Page 7 of Tusk Love

Not your fault.

She had never heard that before.

Guinevere got her last few tears out of the way, then smiled at Oskar softly. He tensed and withdrew from her, shooting to his feet.

“Let’s get going,” he muttered.

He lent her a tunic from his surviving pack. It was most scandalous to wear a strange man’s clothes, but anything was better than her muddy, too-thin nightgown. She retreated into the privacy of the cave to change, discarding the ruined white garment with a sigh of relief.

Oskar’s tunic was spun from coarse, sandstone-hued hemp. It was the roughest fabric that Guinevere had ever felt against her skin. Thehem fell almost to her knees, and the cuffs dangled so far past her wrists that she had to roll the sleeves up to her elbows, but the tunic was clean and dry and did not smell overly much of smoke. It was a vast improvement.

She slung the satchel over one shoulder and dragged the trunk out of the cave by its ornate handle. She was almost brought up short by the sight of Oskar slouched carelessly against a tree while he waited for her. He was tall and imposing in the dappled morning light, his skin a sylvan commingling of golden sunbeams and oakmoss shadows, the threadbare tunic clinging to his solid chest. His wavy hair was a black halo around his terse face and was pulled back enough for her to glimpse the points of his ears. His strong jaw protruded slightly, making space for those white tusks that sliced upward like crescents.

He looked dangerous. Like he belonged to this wilderness that had bested her. And yet the thrill that fluttered through the pit of her stomach laid no claim to any part of the inhospitable territory that was fear.

What was it, then?

Before Guinevere could examine her odd reaction to him, Oskar’s tawny gaze fell on the trunk, and a long-suffering expression darkened his features. He went over to her and tucked it under his arm the way he had last night.

“I can haul it along,” Guinevere protested, not wanting him to expend any more effort on her account.

He cast a dismissive glance over her petite frame. “Trust me, it’ll be faster this way.”

He stomped off, leaving her no choice but to follow.

They hiked west for several minutes, over gnarled roots and black earth, through bramble and birdsong, stewing in that awkward what-did-I-do-wrong-nowsilence that Guinevere was quickly coming to associate with her rescuer. Eventually the dense curtain of red-and-brown trees parted, revealing the Amber Road—the Dwendalian Empire’s main thoroughfare, a wide and dusty path that snaked all the way from Rexxentrum to the Wuyun Gates.

It was a clear day. Beneath a deep blue sky, Guinevere spotted thetowering, autumn-rusted peaks of the Silberquel Ridge in the distance; chiseled into its base was the collection of streets and rooftops that made up the mining city of Druvenlode. The Amber Road veered left of the Silberquel, spilling on into forever. Something about all the open space gave off a sense of endless possibility, and the back of Guinevere’s neck prickled with excitement despite herself.

She was on anadventure.She would go to interesting places and meet interesting people. All she had to do was follow the road, and it would lead her to new experiences beyond her staid, elegant life in the Shimmer Ward…

“Quit dawdling!” Oskar called without looking back. He was several feet ahead of her.

Guinevere stuck her tongue out at him in an uncharacteristic burst of churlish mutiny, then hurried to match his pace.

Chapter Five

Oskar

“You’re from Rexxentrum, aren’t you?”

Oskar had not meant to strike up a conversation. He took after his mother in that he could happily go days without speaking to other people, least of all silly high-society ladies traipsing about in his tunic—practically swimming in it, all rumpled and slim-legged and wide-eyed, stirring in him a strange protectiveness that set off alarm bells in his head. The less he interacted with Guinevere, the better.

And yet his question stretched between them as they walked side by side on the Amber Road.

“I am,” she admitted. “How did you know?”

“It’s obvious.” She had the shine of the capital about her. And he could leave it at that—he reallyshouldleave it at that.

“And how does the rest of Wildemount compare so far?” he persisted. Damn it. “Ruffians notwithstanding.”

He expected her to complain about the bad roads, the poor fare, and the lack of amenities in the small villages on the wayside. The lifeof a traveler was hard compared to what she was used to, and he wouldn’t hold it against her. Probably.

“It’s certainly no spa day at the Silvered Sunset Oasis,” Guinevere mused, “but, before the bandits came, I was rather enjoying it, actually.” Her softly rounded cheeks flushed at the dubious glance Oskar tossed her way. “Camping in the forest, the open space, no lessons, goingeverywhere…It’s all so new to me. After my parents moved me to Rexxentrum, I wasn’t allowed to set foot outside the walls of the Shimmer Ward.”

“No hobnobbing with the commoners?” Oskar drawled with a sardonic smile. The palpable guilt in her lack of response spiked his temper a little, and he changed the subject. “Where did your parents move you from?”Incidentally, why do I even care?

Guinevere’s lilac eyes strayed to her muddy shoes. “Around.” Her lithe copper-skinned fingers traced the silver chain where it dangled from her neck and disappeared into the collar of her tunic. His tunic. “They ply their trade everywhere, with the caravans. I was born in…in those woods south of Deastok.”

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