Page 40 of Between Fear and Favor

“Uh, sure. Thank you,” I said, smiling back at him and moving out of the way so he could do as he wanted. While Turman was laying out my things, Dewalt walked past, not even looking at me. Sometimes I missed his suspicion. At least then he would have had a snarky comment for me, rather than cold indifference. Did he avoid speaking to me, or did it not even cross his mind? Did it eat him up inside like it did me?

I’d had to preserve some dignity, and I wouldn’t let myself apologize to him any more. The last time I’d said I was sorry, all he’d done was stare at me. I’d realized then that the apologies hadn’t been for him and had only been my own heart seeking peace. Though the queen had assured me I’d done nothing wrong, I knew the truth. If I’d been paying better attention, Dewalt wouldn’t have nearly died in my arms.

“There. Closest to the fire so you’ll be warm, my lady,” Turman said, smoothing a hand over his light hair. “I can try to find you an extra blanket too, if you want?—”

“No, no. This is enough. I wouldn’t want special treatment. This is perfect,” I said. “Thank you for your kindness, Turman.” When I smiled at the soldier, he blushed, which made me blush. But when he picked the spot nearest mine, my stomach cramped. Feeling the heat creeping up my face, I settled onto my bedroll and pulled my gloves off, aware of more than Turman’s gaze. When I surreptitiously peered over at Dewalt, I hadn’t expected to catch him staring. All he did was raise an eyebrow as he glanced pointedly at Turman. Ducking my head, I fiddled with my mother’s ring. I wasn’t sure if I was reading him properly, but Dewalt seemed to be asking a question to which he was the only answer. I had no intentions with Turman whatsoever, romantic or otherwise. Skies, I’d just met the man. I had no intentions with anyone. The only time I’d ever had any physical intimacy, it hadn’t served me well. I closed my eyes, drawn back to smooth lips caressing my own while clever fingertips touched forbidden parts of me, and my mouth went dry.

Shaking my head, I unlaced my boots, and willed myself to think of something else. Everyone finished their tasks, a few of the soldiers walking back in the direction we came from to relieve their bladders. I pretended it was impossible that someone might have done exactly that on the stone floor beneath me; I resolved to hold mine for as long as possible. Once everyone was settled, a soldier named Runin passed out hardtack, some sort of dried meat, and cheese. Arms crossed and mouth a straight line, Dewalt appeared grave from where he stood, watching as we rubbed our sore muscles and choked down our food. Well, I was the only one who struggled with it; the rest of the soldiers appeared used to it. As I chewed, my thoughts repeatedly strayed to Dewalt, and my eyes followed each time. I couldn’t help my worry. Though the siege had taken its toll on everyone, it was hard to see him without a smile on his face. He was known for them, even if he never spared any for me. There was a grim somberness to him that I didn’t recognize. Surely he was sad over the loss of his friend, the general he was replacing, but I wondered if there was more to it.

I watched him as he approached one of his soldiers, leaning down to speak to a man with a shock of blond hair peeking out from beneath his cap. To my surprise, the man lifted his chin to meet my gaze while Dewalt spoke. His large, icy blue eyes made him somehow appear both sleepy and something else—something almost wicked. He grinned at me, and his elongated incisors took me by surprise. Mine weren’t so exaggerated. His ears were pointed at the top, and unabashedly, I stared at them. Usually, the sharp tipped ears of those with elven-blood were dulled by inter-marriage with conduits or mortals—or in my case, a hot knife—but this man’s ears were intact and perfect in their severity.

Dewalt stood behind him, glaring, as his soldier approached me. He turned on a heel and disappeared before the blond-haired elven spoke.

“I’m Fletcher,” the man said, holding out a hand. “I’ve been told we have something in common.” When I grasped his hand, expecting an awkward handshake while I stayed seated, he tugged me to my feet instead with a strength I didn’t expect from someone smaller than me. “And I don’t mean our beauty.”

I couldn’t help my laugh as I stumbled into him.

“I’m Nor, but I think you know that already. You also hate horses?”

“Aye,” he said, laughing just a bit too loudly for our cramped quarters. “Given what I’ve been told, I think I’ll phrase my question a bit differently than I normally would. Whatdoyou know about our magick?”

“There. You’re all set,”Turman said, placing his hand on my shoulder after securing my things to my horse. I flinched at his touch. I didn’t like being touched without my permission, let alone where my scars were. Exhausted from becoming better acquainted with my magick the night before, spilling my blood to create complicated wards around us, I wasn’t attentive enough to stop him. “May I ask you something?”

I looked around, uncertain about what he’d want from me. Everyone was prepared to go, half the soldiers already on their steeds and ready to leave, while Dewalt did a sweep of where we’d camped for the night. He was very adamant that we left the place as we’d found it. I wasn’t sure how he’d planned to do that, considering there was now horse excrement on the ground. Fletcher waved at me, and I nodded in response. He’d been a good teacher but I wasn’t eager for another lesson. It was tiring, and I felt almost guilty using it.

“What can I help you with?” I asked Turman. Sometimes I wished I didn’t feel as if I had to always have a smile on my face, pretending to be pleased or polite or happy. Mostly, I just wanted to be left alone.

“Well, Miss Nor, I was wondering if perhaps you wouldn’t mind leading us in a prayer to Hanwen?” My skin iced over, and my body went still. My mouth twitched, but I was able to catch my smile before it fell. It was one thing to pray with the dying soldiers, holding their hands and speaking the soothing words of the final blessing while they slowly drifted into unconsciousness. Those prayers were memorized—rehearsed and second-nature. But to lead a prayer with these soldiers, I’d need to be specific. I would be expected to speak aloud and hide the fact I’d rather curl into a ball than speak to the God of Wrath. I’d barely prayed to Hanwen before, but I certainly couldn’t now. Not with so much pressure. Not with what had happened. My throat worked as Turman stared at me. He cocked his head at an angle and was about to speak before he was interrupted by a hand clasping his shoulder.

“Pray to him on your mount. It’s time to go,” Dewalt said. I wondered if he did it on purpose. Did he even realize he rescued me? When it came to the gods, I was of two minds; I hadn’t forsaken them, but neither could I pray to them as if nothing had changed. Dewalt’s gruff interjection had saved me from having to choose. Dewalt handed Turman a torch before reaching over to adjust the strap securing my belongings. After unfastening it and pulling it tighter, he gave the horse a gentle pat. “Do you need help up?” he asked, kneeling down to re-tie his boot. He wouldn’t look at me. It was so unlike him, I was stunned into silence.

He must have known why I froze, and letting me avoid eye contact was another kindness. It took me aback after so much indifference over the last few weeks. When he finally stood, towering over me despite my own height, he had an expectant look on his face, and I quickly realized he was waiting for an answer.

“No, no. I’m fine,” I muttered before sticking my foot in the stirrup and clumsily hoisting myself up onto the patient mare. Finally situated, I leaned forward, panting into the horse’s mane. I wondered when that would get any easier. Exhaling, I ignored Dewalt’s expression. Lips nearly non-existent, he was clearly smothering a laugh.

“You’re with me today,” he said, patting my horse’s rear to urge her forward.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

I couldn’t contain my grunt of frustration.

I watched as Dewalt threw his long body into his saddle, effortless and graceful. He reached into his pack, pulling out an apple, and I tried very hard not to think of him naked in the baths when he bit into it. I struggled to hold that image at bay until I noticed what he wore around his wrist. Twisted with black cord, it took a moment for me to realize the bracelet was made of his hair. The hair I’d cut when he insisted upon it—when he’d been bleeding out in front of me. I knew his hair was smooth, so it probably didn’t feel too awful, but the bracelet appeared frayed. I’d cut it so poorly—no two hairs were the same length.

He cleared his throat, and I jumped. He knew where my gaze had been based on his frown.

“I can braid that for you a little better, if you want,” I began. He gently snapped his horse’s reins, a clear indication of a finished conversation. I scowled. “That was rude, you know.” As my horse ambled along beside his, Dewalt didn’t bother looking over at me as I spoke. “You could’ve said ‘no, thank you,’ or ‘what a kind offer, but I’d rather not.’ Or?—”

“I don’t want you to touch it. I don’t want you to even look at it, Nor.” Carefully measured, Dewalt’s words were quiet and steady. But their meaning struck deadly. And still, I wanted to push the issue. Perhaps it was because I’d met him when he was covered head to toe in feces, but I’d never felt the need to shy away from conflict with him like I did other men. In Dewalt’s disdain, I’d always felt safe. It was when things shifted that everything went awry. So I pushed, painfully eager to stay in that muddied space where I was secure in his frustration, the honesty of it the only thing I could count on.

“And how do you propose to stop me? Will you gouge my eyes out?”

“So you can deafen your horse from all your wailing? I think not.” And before I could say anything else, he pushed his own mount forward in order to give my horse a piece of his apple. “I’m so sorry, Petunia. Perhaps she’ll be quieter once she’s tired.”

Chapter 21

LAVENIA

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