Page 80 of The Hurricane Wars

“Not just the animals.” But there was no real ire in Talasyn’s tone; she said it with the offhandedness of habit. She put away the navigational tools and gestured up ahead. “We were chased in the direction of the ruins, at least. There’s a stream nearby where we can have lunch and you can...” Her mischievous gaze flickered over him, mouth twitching with the beginnings of a fresh surge of laughter. “... wash off.”

“If an uncommonly large fish doesn’t murder me first,” he deadpanned.

She snorted, in a manner that was almost—companionable. Something that felt uncomfortably like hope stirred in his chest. Had she gotten past their most recent fights? If this was what it took for her to stop being angry with him, then perhaps being covered in mud wasn’t so terrible...

Minutes later they reached the stream, a clear ribbon of water that burbled down the mountain slope, bordered by moss-covered rocks. As Alaric gingerly perched on one of the rocks and kicked off his boots, Talasyn very deliberately turned her back to him and began unpacking rations with more meticulousness than such a task required.

Her sudden shyness was at odds with how they’d been trying to kill each other months ago. Still, he was grateful for the privacy and sought more of it by ducking behind a thick wall of tufted reeds growing at the edge of the waterline, where he stripped off his muddy garments.

The coolness of the stream was a refreshing balm after hours spent trekking in the sweltering heat. He scrubbed off every inch of grime, idly listening to the song of water over stone and all the unseen, possibly murderous animals chittering in the treetops. It wasn’t anything at all like baths back at the Kesathese Citadel or the Nenavarene Roof of Heaven, with the perfumed steam of heated water wafting from marble tubs, but he found it pleasant, nonetheless.

When Alaric emerged from the stream and rooted around his pack for a change of clothes, he eschewed the long-sleeved, high-collared tunics for just a fitted black undershirt and armguards. After a moment’s hesitation, he tossed the leather gauntlets back into his pack as well. The weather demanded it.

Talasyn had laid out the rice cakes and salted venison, and she was brewing ginger tea in a kettle powered by a Firewarren-infused aether heart. She looked up at his approach and blinked. Once, twice, her mouth parting slightly. Before he could wonder aloud at her strange behavior, she averted her gaze and pushed the woven bamboo plate full of food toward him without a word.

As they ate, sitting there on the grass, he frantically cast around for a suitable topic of conversation.

“Kaptan Rapat was remarkably unenthused to see me again,” he ventured.

“Can you blame him?” She popped a rice cake into her mouth. A whole one. “He was happy to seeme, though.”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” He had meant to be sarcastic, but for some reason the image of her golden features lit up with laughter rose to the forefront of his thoughts, and his remark ended on a note that was disturbingly sincere even to his own ears. He compensated by clearing his throat and adding wryly, “You are, after all, the paragon of virtue and good cheer.”

“We’re both well aware that you leave me in the dust where those two things are concerned,” she sniped, cheeks bulgingas though she were a chipmunk storing acorns for the winter in the forests back home. Then she swallowed, and he tried to recall if he’d seen her chew the rice cake at all. “I hope your legionnaire behaves himself while he’s their guest.”

Alaric grimaced. “I left strict orders, but Sevraim andbehavedon’t exactly belong in the same sentence.”

“I can imagine.” Talasyn plucked a strip of salted venison from their shared plate. “Bit bold, isn’t he? Chatty the other day, too—although he never said a word during negotiations.”

“While I have long since given up on instilling even an ounce of decorum in Sevraim, we are fortunate that he is sometimes aware of when to hold his peace,” said Alaric. “He is here strictly as my protection and is content enough to keep to that role, since politics bore him.”

“You had no trouble temporarily relieving him of his duties.” Talasyn bit into the venison, tearing it in half with a sharp yank of her teeth. “Do you really trust me that much?”

Alaric was so aghast watching her fall upon their rations like a starving animal that it took him a while to realize she’d asked a question. He shrugged. “I trust that you have enough common sense to not do anything foolish.”

Her words from the other afternoon came back to him.One day people will have had enough of you. And when they finally denounce you, I won’t think twice before joining them.She fidgeted, and he could tell that she was remembering, too.

“No, I won’t do anything foolish.” Talasyn looked so upset at having to make that promise that Alaric nearly laughed. “I say things when I’m mad, but I’ll try not to make this more difficult than it already is.”

He nodded. “As will I. This is most likely as far as we’ll ever get to having any faith in each other, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Agreed,” she said as she chewed.

“For what it’s worth,” he mumbled, “my behavior on theDeliverancewas unbecoming. I shall endeavor to make certain that it doesn’t happen again.”

There was a part of Alaric that couldn’t believe that he was apologizing to the Lightweaver. His father would have a fit if he found out.

But Gaheris wouldneverfind out. That was the thing. He was an ocean away. Alaric had never felt as far from his father as he did now, here in this wilderness. There was something strangely liberating in that.

Talasyn coughed, as though she’d choked on her food from sheer surprise. To wash it down, she took a generous swig of ginger tea, peering at him over the rim of the cup in something like contemplation.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “I shall also—endeavor—to do the same.”

And while the Hurricane Wars would always be felt between them, like two shards of a cracked pane of glass separated by the spidery white line of fracture, there at least seemed to be a mutual agreement to not talk about it anymore. At last. Instead, Alaric watched in amazement as Talasyn reached for another rice cake and shoved it into her mouth at the same time as the second half of the venison strip.

By the gods.He was unable to tear his gaze away. She ate like she fought. Relentless and without mercy.

It was only when she smacked her lips together, the pink fullness of them glistening from the ginger tea, that some instinct—some sense of self-preservation—made him decide to abruptly become very interested in the grass, the nearby stream, the moss on the rocks,anythingthat wasn’t her.

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