Page 29 of Tiger's Trek
Finding a rock that would suit, she sat and hiked up her skirts enough to peel off her slippers and dip her feet into the frigid water. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t dream of exposing so much leg to a man, but Danik was different somehow. It was hard to define their relationship. Perhaps it was due to spending her time with him as a tiger. She’d become so relaxed around the hunter that she didn’t think of him as seeing her as a woman.
Veru chided herself, remembering she should be more careful, and shifted her skirts to cover her knees. Despite her comfort with Danik, he was still a man. And from her experience with them, they only treated her one way. It was the reason she covered herself in armor as often as possible. She felt safe. Then again, with his memory problem, he’d likely forget he ever saw her bare leg. Perhaps it didn’t matter. She peered up at him and didn’t see signs of the smitten, lovesick, or lustful expressions she was used to detecting in other men. Danik looked the same way he always did, albeit a bit confused.
Veru weighed her options and decided that as long as he wasn’t acting giddy with love, she’d treat him like she would any traveling companion, just as she would Nik, for example. It would be a nice change actually, to have another friend, someone she could trust, other than Nikolai. True, there were some things she didn’t feel comfortable sharing with Nik. Veru knew Nik had feelings for her, and she had to be careful with him.
Though she trusted her sister, her relationship with Stacia was complicated. As much as Veru loved her twin, she’d never felt she could truly confide in her. At least not since they were young. They’d been best friends once upon a time, but when her sister grew nearly a foot taller almost overnight and took to the sword as if it were a third arm, making their father oh-so-very proud, Veru grew jealous and withdrawn.
It didn’t help when Veru’s bosom became far too ample to hide. The young tsarevna had taken to wrapping her chest at first, ignoring the discomfort it caused. It was her father who noticed her stance had changed. It was something about the way she moved in training and how her arms could no longer cross her chest at the same place.
Her mother came in one evening to “talk” to her about it, dismissing the maid who’d prepared her bathing water. When their discussion was over, Veru felt humiliated. Even more so, when their father decided to separate the girls for different types of training exercises the next day. Veru was to report to different instructors after that, this time expert female assassins, and they knew about the way she’d been binding herself.
The first week, their mother supervised her training personally, keeping her sharp eyes on her daughter and making certain Veru understood the “gifts” that came with her new body. Mama took the opportunity to explain to her daughter that beauty was something men often exploited and used for themselves, but she would teach Veru how to use it against them for her own good and how to protect herself from those who would take advantage.
Veru was grateful for her mother’s insights now and could see the practicality of what her mother had taught her. Indeed, there had been many, many times when her training had been of great importance, not only to her but to her family and to her country. And her skills had saved her from unwanted advances time and again.
But that didn’t mean that she didn’t feel great envy every time she saw the ease with which her sister moved about the courtyard, holding her shoulders back and her head high. The men slapped her on the back or clapped her arm as if she were one of them. Her confidence was born of skill and camaraderie. The men knew and trusted her.
Yes, she was a tsarevna, too, but if a man pledged devotion or love, she would see it in his eyes or feel it in his touch and know it was real. Such emotions would last because they weren’t based on golden tresses, dimpled cheeks, or ample curves. Stacia wasn’t destined, as Veru was, to see the light of fondness and affection in her husband’s eyes fade, along with her beauty, as the years passed.
“My lady, Veru?” Danik said, lightly touching her shoulder. “Why would you attempt to keep your pain a secret?”
Sucking air between her teeth as she twisted her foot in the frigid water, she decided to answer him truthfully. “My family has a thing about hiding our weaknesses. We never like to let an enemy know if we’re tired or hungry or hurting. It gives them an advantage over us. I suppose we are much like the animals you hunt in that way. We hide our pain, even when caught in a trap.”
He stared at her for a moment, then crouched down and lifted her foot from the water. Gently, he touched the arch and pressed a fingertip to swollen blisters on the toe and heel. Without looking at her, he took hold of her torn skirt hem and ripped off a bit more fabric, then gently wrapped one layer around her big toe and another over the top of her foot and around the back of her heel, covering the raised swelling. As he carefully placed her shoe back on her foot, he said softly, “I may have forgotten many things, my lady. But know this: I do not seek to trap you, and if I could avoid doing so to any of God’s other creatures, I would. And I hope you know—I amnotyour enemy.”
Rising, he moved to her other foot and worked without speaking. Veru didn’t quite know what to say. She’d never been taken care of by a man before, never let one touch her in such an intimate fashion. True, Nik was training as a medic and had tried to tend some superficial cuts, but she never let him do more than bind a broken finger. Veru wasn’t sure she’d ever let him treat her for a real wound—that is, unless she was unconscious.
Their surgeon had listened to her lungs through her clothing, once bound her broken ribs, and given her various concoctions to help with her monthly pains. Luckily, she’d never suffered from anything truly serious.
As Danik ran a fingertip gently over the arch of her foot, she well recalled the risk he’d taken in trying to free her as a tiger. How he’d tried to ease her pain by feeding her rabbit with medicinal herbs sewn carefully into the carcass. Danik had done everything in his power to save her. And that was before he’d even known she was human. If it had been anyone else, she would have her hand in his hair and her knife against his throat, but his words rang in her mind again and again.
I am not your enemy, he’d said.
His calloused fingers didn’t linger but moved deftly over her skin. He was quick and efficient, but his expression held great compassion and perhaps a hint of remorse, just as it did when he skinned an animal or removed one from a trap. It was almost as if her hurt caused him pain. Whatever Danik was, he was her friend, just as he had always been. She’d known that since he’d first looked down at her in the pit and took pity upon a suffering beast.
When he was finished, she put her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,” Veru said quietly. “I know you aren’t my enemy, Danik.”
He placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed. “You never need to hide the truth from me. I’d never use pain or hunger or any other thing you might perceive as weakness against you. I only want to help. Do you believe me?”
Danik’s blue eyes locked on to her face, searching for something. It was as if he was seeking desperately for acceptance or understanding or... perhaps it was still a home—a place where he was known, where he could be himself, feel safe and at complete ease.
Veru had to admit she also craved such a place. She hadn’t felt like she’d had that sense of security for many years. Her mother tried her best, but without their father, the palace never felt the same. He was their anchor, and they’d been adrift as a family ever since his loss. Danik must have been going through the same thing. But his situation was even worse. He’d lost his entire family. At least she still had Stacia.
“I believe you, Danik,” Veru promised. “Look, I know I can be a little... off-putting. But you don’t need to hide from me either. Even if your memory is gone, and you ask me the same question over and over and I lose patience and snarl at you, I’ll still answer. I can’t promise that I won’t threaten to gut you at some point in irritation, but I can guarantee that I’m your friend too. And Verusha Stepanov defends her friends to the death.”
“Now that, I believe,” Danik said with a wink and a half grin. He held out his hands, offering to help her to her feet, and she was surprised with herself when she accepted and leaned against him, hobbling along, uncaring that she was not only depending on a man but showing weakness. It was a move she might have feigned once upon a time to get a man to spill state secrets.
Instead of despising herself for it, she let herself enjoy leaning on someone else for a change. Then, after a while, she began to like the way his muscular arm wrapped around her back, his hand clutching her waist. As they walked, she almost forgot the pain; instead, she focused on the warmth of his body pressed next to her own and the deep timbre of his voice as he hummed a tune in time with the rushing water nearby.
Veru was astonished to note how time passed as late morning became late afternoon, so wrapped up was she in the physical sensations of her body that she’d so long denied. She didn’t even think of stopping until her stomach rumbled. Danik had only given her some berries that he’d found along the way, opting to walk as far as they could while she felt able, before resting to make camp. She was about to suggest they find a good spot for the night when they spotted a crooked little house on a craggy rock overlooking the river. A small column of gray smoke spiraled up from the stone chimney.
“Perhaps they’d welcome two traveling strangers,” Danik suggested.
“Maybe,” Veru said. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“We’ll say we’re traveling musicians. People are often willing to put up groups such as that.”
“But I’m not a musician,” Veru said.
