24. On Love
On Love
Mariana
Hot cider for the lady,” Faren said, sliding a mug across our table toward my clasped hands. His knees knocked mine as he folded himself onto the corner bench, sitting perpendicular to me. “Stew’s on its way.”
I blew on the surface of my cider, then took a slurping sip. It was just shy of scalding and overly sweet—exactly what I needed. “Can’t recall the last time I was referred to as a lady.”
Faren smiled over the lip of his own tankard.
I’d found us a table in a dimly lit corner of the Lark, Brine’s inn and pub.
We were here mostly on Mayor Penning’s insisting; the innkeeper, Fiona, had already set rooms aside for us.
Our plan: eat an early supper, get some rest, then rise before dawn to catch the Morta as it emerged from wherever it hid within the Western Wood—and intercept it before it could do more damage.
What I couldn’t decide was what I’d do when we caught up to the monster: kill it or heal it.
Administering the potion would further Heris’s plot and my path to freedom; it was also simply more humane to cure the cursed thing.
But Faren was already privy to the potion. If he caught me using it…what then?
Two weeks ago, I would’ve been certain that he’d betray my secret dealings to the Lord.
Even now, his Oath could still force him to divulge everything he’d seen once he returned to Fenrir City.
Yet after all we’d been through, I had the growing suspicion that our experiences had shaken Faren’s worldview. Altered his thinking.
Now, I wasn’t sure what Faren would do.
“Something on your mind?” he asked.
Above the table, he appeared a confident knight: head tipped inquisitively, hair flopping over his forehead, a hand curled loosely around his tankard. But underneath, his knee bounced, jostling the bench we shared, his nervousness traveling up into my own tense joints.
Before this mission, I couldn’t’ve cared less about Faren’s misplaced loyalty, but now…now, I wanted him to know the truth. He deserved to know the truth.
If I told him, would he believe me?
Would he help me?
“Mariana?” Faren prompted.
“Hmm?”
“What’s on your mind?”
I swallowed thickly. Sipped my cider. Wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist. All the while, Faren watched—he was always watching, and his attention made me squirm. “You’re nervous,” I deflected, placing my palm on his knee. “Why?”
His leg stilled.
I had meant the touch to be brief, but now my hand felt heavy.
Through the fabric of his pants, the muscle of his thigh was firm and strong.
I thought back to this afternoon when the crowd had mobbed Faren.
Women had raked their fingers down this same thigh.
Grabbed at him, desperate and demanding.
The sight of it had made my own touch magic writhe—a protective, covetous creature.
I removed my hand and clenched my fist in my lap. Faren watched my fingers curl, a strange look on his face. His throat worked. His lips pressed into a crooked sort of grimace. Then he ran his palms over the tops of his legs, as if to clear away my touch.
“I wouldn’t say I’m nervous,” Faren said at last. “Unmoored might be more accurate.”
“Oh?” I forced my face into a neutral expression. “How so?”
He shrugged his big shoulders. Smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I would, actually, I thought—but then Fiona appeared with our stews and half a loaf of sourdough to share.
We tucked into our suppers, tearing bread and relishing in the rich broth.
Potatoes, carrots, mutton—it was just what my weary bones needed.
I only hoped the bread would soak up the confusion churning in my stomach.
Beyond our table, the pub was crowded with regulars and—it seemed—townsfolk who wanted to glimpse the Mighty Knight.
Unlike this afternoon in the square, however, they respected our space.
Their stares were curious, their smiles kind, but aside from a few nods and waves, no one interrupted our meal.
“So,” Faren stated, mid-chew. “I have yet to tease you properly about your family.”
“And here I thought you were being considerate—honorable, even—by butting out.”
Faren leaned close, his shoulder brushing mine. “You’d be surprised by how dishonorable I can be.”
My magic sparked, and I scooted away from his touch—not out of displeasure, but self-consciousness. “What is there to tease about?” I asked. “Having a loving family isn’t embarrassing.”
“Of course not,” Faren said quickly. “Yet you still seemed embarrassed. I have to assume it’s because your mother took a liking to me.”
My mouth dropped open. “How dare you.”
“Your mother took a liking to me,” he repeated, pointing his soup spoon at me, “and that made you think differently of me.”
I like him, my mother had whispered in my ear as I bid her farewell this morning. He’s good for you.
I’d scoffed at her.
I scoffed, now.
“Admit it,” Faren said. “Admit that you were momentarily endeared to a Mighty Knight.”
“Never.”
“Then tell me this,” Faren went on, eyebrows waggling. “Was I the first man you brought home to your mother?”
“I did not bring you home,” I argued. “We were there for Orna and Pete.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” The pub was dim, and the light of the sconces ignited the amber in his irises. His voice dropped to a murmur, forcing me to lean in, even though we already sat too close. “Did you ever bring Grinnick home?”
Normally, the mere thought of Grinnick was a spear to the chest—but Faren’s question made me laugh. “Fates, no,” I said. “He was not the sort of man you bring home to your mother.”
Pushing away his empty bowl, Faren relaxed into his seat and rested his arm along the back of the bench—not around me, but behind me. The new position allowed him to face me more intently, pinning me with his fire-lit eyes. “Tell me about him.”
I sopped up the remains of my stew with a scrap of sourdough and surveyed the busy pub as I chewed. Faren waited as if he had all night.
“Grinnick was brash,” I said finally. “Maddeningly cocksure, but he came by it honestly. Most men in the Valiant are either smart or great fighters, but Grinnick was both. It’s what got him—” I broke off, shook my head, met Faren’s eyes again—and felt steadied.
“Grinnick chafed at the hierarchy from the very beginning.”
I washed down the last of my supper with a gulp of cider, then traced the handle of my mug. Faren watched, patient.
“I had been in the Valiant for so long by the time he was sentenced. I was a good soldier. Compliant and skilled at my charge. Focused on the narrow tunnel that had become my life. Then Grinnick came along and offered me all these things I’d never experienced before: respect, admiration, humor, passion.
He reminded me that there was more to life than just survival.
” A small smile lifted the corner of my mouth, wry.
“But he was also a criminal. A former street urchin. Far too charming for his own good.” I raised a brow at Faren. “So, no. I did not bring him home.”
“You loved him,” Faren said.
“I was nineteen.”
We were sitting so close. Though we didn’t touch, with Faren’s arm draped over the back of my seat, I felt like I was tucked against his chest. Not trapped but sheltered.
“Do you still love him?” Faren asked.
“A part of me will always love him,” I said, “but it’s been many years. He’s an old scar, not a fresh wound.”
Faren took a sip of his ale and licked the foam from his upper lip.
As he set the tankard back down, his thumb smeared the condensation on the glass, and I could feel the phantom wetness in my own fingertips.
“Do you think you’ll ever love again?” He said it so casually, as if he were asking me if I wanted another round—but I could feel the earnestness underneath the question. His genuine interest.
I swept my attention across the pub again: flickering sconces, raucous chatter, Fiona delivering steaming bowls to crowded tables. The place was a riot, yet when I met Faren’s gaze again, the hubbub seemed diminished.
The truth was: I didn’t want to love again. The risk was too high, the inevitable loss too painful. But what I said was: “I’m a conniving, soulless criminal, remember? I am incapable of love.”
Faren laughed, which was my intended response.
“Besides, the Valiant has a way of stripping life to its essentials,” I added.
“You mean to tell me that love is non-essential?” He tisked. “I don’t buy that. You love plenty of things. I’ve seen it myself.”
“Oh? And what have you seen?”
Faren’s arm—the one resting behind me—had shifted slightly. In my periphery, I saw his fingers toying with a strand of my hair. The contact seemed thoughtless, idle, but I couldn’t help but think that there was no such thing as accidental contact among touch magicians.
Even so, I pretended not to notice.
“For starters, you love your horse,” Faren began. “Your family, obviously. You love solitude. Wide open spaces. Dry socks. Breakfast pastries. The sun on your face.”
The backs of my eyes burned. I knew he’d been cataloguing my every move for the mission, but he’d truly gathered all that?
“You also love dressing me down,” Faren added.
My gaze dipped to the loose laces of his shirt, the traces of light brown chest hair. I had the sudden recollection of straddling his bare chest, waking him up with a threat—that hot, wide torso between my thighs.
“With insults, I mean,” he added, flushing.
“Right. I do love a verbal evisceration.” Desperate to move on from the innuendo, I asked, “What about you? Ever brought a woman home?”
“To my overprotective and scheming sisters and mother?” A snort. “My paramour would be better off facing a pack of wolves.”
“I can’t imagine you falling for someone who wasn’t formidable enough to face your family.”
“Who do you imagine me falling for?”
The covetous creature inside me was back, clawing at my chest, trying to tear its way out. I wondered how I might kill it.
“I’m imagining a maiden in pink,” I said. “That’s what every storybook hero wants, right?”
“Kieran might desire a damsel.” His voice was a low scrape as he held my gaze. “But I do not.”
My clothing felt suddenly too constricting. My face flamed. I chugged the rest of my cider, wincing at its overwhelming sweetness.
“The topic is moot, though,” Faren went on. “I have no plans of falling in love.”
“You told me in Yar that you’re a romantic.”
“Oh, I am,” he replied. “The problem is, when I love something, I love it all the way. There’s no room for that in Mighty Knighthood.”
“There’s no room for that in Valiant Knighthood,” I argued. “There are plenty of Mighty Knights with paramours, families.”
He looked out at the pub, showing me his face in profile. Still, he continued to fiddle with my hair. “It’s hard enough putting the realm before my family,” he said. “I think if I ever fell in love for real…it would destroy my ability to do my duty. It would be ruinous.”
What a privilege it would be, I thought, rather unbidden, to ruin someone like him.
Faren huffed a laugh. Finished his ale. “Look at us, getting along,” he said, removing his arm from the back of the bench. “We must be more road-weary than we realized.”
“I blame the cider,” I said.
Faren tipped his head toward the bar. “Want another?”