Page 119 of Untempered
Her button-down vest disliked me. It was an excellent disguise, and if I admired that, I had less time to worry. Brown, nondescript, the cut hid her curves and was normal enough that it wouldn’t attract any interest. The buttons were swollen with the water, but they gave way eventually.
“What held you up?” I asked, pulling her equally plain shirt over her head. The laces tangled on her chin, but she twisted to help me free them. An expanse of pale skin underlaid with dark veins was revealed to me, and a leather garment I’d only seen women from the Steppe tribes wear, laced together hard over her belly and breasts. I turned away to get the dry shirt.
What a horrible time to realize my lady was every bit a Matri’sion.
And of course there was no seemly way to comment on that, was there? She took the shirt from me, her hands clumsy as she pulled it down.
“Can you do the laces?” she asked. I reached toward the shirt, but she waved a hand at her breeches.
I did as she asked, keeping my movements impersonal. She struggled out of them herself, and I turned my back to give her what privacy I could, passing her the skirts without looking. But it was impossible not to imagine helping her. Sliding my hands beneath that wet fabric and letting it fall away. Her flesh would warm quickly against mine.
“Were you a squire?” she asked. Though her voice was still reedy, I drew comfort from the unnecessary question. If she was able to make small talk, she was feeling a little better, surely.
“I was. Why do you ask?”
“The way you helped me change. I felt like I was having my armor removed.”
Relief trickled through me, and a little pride, too, because she sounded pleased. “Is that not what I was doing?”
Instead of answering my question, she asked, “Who did you squire?”
She definitely sounded better. “Lord Henry of Ville-under-Sytha. He did a lot of work defending against the Red Hand. A group of nomads who plague Darrius’ herds in the west,” I clarified. “He was a good man.”
“Was?” she asked.
“Poison arrow took him not long after I was knighted,” I explained, the grief an old, dull wound. “I understand his children aren’t following in his footsteps. He’d be grateful they don’t need to.”
She made a quiet noise that I couldn’t decipher. “These are formal underskirts,” she said, a thread of amusement in her voice.
I shrugged. “They’re dry.”
“They are,” she agreed, through chattering teeth. “Thanking you for that. I’m done, Chay.” I turned around again as she folded herself down by the fire. I took a blanket and wrapped it over her shoulders, tugging the fabric snugly. If I lingered longer than I should’ve, she didn’t seem distressed. “The warmth makes the hurt less,” she admitted, swallowing heavily. “I was pinned down between two other archers. I didn’t see them when I got into position. It was lucky they didn’t see me when I did.” She stopped talking for a while, shuddering with cold. “And then they weren’t game to move for a long time. They were sure there was a trap, I think. They didn’t go until after the extra guardsmen circled back.”
I sat down nearby. Was it appropriate for me to offer to hold her to warm her? Was she looking less transparent, now? I didn’t know how vulnerable she felt, or whether asking would make her clam up the way she’d done that day Isolde had tried to get me to teach her the sword.
If I asked, I’d be crossing a line. I knew I would. And not asking would be worse. But I couldn’t do nothing.
I slipped the pins that held my cloak at my throat from the fabric. I wrapped it around her shoulders, folding the fabric over her legs and lifting the hood over her head. So close, I should’ve felt her warmth. She still smelled like rain, and, beneath that, something soft and floral.
The look she sent me was unreadable. But it wasn’t one of trust or gratitude. I let go of the edges of the fabric, forcing myself back.
“Next time,” I said, acknowledging the anger in my belly, circulating in my blood, “just tell me. If what I say is impossible, say so. I could’ve worked with you. I could’ve at least known where to go to look for you if you were wounded.” I couldn’t demand to hold her, but Icouldfirmly request to know where she went and that she didn’t lie to me about taking risks. It was important. For my oath.
She sent me a look from under her lashes. In those eerily black eyes, there was a splash of whiskey again, and I felt a knot of worry ease. “You wouldn’t have locked me in or begged me to stay?”
Yes, she was definitely looking better. I stood, fetching the meals we hadn’t eaten earlier. I tried not to be insulted at the question. It wasn’t easy.
“Audrey,” I said, doing my best to be reasonable, “I believe that you didn’t mean for that to be cruel, so I’ll answer honestly. I’m not in the habit of forcing people to do things they don’t want to do, even when they’re the right thing.” Her eyes flickered up, her expression going blank. I’d already realized my choice of words wasn’t ideal and clarified. “That isn’t an attack onyouor the oath I was forced to swear. It’s just an explanation of my own personal code. I don’t like to tell people what is and isn’t right. Because I know the right thing can change. Like today. The right thing was for you to save our hides. I didn’t know that. Neither did you. I don’t like that you gambled with your life, but I did the same.” I set the food down in front of her. None of it would be warm. “Next time you assume I’m the same as the Butcher,” I told her, without looking, “I’m going to be upset.”
She was silent for so long I thought she’d fallen asleep or been direly insulted. I pretended not to worry, busying myself ripping off some bread, and starting the long process of chewing it, though I felt nauseous and exhausted all at once.
“Well, I can’t promise anything,” she said eventually. “Since you’re the first man to even think twice about imposing his views on me.”
When she put it like that, I did feel like a heel. I thought of Luca, sitting in a heavy, plain chair in front of a big hearth and telling us earnestly about how he wanted to protect her. My belly ached. “Darrius thought twice,” I pointed out, nudging a log further into the coals. “We wanted to talk to you and Isolde that day in the orchard. But you didn’t want to talk, so we didn’t.”
She picked up a piece of cheese with clumsy fingers. “I wish we’d spoken to him now,” she admitted quietly.
I knew what it was like to wonder about a life you couldn’t have. “Kadan would’ve made a horrible big brother,” I told her without thinking. “If Darrius had been your father.”
