22. Zari #2
Yansin seemed deep in thought. A cigarette hung between his lips, but as soon as he noticed Zari in the doorway, he squashed it in a nearby ashtray.
Garrick had started smoking cigars the last time Zari had seen him, and she’d chided him too, though he’d just laughed at her and told her that as an officer’s wife, she’d have to get used to the smell.
“I brought you a coat,” she said, feeling suddenly awkward as she stood there, dressed in too-large clothes, with her hair a messy tangle. “Since I ruined yours.”
“I didn’t notice any signs of ruin, but thank you for the replacement, all the same.”
“I can’t sleep up there,” Zari admitted. “It feels haunted, too full of the past.”
Yansin patted the floor by his side. “Stay here, and I will do my best to keep the ghosts away.”
She sat, close enough that she was aware of his every breath.
He seemed just as tired as she felt. Shyly, she extended her arm to wrap them both in the blanket.
Eyes widening, he slipped his arm around her waist, tucking her closer.
A calmness enveloped her, a mixture of the lingering smoke, the earthy scent of the lanolin, and a note of pine that must be whatever soap Yansin had used.
“You’re upset,” Yansin said, softly. “What’s wrong?”
“You mean apart from being on the run and far from home?” Zari tried for a lightness she didn’t feel. “Nothing. I suppose just… thinking of someone I lost. ”
“Lord Lockwood’s son?”
She nodded. “Blood Ember killed him. We were intended to be married, once the war was over, but—” But , those thoughts which had circled her upstairs, now crystalized as she stood in front of Yansin, who was sweet, and gentle, and so many things Garrick had never been.
As a man, Garrick Lockwood had been decent.
Fine. Someone who would have been an acceptable husband, according to society.
It didn’t matter that he’d never made her heart flutter, nor expressed interest in her hobbies and thoughts.
Those were not traits needed for a happy marriage, she’d been told by her governess.
Zari sighed. “I am sad he is gone, but I… I am not sure I grieve him as deeply as I should.”
“Intended to be married,” Yansin echoed. “Is that how aristocrats say it was arranged?”
She gave a little laugh. “Yes. I suppose so. Our fathers thought we’d make a good match.”
“And you?” Yansin looked at her. “What did you think? Did you love him?”
“I… I am not sure.” Zari ran a hand over Garrick’s coat, thinking of how little it meant to her, and how Yansin’s jacket made her feel safe, like a magic talisman.
“If it was love,” Yansin said slowly, “you would know.”
The sword rested between them, the metal hilt reflecting the candles’ light. It was enough to remind her of the dangers they faced. Shyly, she asked, “while we travel do you think you could teach me a bit about wielding a sword?”
“A sword isn’t a toy. Especially not a fae-forged blade.”
“I’m aware,” Zari replied. “I have treated the wounds of those nearly dead from one.”
“I did not mean to underestimate you.” His gaze lingered on her, as a soft smile pulled at his lips. “Only to do my best to keep you safe.”
“You do not have to be so kind to me,” she murmured, her face heating.
At first, she’d known that he fancied her, when he’d asked her out to the ice cream parlor.
She still cherished the memory of that night.
The next morning, he’d come back changed, with that shadow in his eyes—and she was different too, with the false Oathborn mark on her wrist. When they’d parted back in the capital, Zari had no idea where she stood with Yansin, or what he truly thought of her.
Now she worried if she was no more than a burden for him.
“I am fully capable of taking care of myself. I have no need of your pity.”
“Zari.” Yansin leaned forward, cupping her face gently with his hands. His eyes locked onto hers. She felt herself drowning in their depths, her breath catching as if she’d plunged into chilly water. His lips parted in the most tempting way.
Still, he gazed at her, taking in all of her, every second, every breath, his eyes so wide, as if she was a work of art, a painting on display at a museum.
Paintings couldn’t be touched. They were kept behind glass, locked up safe and sound. At the moment, nothing in Zari wanted to be safe. Not with him.
Adrenaline raced through her veins from the events of the day, and her skin burned for his touch. She wanted those perfect lips to kiss her, taste her, drink her in. She didn’t want to be on display. She wanted to be worshipped.
The desire in his eyes suggested he was quite willing to offer that devotion, if she just asked. She couldn’t though. Not tonight, when there were still so many secrets between them. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and meant something quite different this time.
With a shuddering exhale, Yansin pulled back, away from her. “I promise you it is not pity I feel for you. Rather, my struggle is to remain a gentleman , given our current circumstances.”
In other words, they were alone and unchaperoned. Everything she’d been cautioned to avoid, everything that her governess had told her would lead to ruin, everything no proper lady would allow herself to be with a man.
When they’d warned her of ruin, they hadn’t mentioned the electric tingle of nerves that raced down her skin at his touch.
A desire grew within her, a hunger to know more of him, to learn the contours of his body, to feel the firm muscle hidden beneath his clothes.
What would it be like to have every inch of him exposed, to kiss and touch all she wanted ?
“Yansin, may I…” then, she trailed off, her cheeks burning. She didn’t even know what she wanted permission to do, only that her entire body seemed to burn when he looked at her like that. Her hand hovered, halfway between them.
He caught it, his calloused palm against hers.
Their fingers interlocked once more. “You may do anything you wish, Zari, and I must remain a gentleman in return. At least,” he said.
For the first time, as he smiled, she saw the flash of sharp teeth in his grin.
Not quite fae fangs, but not quite human, either. “At least, for now.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means that, if circumstances were different, I would offer you as many pleasures as there are stars in the sky. For now, though, in this time and place, I will not be so bold.”
As much as his words had made her shiver, he had a point. Whatever this was between them would surely not end well, not when their paths were destined to split. And yet… she whispered, “Another… another kiss. Please.”
What she didn’t say, what she wanted to tell him, was to kiss her somewhere else.
Anywhere else. Her cheeks. Her lips. Lower, even, like in a scandalous painting she’d seen in a museum once.
On the neck, the shoulder, anywhere left revealed by clothing…
or even in places it covered. How easy it would be to guide his agile hands to the zipper of her dress.
“Here?” He gently brushed his thumb over her trembling lip.
Her heart thudded harder, her blood racing through her veins, that electric tension once more zinging in every nerve. “Yes…”
“As you wish.”
Yansin leaned closer as her eyelids fluttered closed.
The kiss was brief, barely long enough to register, and yet, still stole her breath.
By the time she opened her eyes, he was back to sitting next to her, and though the blanket was still wrapped around their shoulders, he was, regretfully, a respectable distance apart from her.
“Now,” he said, still smiling, “to keep us safe, proper, and utterly respectful, shall I tell a bedtime story? How about the farm boy and the big red fox? ”
“You cannot be serious.” One moment, they’d been near to scandal, and now, he was offering her a children’s tale about the importance of chores?
“Oh, I am dreadfully serious indeed,” he replied, though his dimple showed as he fought a grin. “For if I do not tell it, how shall I remember to wash the dishes before we leave in the morning?”
She laughed. “I’m more impressed that you can wash dishes.”
“I can do many wonderful things,” he pulled her closer to him, his arm around her shoulder. “Least of which is telling a decent bedtime story.”
“I will admit I wasn’t expecting the change of direction.” Her face still burned so she hid it against his shoulder. “Especially given how enjoyable…”
“How enjoyable our prior course of action was becoming?” Yansin rested his chin on her head. A sense of safety washed over her, a security she’d not felt since she began the journey north.
It was followed by the slightest bit of guilt, that she’d not spared a thought for the safety of Hazelle and the others since she’d escaped from Javen.
Surely the fae were fine, well on their way to the rendezvous point at Lochna.
All of them seemed capable, and Daeden was an Oathborn warrior. If anyone could…
Zari shuddered, suddenly aware of the strangeness of her thoughts.
If anyone could survive an attack by Javen and the other soldiers, it would be an Oathborn.
Except… Oathborn were the enemy, and the Rhydonian soldiers the heroes, in every story, in every newspaper article, in everything Zari had ever known.
Until now.
“On second thought,” she said, her voice unsteady, “a bedtime story does sound appealing, after all. A peaceful one, with no war or battles.”
Nodding, Yansin launched into the story, telling it with amusing hand motions, dramatic pauses, and different voices for each character.
When he finished, she was smiling, her fears faded.
“Did your father tell stories, too?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t mind hearing one. Surely, there must be some common ground between the fae and humans, at least in the tales we tell children. ”
“A noble hope,” Yansin replied. “Perhaps the stories will disappoint you, for fae are fond of battles.”
“Were any battles ever fought against evil creatures?” she asked, thinking of bedtime stories of ancient wars against cruel kings or vicious beasts.
“There are tales told of those chosen by the goddesses to carry their blessed sword against the legions of evil. My father’s favorite stories were of Artemisia, a fae selected by the goddesses to draw the Crescent Blade, though she was a mere outpost guard.
But,” he sighed, “the fae’s current Queen is her direct descendent, so I fear that tale will not bring you the peace you hope for. ”
Zari’s eyes widened. “I’d like to hear more about the Queen.”
Yansin drew his knees to his chest, suddenly seeming fragile, as if all his quiet strength had fled. “I will tell you what little I know of Queen Cassendelle, tomorrow. Stories too grounded in what we fear will not serve us well before sleep.”
Instead, he started to hum a lullaby. His gentle voice glided over the tune, as soft as silk sheets. “ Sleep, sleep, for dawn is soon. Tomorrow, tomorrow, shine as brightly as the moon.”
The unfamiliar tune carried a magic in its rhymes, soothing her racing heart. Like a lifeline to a desperate sailor, the music pulled Zari from her fearful thoughts and into sleep.