Page 21 of Tusk Love

Guinevere’s mouth rounded in shock. After a beat, she lifted her chin, an uncharacteristically steely glint in her eyes. “Ihaveto go to my parents. Alone, if I must.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “Those people were mercenaries. If they pick up your trail again, you won’t stand a chance.”

“It’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

He swore, and she flinched but stood her ground, a stubborn set to her jaw. They regarded each other warily, from opposite sides of an impasse. Oskar felt a migraine coming on, although that might have been an aftereffect of Bharash’s ringing punches to his skull.

It was a troublesome mess he’d gotten tangled up in, and no mistake. He’d lost both swords, and his body ached everywhere from the dragonblood’s blows, even parts he hadn’t known he possessed. The sensible thing to do would be to wash his hands of the whole affair—but he couldn’t very well take his leave of the bullheaded, naïve miss. People helped one another, be it in the Dustbellows or on the Rime Plains or in these woodlands. His mother had taught him that. It would be an insult to her memory to let Guinevere fend for herself.

Grumbling under his breath, he stomped over to Pudding and retrieved a map from one of the packs, consulting it in the dim light. “If we can find the Bromkiln Byway, it will take us straight to Berleben, which is the nearest settlement. But that will have to wait until tomorrow morning. Right now, we need to set up a defensive perimeter and get some rest.”

“A defensive perimeter?” Guinevere echoed, sounding lost.

Oskar shot her a wry glance. “This is the Labenda Swamp. You can’t go ten feet without something trying to kill you.”

He was half hoping that she’d lose her nerve, that she’d cry off andagree to let him take her back to Rexxentrum, now that he’d laid out for her how dangerous Wildemount was beyond the safety of city gates. But Guinevere had been surprising him ever since they met. She paled only slightly, then nodded.

A trooper,he thought again. A trooper who was going to ruin his life, if she didn’t somehow cause the end of it.

Chapter Fourteen

Guinevere

The Labenda Swamp was humid even in the grip of a Fessuran night, but Guinevere wasn’t sure if it was the swamp, per se, or what had almost happened earlier that was sending spirals of heat through her veins, keeping her awake.

Oskar’s idea of establishing a defensive perimeter had mainly involved setting up their bedrolls on the highest and least wet piece of ground they could find—a small, mossy hill—and stationing Vindicator at the base of it. They hadn’t lit a fire because it would only serve as a beacon to all sorts of unsavory characters, the mercenaries included. Supper had been cured meat and wedges of hard cheese, and then Oskar had told her to get some sleep becauseshewas going to take second watch.

Guinevere didn’t have the slightest notion what one did on any order of watch, but she’d gamely agreed. She was determined to pull her own weight.

However, sleep was turning out to be impossible.

It kept looping through her mind—not the attack on the Amber Road, but Oskar nearly kissing her afterward.

Hehadbeen about to kiss her, hadn’t he? Guinevere was no stranger to the act. She’d kissed people before—girls in her dance classes, boys at Shimmer Ward parties. She knew what it meant when someone’s eyes darkened, when their breathing quickened, when they leaned in.

But no one had ever looked as good in that state as Oskar. And she had never before wanted it to happenthisbadly.

How would that even work? Wouldn’t those sharp tusks of his cut her?

Why was she so eager to find out?

She was fidgeting, flushed and uncomfortable in her own skin. But now that she had all the time in the world to reflect on the day’s events, they caught up with her, and soon her dark little desires had given way to something infinitely more terrible, and then itwasthe attack on the Amber Road that was looping through her mind. All the fear of that afternoon’s ambush—the terror that the adrenaline had held at bay—came rushing over her now, with all the force of a breaking dam.

Those mercenaries had popped out of nowhere. One of them had drawn a cutlass on Oskar; another had blown ice at him and walloped him. All while Guinevere had stood uselessly by.

What happened?she asked herself.Why couldn’t I…?

All her life, she had known one thing to be true: the wildfire spirit manifested when she was afraid. Watching Oskar fight for his life, she had felt terror clawing at her throat—but Teinidh hadn’t come.

The one time Guineverehadtried to help, by taking Vindicator’s reins…She felt sick to her stomach as she remembered the crunching of the gnome’s bones beneath the stallion’s hooves. Had she killed someone? Again?

What was in the pearwood trunk? How could her parents have left such a thing in her care?

She clapped a hand over her mouth, gnawing into her palm so she wouldn’t scream. Her gaze darted to Oskar, sitting a few feet awaywith his back to her as he kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. From this angle, he looked like he was holding up the sky. Shielding her from the world’s dangers despite how tired he must be.

She couldn’t add to his stress. She continued biting down on her despair until at last her exhausted body gave out and she fell into a fitful sleep.

Her father’s name was Illiard.From him she had inherited her head of silver hair. He kept his trimmed short, sideburns connecting it to a platinum mustache. In the firelight, his hair glinted nearly the same color as the dagger he held over her.

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