15. Damned to Drida #2
A wellspring of relief bubbled up in his chest. He wound his good arm around Imalroc’s waist and leaned into the solid warmth of his body, tucking his head beneath the battleboxer’s chin. The hollow shell he wore around Umber caved in and whisked away, dust in the sunlight.
Imalroc made a soft, pained sound and crushed him closer. “You’re here.”
This was meant to be a quick conversation. He should not have risked climbing into the carriage, but now he couldn’t pull away. Rerdas burrowed further into Imalroc’s arms.
“Are you alright?” Rerdas asked. He touched Imalroc’s cold cheek, and the battleboxer turned to kiss his palm.
“Nevermind me, are you alright?” Imalroc leaned back to examine him. “Has a medic looked at this?” He glared down at Rerdas’s arm.
“I’m fine.” Rerdas smiled, trying to reassure him. “I’m my own medic.”
Imalroc arched an eyebrow. “Please tell me you didn’t splash purging tonic all over a wound.”
He laughed, and that too felt like something he’d forgotten. “That’s not the only thing I can cobble together.”
“Do you have something for the pain?” Imalroc turned somber. “I’ve heard there are teas they can make, and ice or arnica should help, but I don’t know where we get it.”
Rerdas snuggled close, just shy of outright climbing into Imalroc’s lap, resting his head on one broad shoulder. “I swear I’m fine. The pain’s not so bad, and truthfully, I’m a fool for saying that to you. I know you’ve endured far worse. This is nothing.”
Imalroc shook his head. “No, don’t pretend it’s—” He shifted suddenly, so they were face to face, his hands gripping Rerdas’s shoulders. “I don’t want you hurt at all.”
“It’s not so bad. I’d do it again if I had to.”
“No one—” Imalroc stopped, swallowed, and tried to continue, voice stripped raw. “I’ve never had someone… who would…” His throat worked, eyes shining.
Rerdas couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him. Imalroc’s hands tangled in his hair, his mouth soft and desperate and relentlessly driving every other thought out of Rerdas’s mind. There were countless reasons they should stop. None seemed pressing enough.
When they had to part, he matched Imalroc breath for trembling breath.
“When you kiss me, I forget there’s a world beyond you,” Rerdas murmured.
“I know what you mean.” Imalroc closed his eyes and brushed another kiss across his lips. “You’re like magic,” he whispered haltingly, every word a secret laid in Rerdas’s hands. “Never felt”—another lingering kiss—“like this.”
“I wish I could stay with you,” Rerdas said. He wanted sunrise to sunset and all through the night. Maybe more than that, but he didn’t know how he could ask for so much.
Imalroc’s eyes opened slowly, his expression clearing a little. Rerdas wished it wouldn’t.
“I thought… if you’re here, the duke is gone?”
“No,” Rerdas admitted. “He’s still escorting us.” He shrank back. Imalroc would hate this next part. “I have a plan to be rid of him, but you won’t like it.”
“I can’t dislike any idea that gets that man to leave you alone,” Imalroc growled.
“It occurred to me that if we go far enough from Kirinoll, he likely wouldn’t be able to continue with us. He’s on the queen’s business, and he’s already left the capital for longer than she’d like. But I needed to tell him something believable, some reason we can’t return with him.”
Imalroc waited. “And?” he prompted when Rerdas’s hesitation stretched.
“I told him we’re going to Drida, because we booked you a fight in Bren Kul Mari.”
“Ah.” Imalroc sat back. At least he didn’t look angry, and he didn’t vanish beneath his well-used, impassive mask. He looked exhausted. “Drida.”
“There’s no actual fight,” Rerdas rushed to say. “It’s only to get him to leave.”
Imalroc nodded, but Rerdas felt the unspoken question hanging over them like a freshly sharpened axe. If Umber didn’t reverse course, if he insisted on staying with them in Drida, it would be difficult to avoid booking something.
“He may split off from us today, and maybe we won’t even have to go that far.” Rerdas glanced through the window slit, back toward the waystation. He’d already spent too long in the carriage. “I’ll tell you and Etiana as soon as I know his plans.”
“You have to go back inside now?”
Miserably, Rerdas nodded. “I only meant to tell you the trick.” He attempted a smile, indicating the covered plate Imalroc had left on the bench. “And to give you a truly ridiculous amount of roast pheasant.”
“Will I see you later?”
“As soon as I can manage it.” Rerdas reluctantly climbed from the bench. Imalroc helped him down, and then he had to close the door and cut them off from each other. When he looked up at the narrow window, Imalroc was nowhere in sight.
“Rerdas, what are you doing out here?” Umber’s voice echoed across the courtyard, and his muscles seized with tension again.
He shuffled around slowly, painting on a smile. “Nothing of import, Your Grace. I needed to feed the battleboxer.”
Umber glanced suspiciously at the coach. “He shouldn’t be allowed in there. Especially not with your cousin. Come back inside.” His arm around Rerdas’s shoulders was tight as a trap, and he steered quickly enough that Rerdas stumbled.
With orders to make for the northeastern highways and fresh teams of horses, their coaches charged on. The silence in Umber’s coach was stifling.
Rerdas tried to draw the duke into conversation, but Umber answered in monosyllables, staring at the window without looking at him once. The duke was angry about something, and as much as Rerdas wanted him gone, the thought of Umber leaving in this kind of temper made him uneasy.
“Have I done something, Your Grace?” Rerdas made his voice soft and wistful. “You seem displeased.”
Umber drummed a finger against his mouth, still gazing doggedly out at the landscape as it whipped by. “I’m considering things.”
“I know you’d prefer I return to Kirinoll sooner, and Eternals know that I too wish I—”
“He’s not really broken, is he.” There was no question in his voice. The duke finally looked at him, but his expression was flat.
Cold washed down Rerdas’s spine. “What?”