Finally, the cold of the water became too much. Her lips were probably turning blue. Pulling her shivering self out of the water, Ria moved over to where her clothes lay haphazardly across a large stone. Hearing her as she moved back to shore, Theron turned from observing the trees. She gave him a small smile and started walking to where she had left her spare clothing. The wet shk-shk-shk of the cloth chafing slowed her only a little, but she could feel the Protector’s dark eyes on her and it made her self-conscious.
Picking up the bundle of her clothing, she was careful not to hug it close or hold it in a way that might cause it to soak up the stream water from the top she wore, and it didn’t help her awkward feeling in the least. Where was she supposed to change? She scanned the trees and brush at the edge of the stream. Finally finding a good spot, she stepped into the foliage and after a quick look around to make sure she wasn’t visible she quickly changed, shooing away the hungry biting gnats and mosquitoes. She decided to leave her hair down, irritating as the wet strands were. It would never dry if she tied it up now. Wringing out the sodden clothing, she stepped back out into the open.
The Protector wasn’t where he’d been when she stepped into the bushes, but she quickly saw that he had taken the opportunity to wash up as well. He’d removed his shirt and was rinsing it under the running water. Even in the dimming light, she could see that he no longer wore any of the bandages from his earlier injuries. Her eyes moved to his shoulder. He’d been hurt there, right? But where she expected to see the raw edges of a barely healed wound, instead there was nothing. Not even a mark.
Well, except for the kanji symbol for Mamoru, tattooed across his right shoulder blade and larger than her palm. Ria didn’t remember seeing that mark when he’d been wounded. But then, she hadn’t really seen the injury on his shoulder. Maybe she wasn’t remembering it well. She’d only really seen the gash in his side.
Speaking of that gash, it had only been a few days. How was it possible? Shocked, she didn’t realize she’d taken a few steps forward, her feet crunching in the gravel at the shore – hearing it, he turned.
“How have you healed so fast?” The man in front of her looked at her unblinking for a moment, and then his expression closed up. He moved toward the shore.
“I guess I just heal quickly,” he said shortly. He saw her eyes flick to the stitches she’d placed and said, “Maybe I wasn’t hurt as badly as you thought.”
“No, I –” she blinked. She’d done the stitches herself. He had been hurt. No one heals that fast. She shook her head and stepped closer, not noticing the water lapping at her ankles when she closed the distance between them. When she did, she blocked the easiest exit from the stream, the narrow space where the path met the water. Absently, she saw Theron abort his forward movement, the expression on his face startled and wary. Without thinking, she ran her fingers over where the injury on his side had been. She didn’t hear his quick intake of breath at the warm brush of her fingertips on his skin. She was concentrating on the complete lack of any kind of injury. Three days. It had only been three days.
There was barely an indication that he’d been hurt at all, just the hint of a raised line along the row of stitches she had made. Vaguely, it occurred to her they should remove them. It seemed like having them there would cause him trouble if they didn’t. It couldn’t have been more than a few moments before he reached up, his hand taking hers and pulling her fingers away from him. She looked up, noting that she’d done the unthinkable again. There was something in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before, something that made her breath tangle in her throat. Stepping back quickly, she ducked her head. “Forgive me.”
“It’s nothing.” He moved over to the cluster of brush that she’d changed in and she heard him rustle around, could hear the splatter of water as he wrung out cloth. When he emerged, his hair still hung damp around his face, but his clothing looked drier, at any rate.
When they arrived back in camp, Mako had the rabbit spitted and over the fire. Ria felt a creeping warmth in her cheeks. The insufferable man had hung his shirt near the fire to dry and though it made complete sense, Ria still found her eyes seeking anywhere else but him as he moved around the camp. It just wasn’t proper for him to be so … so under dressed. At least for the moment, he was at the far edge of the camp and was wiping down the horses, so she bit back the comment she would have made.
He had the saddles off of the two animals, placing them near the sitting area. It reminded her of something. She headed toward the bag she’d left by the fire.
“You should let your shirt dry by the fire, at least.” Mako’s comment made her look up.
Theron had walked over to greet his horse, running his hands down the animal’s limbs to be sure his injury was healing. He barely paused in his inspection, responding, “It’s fine.”
The other man frowned, but his response clearly said the Protector could do whatever he wished. Shrugging, he turned back to wiping down the gray’s flank. Apparently, he still felt compelled to say, “You’ll get sick, especially after just being injured.”
Ria watched the Protector shake his head, his irritation obvious. He walked around to the other side of his horse, no hint of his former pain showing. In fact, she could barely remember noting any kind of hesitation in him. Except perhaps last night, after her dream, when she assumed he must have regained consciousness following their escape from the palace.
She wondered at it, pushing down the superstitious whisper at the unnatural speed of his recovery. As she was thinking, she continued to dig through the bag she had brought with her on the journey. Finally, her fingers brushed what she was seeking, pushing away any further thought about what she’d seen at the stream.
As she shifted some clothing away from it to pull the item out, a smell, sharp and pungent wound into the smoke from the campfire. She looked up, commenting, “Uhm, the rabbit seems to be burning.”
“Aiya,” Mako muttered, irritated. He pulled away from the horse and trotted over to the fire. “Why weren’t you watching it?”
“What do you mean? I just got back to the camp!”
“You’re the woman. You should have checked it.”
“I don’t remember you mentioning that tending the food was my job.”
“I don’t need to mention it,” he retorted. “You should just know.”
“What?” Why should she cook food for everyone just because she was the woman? Ria knew that’s the way things were, but it rankled. She’d always taken care of herself, there was no reason these men should expect her to cook for them just because she had the pleasure of being in their presence.
Theron hadn’t asked that of her, but Mako’s expectation was big enough for both of them. Most of her irritation came from that nagging feeling, still there, still poking at her, that this life of – of servitude wasn’t what she was meant for. She was meant for another life entirely.
“Mako.” The Protector had been ignoring their bickering, but now he raised his head from his inspection of Ash’s hooves, eyes rolling over to glance at the other man. “I’m sure the rabbit you’re cooking would taste better if you took it off the fire before it burns to charcoal.” The former guard grimaced and scowling, turned to their rapidly blackening dinner.
Stopping just short of sticking her tongue out at the guard, Ria remembered she’d been looking through her bag before that rock-brained man had interrupted her. Snatching up the leather pack again, she threw it open, still muttering under her breath. She was about to pull out the sheaf of papers when she stopped. Remembering the odd sense of recognition she’d had the first time she touched them, she suddenly had no desire to look at those finely scripted sheets of vellum with the others there to see. Maybe it would be better to look at this privately.
Mako had pulled the rabbit off the fire and let out a grumpy call for them to come eat. Smiling a bit at his tone, she stood up and walked over. It was nice that the Protector did not seem to have the same mind set as their c
ompanion. Obviously, he hadn’t assumed she was there to be a servant.
It was late in the night when she woke up, unsure if something had startled her or if it was her own unsettled dreams. The sky was dark with clouds, so she couldn’t be sure of how long she had slept. But the campfire was a soothing gold, casting just enough light to reassure her she was safe, if just for now.
It was the Protector’s watch. It took a moment for her to locate him, standing to one side of the camp, too far from the fire to really be seen and nearly lost in the shadows of the tree he was leaning up against. He was looking into the trees. He looked alert, and bored.
The forest around them was dark as pitch. The nagging ache in her muscles told her there was a lot of night left. She should go back to sleep. She closed her eyes. A few minutes later she opened them again, her mind aggravatingly clear. Okay, sleep wasn’t really an option. She sighed. If she couldn’t sleep, it might be a good time to look at those writing papers in her bag.
She glanced back toward the man watching over them. She should have remembered she wouldn’t really have time to herself. All to herself, anyway. She’d known the men were trading off on the watches. Her brows dipped down. They hadn’t asked her to take a turn. She wasn’t certain if she should be insulted by that.
Considering everything they’d faced, keeping watch wouldn’t be a task she would feel comfortable doing (especially if they were attacked). With a flush of guilt, she thought she probably should contribute more in other ways, to make up for the lost sleep they were suffering on her behalf.
But she still shouldn’t have to do all of the cooking.
Stretching a bit, she reached for her bag, pulling out the rolled sheaf of papers that in all of the chaos she’d nearly forgotten. The rustle of vellum rose in the night air, not loud enough to wake the man sleeping across from her, but louder than the soft crackle of burning wood. Loud enough to catch the attention of the man standing watch at the edge of the camp. Ria didn’t notice when he looked up, captured as she was by the fine script covering the delicate pages in front of her. She scanned the words quickly, then slowly, and as each word went by, her breath clenched tighter. While she could pick out a few words here and there, the flowing print was nearly indecipherable to her eyes.
Her mother had taught her to read. It wasn’t a common skill, especially for commoners. But then her mother had been about as far from common as you could get. Ria had been a quick study and had learned her lessons well.
Blinking, she scanned the page again, quickly enough that the words blurred. They may as well have been a child’s drawings for all that she understood them. She switched to the next page. More of the same. And the next, and the next. She felt the ache growing in her throat. She knew after the first page, but couldn’t stop from looking at all of them. Pages and pages of careful script that she needed to be able to read, but couldn’t. She could feel the pressure of her desire, like a memory just out of reach, taunting her. Worse, all the way down to her bones she knew, she should be able to read it.
But she couldn’t.
“That’s what we found under the palace, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she muttered, eyes on the ground, her voice sharp and edged with unhappiness. From the nearness of the question, Theron must have come away from the tree and back to camp. She hadn’t heard him move at all. Her face felt warm and she avoided looking up at him, her eyes glued to the pages in her hand. Why couldn’t she understand what she was seeing? Thankfully, the firelight wasn’t terribly bright where they sat. It would only embarrass her more if he could see the shame creeping up her cheeks. “I don’t know what it says.” She wanted to sound like she didn’t care. It wasn’t like she had anything to prove to him. To anyone.
He made a noncommittal sound. It registered that he was sitting on the log directly behind her. She looked for some hint of judgment in the sound and found none. But then he said, “Well, that’s to be expected.”
Her temper flared and her eyes snapped up to his. “Expected? What did you expect, exactly?”
There was a shifting sound of movement and then he was kneeling next to her. “Ria.” The soft rebuke was followed by the touch of callused fingers, tipping her chin up. He smiled. “You mistake my meaning.” His gaze flicked down to scan over the script. “These words. They aren’t in the common tongue. This is Kami no Gengo, the language of the divine. The common language has similar sounds, some of the same forms … but it is very different.” He stopped long enough to smile. “Very few are taught this language. In fact,” he sighed, “only members of the royal family and those that record its history. So. Unless you are a member of the Imperial house or one of the scribes who devote their lives to them, you cannot hope to know what those sheets say.” He paused, letting that sink in. “That is why it is to be expected, that you can’t read it.” One side of his mouth turned up. “I can’t read it.”
“… Oh.” Ria was thankful for the flickering shadows around the campfire. Her chagrin had turned into something else with the warm amusement in his voice. Most people she dealt with did not bother to consider her feelings about anything. She noted how tired she must still be, because his explanation had been just that. He meant nothing by it. Yet in the space of a few minutes, she had gone from disappointed, to ashamed, angry and then relieved, with a curious warm feeling spreading through her. When she cast a grateful look in his direction, her heart rate sped up when he smiled back. He reached out carefully to take the vellum from her hands and where his fingers brushed against hers they left a burning trail of sensation behind them.
The papers rustled as he gently rolled them open. “This is fine writing, though. Beautiful.” Holding the vellum out to her, his lips turned up in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know if we’ll ever know what it says.”
Carefully taking back the pages, she nodded. She had to agree, the palace and its occupants weren’t very friendly with any of them at the moment. She looked down, opening her bag again to return the writing papers for safekeeping. She glanced at the man next to her. He was looking into the forest again, scanning the perimeter of the camp, firelight reflecting in his eyes.
Her thoughts went back to the scenes the tree had shown them, before the attack. “My lord,” she said, before she caught herself. “I mean, Theron, when do you think we …” she trailed off, because she’d looked up, her eyes seeking his. She could see in the light cast by the fire that he was already looking at her, silently watching her fumble around in the pack. He looked troubled. “What is it?”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing.” It didn’t sound like nothing. She gave him a skeptical one-eyed look. She was still leaning over her things and her hair had fallen into her face. He huffed a laugh, one side of his mouth turning up. Reaching out, he tucked the offending strands behind her ear. “Your hair is still down.”
She smiled, sheepish. “It’s cool enough now. I’ll put it up in the morning.”
His eyes were still thoughtful as he said, “It looks nice.” He was silent a moment, then said, “Ria, it’s not right that you’ve been brought into this. I’m sorry.” He shook his head again, and Ria felt her chest tighten.
“It’s not your fault. I’m here because I want to be,” and she smiled to lighten his mood, but he was still looking at her, so silent and still, and she could see the emotion behind his eyes changing. Nervous without knowing why, Ria’s lips parted and she licked suddenly dry lips. Theron’s gaze moved over her features, his eyes falling to trace the path her tongue had taken, a small frown forming between his brows. She felt her breathing quicken, the crackle of the fire fading away as he leaned closer, his breath a warm gust on her cheek.
The rustle of leaves and snap of small branches yanked Ria’s attention away from Theron, to the tree behind them. She looked up, where the noise had come from and saw glowing blue eyes reflecting back at her from the leaves. She flinched back, stifling a cry. “What is that?!”
Theron let out an oath, startled but not alarmed, and one hand gripped her wrist as she pulled back. Huffing a breath, he said, “Kit.”
Pulling his gaze away from the branch where the noise had come from, he said with a frown, “He normally doesn’t show up until morning. I don’t like it.”
Theron moved across the camp to where Mako slept. Giving the man a firm nudge, he nodded at the tree. Kit was crouched there, firelight flickering across his small features. Quietly, the Protector said, “Something’s wrong.”
Silently, the boy dropped from the branch, landing with a muted rustle in the leaves at the base of the tree. Theron hid his reaction to that. That branch had been a good fifteen feet above the ground. The Protector was doubtful he could have comfortably made that drop. The questions about this child were racking quickly; however, they could wait. As the boy stepped more fully into the firelight, Ria gasped. There was a tear in the soft leather pants the child wore and the red glisten showing there prompted the village girl to jump up, reaching into the bag she held to pull out a strip of cloth. “Theron, bring me the water bag.” She took it from him when he brought it, saturating the rag she’d pulled out. She beckoned to the child, who came over with a curious expression on his face. Pressing the damp cloth against the wound, the boy made a sour face, but didn’t otherwise react. Knowing already he couldn’t communicate in the way other people did, Theron didn’t know how they’d get the story. He asked anyway, even though he knew it probably wouldn’t help. “What happened?”
Splinter (Trapped Souls Book 1) Page 23
