swinging that knife like that.
Unless you’re in a tight space, I’ll always get away from you.
If you can’t run, let your attacker come to you.
Make him do the work. Tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to break a hold. ”
She could still feel where he kissed her neck. It was warm and tingly, and she wanted to rub her hand over the spot. To seal it in or erase it, she wasn’t sure.
He straightened from his crouch and waved a hand at the horses. “You ready to go?”
She nodded and looked past him at the ridge in the distance. Drew a slow breath, and let it out.
“We need to turn east.”
He looked at her sharply. “Away from the river?”
She nodded.
“You said the fort is to the south, along the river.”
“Yes. I haven’t forgotten.”
He searched over her face. “Why east?”