Page 81 of Between Fear and Favor

She chuckled, higher pitched than normal. “Yes, but not too hard. Even pressure feels good.” A pause. “I’m sorry. I-I’m a little nervous. Do you mind if I talk?”

“You never stop the rest of the time, so why would you now?” I teased, and she giggled as she pulled her hair over her covered shoulder. She softened her posture, and I was pleased to see my distraction had worked.

“The queen explained why it still hurts after all this time. She said we have something called nerves, like the roots of a tree, in our bodies.” I hummed in agreement, scooping a little more of the salve onto my fingers before gently stroking them over the thickest parts of her scarring. When she continued, speaking into my mind, I wasn’t sure she even meant to. “Well, she supposes mine got damaged when this happened, and my body was unable to heal them. That’s why some parts of my burns are numb. The nerves there are probably very damaged, and that’s why I can’t feel anything at all.”

I continued rubbing the area, allowing the salve to permeate her skin, until she winced. “Shit, sorry. Are you?—”

“No, no, it’s fine. Sometimes it hurts in a good way,” she assured me, and then her cool hand slid up, covering mine where it rested. “Thank you, Dewalt.” There was something about her speaking into my mind that bewitched me. It made me want to wrap her up in a vision, keeping these moments safe between us. I fought the urge to bend down and press a kiss to her hand, the top of her forehead—anything.

When she groaned—pain and pleasure wrapped into one sound—I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Would you prefer your entire shoulder to be numb?” I hoped it wasn’t overstepping to ask. My own scar ached, but I didn’t know if that was all in my head or not. I wasn’t sure I’d even notice if it went numb. She made a thoughtful noise as I finished rubbing the cream into the areas she’d indicated, and I was beginning to think she didn’t plan on answering me.

“Most of the time? No. It only really hurts like this when I do too much—but it’s easy enough for me to control that. My joint works as it should, and who is to say it still would if it were numb? Anyway,” she said, tilting her head, “I can feel what you’re doing to my muscles, and it’s divine. I wouldn’t trade it away.” Her chest began to flush, and I averted my eyes. “I’m sure I’d get used to it being numb, and there are certainly days I’d consider it. But I think I’d rather feel pain sometimes than nothing all the time.” She laughed, turning her bright smile toward me. “Ask me again after a particularly long day.”

I wasn’t sure I agreed with her—at least when it came to a different sort of pain. I’d gotten quite used to feeling numb. I forced those thoughts down as I corked the pot in my hands. That wound would start to ache eventually, or I’d somehow experience a worse one.

The notion scared the shit out of me.

“Well, next time won’t be so bad, will it? Because you’ll give me the pleasure of rubbing your body if it hurts. Right, Nor?” It felt wrong to force arrogance and charm after such nearness. That creature in my gut protested, remembering the soft cradle of her hands on my face, the quiet words of comfort she gave to anyone who asked, the tilt of her defiant chin and the wit of her sharp tongue. I ignored it, deciding to save myself before it went too deep. “Perhaps you’ll let me rub you somewhere it doesn’t hurt.”

She turned, rolling her eyes as she moved to sit on her knees. Grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward her, she played at being irritated, but there was a spark of recognition there. With dismay, I realized she saw right through me. When she wrapped her arms around my neck, my hands circled her waist of their own accord, and she gave me a quick peck on the lips. “You can be quite the scoundrel, you know that?” And when her mouth returned, moving slow and sweet against mine, my stomach clenched in something akin to agony.

Scoundrel.

That one word would be the fucking death of me.

It repeated in my mind over and over again, first Lucia saying it and then Nor, until I wanted to gouge my fucking ears. As the hood of my cloak was ripped from my head by the frigid wind, I hoped it would serve as a distraction to the endless thoughts racing through my mind. Nor couldn’t have known Lu had referred to me as a scoundrel. She couldn’t have known it meant something to me—and why did it anyway? Lucia was dead and gone. I’d do well to remember that and stop letting the woman affect my life.

It had stopped snowing, but fucking hell, the wind was biting. The wiser, more cautious, version of me wondered if it might have been safer to delay continuing our journey by a day, but I couldn’t be locked in that room with Nor any longer. And besides, Rainier was counting on me.

Despite her objections, I’d forced Nor into wearing an extra layer of my clothing, and when she glared up at me from beneath her cloak, she’d bit out a begrudging ‘thank you.’ Despite my horror over what she’d unknowingly said to me, I was eager to put those clothes on again because they’d smell like her. That hint of bergamot in her hair loved to linger. When we finally left, it was slow-going, but some progress was better than none.

At least, that was what I told myself.

Nearly half a day had passed when chatter erupted behind me, and I finally slowed and paid attention. I’d been avoiding looking back, needing some distance from Nor while I figured out what the fuck was going on in my head. After realizing what I was looking at, I stopped, turning my horse back through the snow. We’d just emerged from the edge of what one might consider a forest if they were feeling generous, and the wind had picked up considerably, making snow blow into my eyes.

“The fuck are you doing, Fletcher?”

“She offered!” my soldier yelled, and I stopped myself from sending him an impulse; he was injured, after all. When my gaze snapped to the woman in question, she turned away from me, slipping her foot into the stirrup and hauling herself up onto a horse.

“I got you a wagon!” I shouted, gesturing to the cart in question. Hardly big enough to be classified as a wagon, there was enough space for Turman to sit on the bench, guiding the horse, while Nor huddled in blankets in the back amongst our supplies. And yet, here she was, opting to subject herself to the elements.

“It’s boring!” she replied, and my mouth dropped open. “I can’t sleep in there—it’s making me sick. I’m just sitting there, bored out of my mind, thinking about how ridiculously cold it is!”

“Oh, because sitting atop a horse will lessen the wind!”

“Petunia misses me,” she argued, and I regretted keeping her horse. “I don’t want to have time to think about how?—”

“Get back in the wagon, Nor.”

“Fletcher’s arm is hurt because of me.”

“Leave me out of it!” my soldier interjected.

“Can we just go, already? I’m fine. Everything is fine. Instead of worrying about my fingers falling off, I’ll worry about falling off the horse instead. It serves a purpose.”

“I’m going to count to three, pigeon. One?—”

At that, Nor threw her head back laughing, hood falling off. The cloak revealed dark, glossy hair—unbound. It caught the wind, making her appear as some deity of old. Her eyes appeared a vibrant green while her skin glowed—pink at the apples of her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Her dark hair swirled against a background of sparkling snowflakes, and I committed the sight to memory. She was a gods damned vision. Dickey gasped beside me, and I understood completely.

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