Page 58 of Fear the Flames
I recognize the expression he wears on his face: it’s guilt. An emotion I’m all too familiar with. His leg starts to tap against the floor, and before my brain catches up to my actions, I reach a hand toward his leg and lay it flat on his thigh. His jostling stops. He turns his head toward me again—we’re completely level and incredibly close. He needs to stop internalizing everything that happens to me; the assassination attempts aren’t his fault.
“Cayden—” I begin to say something, but it dies in my throat when I take in his wanting expression. I inch closer to him. He tilts his head down, and his breath fans across my lips as he brushes them against mine. A whimper catches in my throat, and my eyes slip shut. He makes me feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to freefall. The touch is sinfully light, it’s hardly even a whisper between our bodies, but it ignites me in a way that no touch ever has.
My body pulses, tightens, and tunes in only to him. He commands every ounce of my attention. I want him. There’s no point in denying it. I want him even though I shouldn’t. I want him despite our circumstances. He knows he shouldn’t want me. There are bigger things at stake than our wants and desires, but I can’t seem to summon a single gods-damned reason not to close the gap between us when his hand makes its way to my cheek again, bringing my lips closer to his.
“Ready?” Saskia calls out as she bounds down the stairs. We separate from each other like water and oil. He shoots up from the bench before clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair. I swing my legs over and keep my face turned toward the floor in hopes he won’t catch a glimpse of my burning cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
His boots shift as he turns toward me. “No, Elowen, don’t—”
“Hurry up!” Saskia calls out again, unaware of what she just interrupted. Oh my gods, we were really going to kiss. I start walking, leaving Cayden to catch up with me. My body still pulses even as we make our way to the front door and exit the house.
“We only have three horses here, so you’re riding with me,” Cayden says as we walk side by side down the path. He was unable to strip the huskiness from his voice when he cleared his throat. My bottom lip makes its way between my teeth. He lifts me in the air and places me on his horse and swings himself up after, wrapping an arm around my waist and gripping the reins in his free hand.
“I can walk if it’s a problem,” I offer, sitting rigid in the saddle, not wanting to inconvenience him further after sleeping in his bed or touch him after what transpired between us.
“There’s no problem.” He eases me back into his chest. The gentle gesture is probably the worst thing he could have done because I can feel the evidence of just how much I affect him pressing into me. He knows I can feel it; we’re so close that he can also feel me involuntarily shift my hips closer while my thighs clench the saddle. Leaning against his chest is the last place I should be. He keeps a tight hold on the reins, much tighter than necessary, and nudges his horse in the side.
The three of us take off into the chilly evening. We wind through several streets; some taverns are just opening, and others already have lines out of their doors. Some people turn their heads and wave as we ride through, and others simply go about their tasks. I feel Cayden’s arm tighten around me as we near the tavern. There’s no point in shoving him away while we sit in the same saddle, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel better having him here. Fighting assassins while drugged and alone isn’t something I’d care to repeat.
“We need to talk about the heist,” I say over the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones.
“Tonight.” His lips brush the shell of my ear, and I can’t suppress my shiver. My grip tightens on his wrist and my back arches slightly when he skims his lips against my neck. My face is permanently flushed by the time we enter the forest that spans between headquarters and the castle. He affects me in ways I can’t hide when he’s this close, and I think he likes it. Cayden slows the horse and slides down once the castle is in sight. He reaches up to help me to the ground, even though he knows I’m fully capable of doing it myself, and sets me in front of him. His hands linger on my waist before traveling up my body to rub my arms while he says goodbye.
“You won’t disappear for another fifteen days, right?” I ask.
“Counting?” One side of his lips quirks up.
Yes.“We’re behind on planning,” I narrow my eyes at him.
“I’ll be back tonight. I have some business to finish up.” He drags his fingers down my arms and along my waist, like he’s trying to absorb every touch that he can get of me, before climbing onto his horse again. Saskia loops her arm through mine, and I feel Cayden’s eyes on my back as he watches me safely enter the castle.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
The rest of the evening has been uneventful. Finnian, Ailliard, and Saskia got roped into a late advisor meeting to discuss the wording of the treaty. The terms are finalized, but both sides want to make sure no hidden clauses or loopholes are added. I saw Ailliard in the hall while I was walking to my room, and he wrapped me in one of those hugs you hope to get from your father. He couldn’t stay long but kept saying that he’s so glad I’m alright and that we’ll have breakfast tomorrow morning since he’s not sure how late the meeting will run tonight. It felt good to see him, but there’s still a Finnian-sized hole carved in my chest.
I want to see him, and I will, but I’m so tired of hearing apologies after something bad happens. We’re on the same side—we should be able to communicate without someone succumbing to juvenile anger. Assassins will come for me whether I show what I can do or choose to hide it, and I made a vow to myself when I left Aestilian that I’m done hiding. If the world is threatened by me, then I’ll give them a reason to be.
I have a voice, and I make my own choices because I rule myself. It’s my choice to fight, to get my dragons, and to stay for the war. Cayden didn’t force my hand; he gave me a deal that both of us will benefit from, and I took it.
I glance toward the gaudy gold clock on the mantle, the time reads ten minutes past three o’clock in the morning. My fingers slide my moonstone pendant along the chain. I gave up on trying to focus on my book around one in the morning and have been pacing ever since. My heels tap against the floor while my hands rake through my hair and down my face. Cayden said he would be here tonight. I groan into my hands before dropping them to my sides. Ever since we met, he’s always shown up whenever he said he would—whether in person or through a steady stream of letters. My annoyance with him for not showing up died around midnight and was replaced by an unrelenting sense of worry. What if he’s hurt? He didn’t look well when I saw him last, and he said he had something to take care of before he came here. Cayden is the Commander of Vareveth; the tasks he does are doused in danger.
My teeth sink into my lower lip; I can find him. If he’s not here, then he’s probably at the border. The border is huge, but he must be close if he was able to get to Ladislava on short notice. There’s also a part of me that knows he wouldn’t put a lot of distance between us. The city is sealed off, and I can assume that Cayden didn’t just spend two weeks at the border without strengthening his defenses. I pace around my room a few more times, contemplating my next move.
The issue I have with hypothetical scenarios is that once the seed is planted, I have a hard time snuffing it out. Another image of Cayden bleeding out in a ditch somewhere flashes in my mind. The army has a surplus of healers, but I know he’s safest with me. Nyrinn’s voice telling me not to trust court healers echoes in my mind while I grab the satchel she gave me. I need Cayden in order to get my dragons.
I need him.
Gods, I hate those three damn words. It’s something I can tell myself thousands of times, but they’ll never shake off the bitterness that shackles them. I want to rip my feelings from my chest and stomp on them, grind them under the heel of my boot. I want to bury them so deep in the earth that even if they take root, they’ll never break the surface. I hate him for making me worry like this. I’m not used to relying on someone or needing someone to accomplish something; my only comfort is that he also needs me. I don’t know if he needs me right now, but I’m going to find out. I won’t pace my room, wondering if he’s hurt, when I can find out for myself. Ever since we made this deal, he’s always been there when I’ve gotten hurt—I can be there for him as well.
My mind begins drafting a plan while I replace my night slip with my thick leather gear and knives. My armor accessories can stay here since I don’t want the reflective material to catch the moonlight. I won’t be able to leave from my door because of the guards, and I also can’t use the door that conjoins mine and Cayden’s rooms because it’s deadbolted on both sides.
My boots squeak against the wooden floor as I pivot on my heels and quickly walk to my balcony doors. The night air engulfs me as I peer over the railing. It’s a steep drop to the walkway that borders the lake. My nails dig into the stone railing while I glance toward the twin balcony a few feet away. I’ve jumped from rooftop to rooftop with ease, but my previous jumps have always been closer to the ground. The most I would risk on those jumps was a fractured leg or wrist. If I fail at this jump…well, I’ll be finding out if the gods are real or not far earlier than I’d like. I grip the breakfast table in my hands, carrying it over to the edge closest to Cayden’s balcony, along with the iron chair that I place directly in front of it.
“Don’t think about your guts splattering all over the ground because of some annoying commander that makes you want to rip your hair out and shove it down his throat,” I say to myself while walking to the farthest side of the balcony.
What if he’s fine and I’m doing this for nothing?
