Page 80 of Between Fear and Favor

He swam away, twisting and dipping low between two spires. He must have seen someone he knew or wanted to check into something he’d heard. I counted to ten, waiting for him to come back. It could have been my only chance to get across. Being able to compel a creature and use it as a distraction might have been safer but would’ve been far more difficult to do. Taking one more moment to check my surroundings, I positioned my feet on the large rock upon which I’d been kneeling, preparing myself to push off as hard as I could.

Just as I was about to launch forward, the rock moved beneath my feet. Twisting my body to look over my shoulder, I didn’t have a chance to scream as a giant turtle stretched its neck out and bit down on my foot.

Chapter 39

DEWALT

Until I heldNor in my arms, I hadn’t known the line of wanting could blur so dangerously close to need. I’d grown adept at wanting—to forget, to die…to dream. I’d managed to deprive myself of all of it for a long time, tethered to a memory and my duty to my friends. But, since the moment Nor had walked through a fire and seared herself into my mind, I’d begun to dream.

There were many featuring her like this—calm and content, hand splayed on my chest while her little dozy breaths heated my skin. There were others which involved her in decidedly less clothing while her body melded its heat with mine, and even more of her red-faced and raging at me before I silenced her with a kiss.

With a stark clarity, I realized I’d never hungered for anything quite like this. That each thing I’d yearned for in the past had never been attainable, but this time it was different. I was struggling to temper that vicious desire which now sat yowling in my stomach. Like a cornered animal, I wanted to wrap myself around her, teeth bared and claws out, protecting us from any threats. The insistent ache only grew harsher the more I tempted it. At some point, I would grow weak and weary and let it take over. Greed would force my hands to move, sliding soft over the lithe body that fit so comfortably against me. Deprivation would bare my soul to her, and I didn’t think I could withstand it.

Part of me wondered if I only felt this way because Lucia had planted a seed, and I had been desperately clinging to the idea there might have been one truth between us, after all. But did it matter if the place she’d planted it was barren? I wasn’t sure my heart could foster something so delicate.

As I laid in the rickety bed, staring up at a water spot on the ceiling as the sunrise lightened the room, treacherous thoughts came loose from where I’d shoved them at the back of my mind.

Angry as I was at Lu, I’d been a wreck for so long after her. If she gave me this gift, this opportunity with Nor, how could I refuse it? And at the same time, how could I accept?

I gently pulled Nor closer to me, running my fingers through her sleek hair, knowing this had to be it. If I memorized each detail of her, it could be enough. A selfish part of me wanted to tell her everything; perhaps I could share the burden of those words Lucia had whispered to me on the hazy edge of death.

But we were both better off if I kept it to myself. That way, she would never be faced with a choice that was never entirely her own, and I’d never be forced to decide if the fear of losing her was worse than never having her at all.

Nor stretched, bare toes rubbing against my pant leg, and yawned. Thank the gods I’d kept my fucking trousers on. She spread her fingers, palm covering the scar on my chest.

“Morning,” she said, scooting her body closer to mine. I’d been awake for hours, worried she’d forget how we fell asleep. That she’d pull away from me—abrupt and startled. Truthfully, I’d been counting on it.

She sat up, stretching her arms toward the sky, like some storybook depiction of a waking princess. Instead of looking at her rosy cheeks, one brighter than the other where it had been pressed against my chest, I sat up, reaching for my shirt. I dragged my fingertips over the bracelet on my wrist, reminding myself how badly I’d failed in the past.

“Good morning, pigeon,” I grunted, back turned to her as I buttoned my shirt. Standing, I reached for my pack, trying to organize my messy thoughts and feelings before she could analyze them. Wanting to spare myself from her astute observations, I did what a coward would do, and made an excuse to run. “McCullough said he’d have an answer for me this morning about the wagon, so I wanted to go find out before—what’s wrong?”

She’d made the tiniest grunt of discomfort, and despite myself, I whipped around to face her. Her strained expression was impossible to ignore, and as she rubbed her shoulder, I debated how to react. I’d never treated her differently because of her scars, and truly, she seemed to manage just fine. To me, they were a symbol of her resilience, but I knew other people sometimes deserved a swift kick in the ass when it came to how they treated her. I didn’t want her thinking I was one of them.

She smiled through a wince. “Nothing I haven’t felt before.”

I frowned. Emma had tried to heal her, I knew that, but the wounds had been too old. She’d said the only way to fix it would be to injure Nor further, and there was a risk it would be for nothing. Though I had no say in it, I had been glad to know Nor declined the offer. But I still didn’t like her being in pain. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Actually, yes,” Nor said, reaching with her other arm toward me. “I have a salve in my things. The queen made it for me, and it helps sometimes.” Nor had packed little, so it didn’t take me long to find the small glass jar. As I handed it over, her face flushed, and she looked down at my hands as she spoke. “Can you please pull the cork? Normally I’m capable,” she hurried to explain, “but when it’s bad, I?—”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation, songbird. I know what you’re capable of.” When I pulled the cork, some of the cream made its way onto my fingertips. It was a little grainy and smelled strongly of ginger when I held it up to my nose. I remembered my grandmother using the root to combat all sorts of ailments—from nausea to my father’s joint pain—and I smiled as I held up my salve-covered fingers. “My grandmother thought ginger could cure everything.”

“It certainly helps me,” Nor said, chuckling as she looked between the jar and my fingers. “Can you wipe them on the rim? I don’t want to waste any.”

I was about to do as she asked, but, fool as I was, I gestured to her shoulder instead. “Can I?”

Her eyes bulged the slightest amount, and I swore she breathed a little harder. “Itishard for me to reach my shoulder blade.” A flurry of emotions raced over her face, so fast I couldn’t pick any out in particular, and she nodded. Before I could react, she slipped her arm out of her sleeve and through the neck hole of her chemise. I withheld my snort of laughter threatening to escape.

“Do you want to use one of my shirts? Button it up past your chest? That doesn’t look very comfortable.”

Don’t look at her chest. Do. Not.

Cheeks aflame, her brows furrowed as she glared at me. “This is perfectly fine. I thought you wanted to help me?”

Pushing my smile down, secretly admiring her steadfast desire for modesty, I rounded her side of the bed. “How much do I use?”

“A little goes a long way. Put it on the places—” She cleared her throat. “—where the skin looks thickest. That’s where it hurts.”

I nodded, scooping a little more of the salve onto my fingers before hovering them over her flesh. Studying her, I could tell where she meant. “Should I massage it into your skin? I don’t want to hurt you.”

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