Page 42 of Deadly Maiden

“Nor should you.”

I raise my hands. “I am sorry. I will remember this preference.”

Even that seems to stir an almost growl. She is touchy about her parents. I don’t quite understand why. With the moonrisen and my night vision I can see every subtle change in her expression. I doubt she can do the same.

“Shall we trade questions?”

She shivers and rubs her arms. “Yes. Let’s. I will go first as I feel mine outnumber yours.”

“Sure.”

A new question occurs to me. How do we sleep? The bedrolls were left on the road since they were still tied to the saddles.

“I was going to ask if I could trust you, but that seems a useless question now. You have defended me…us and risked injury, or I guess you did? You’re better at fighting than I am. And at killing.” Her mouth parts then she nibbles at her bottom lip. “Thank you.”

A tiny central frown line forms when she’s anxious. The crease is the only blemish in the perfect heart shape of her lower face. Sometimes a sadness flits across her face then is gone. I yearn to smooth that crease with my thumb, lean over and?—

“You are welcome.” She’s rubbing her arms again. “Would you like to sit closer, share my log? It would be warmer.”

“I suppose.” She shifts across, settles herself then glances at me. “I meant that thanks.” Then she dares to place her palm on my thigh.

It is electrifying.

Though light in weight, her offending hand consumes me. I strive to appear calm, but when she removes it, the sensation remains, a ghost of the desire she stirred.

“And your first question is?” If only we could start a fire. It would give me a distraction so I would not be quite so aware of her body. Of her scent. Her thigh bumps into mine.

I reach down for the blanket and stretch it over both our laps.

“Why are you helping me, Rorsyd? What’s in it for you?”

“That’s two questions. Or is it?” I contemplate this. “One question begets the other, and for most people gettingsomething in return is a primary reason for doing something. Especially if it entails risk.”

She says nothing, allowing me to muse on this.

Should I be truthful? Of course I should. Lying would lead to a mess.

“You’re aware that I’ve watched you since you were a babe.”

“Yes, and that you did not hurt me then, or at any time since.”

In the shrubs several yards away, something runs through, rustling the leaves. A lizard, perhaps. Or a fox. Clouds drift over the moon. It gazes upon me, as if ready to condemn any falsehoods.

Very well. I will say no lies, but I will not tell her everything. Yet.

“I knew your parents were necromancers and that they were slain at the Battle of Orish.”

Expressionless, she merely waits. She knows this.

“And I will confess it gave me a hatred for necromancers.” At that she makes a small noise. I cannot tell if it’s an angry one. “So, here is the truth, and remember my vow was made a long time ago.” By normal reckoning. “I vowed to watch over you and to kill you, if you turned evil. There. I am pleased to say you’ve done nothing wrong. And I don’t hate you. I like you.”

I like you.Saying that feels explosive. I do not simply like her.

I try to soften my confessions with a smile, though it is a weak one.

She blinks about ten times, and I’m on edge here, an unusual feeling. She might tell me to keep away from her, might march out of here. Not that I wouldn’t follow but I prefer this—her inches away, near enough that I can hear her breathing, see the rise of her chest, the hair wisping over her ears, and the shine in her eyes.

“You were going to kill me. Yikes. But you never did, so that’s good?” Her voice squeaks. “And you’re helping me because…if I’m arrested you can’t watch me?”

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