“The hounds were pulling them east, and when they found the horse, they thought we'd tried to trick them by sending it ahead without us.”
She smiled up at him, and he smiled back, and something in the way he did it made her think he smiled often.
She hoped there would come a time when she could do the same.
“So what's next?” She didn't try to move out of his arms. She was warm and comfortable.
He had to be less so, he was up against a tree, with the weight of her across his legs, but as he hadn't indicated he wanted her off him, she was happy to stay where she was.
“The Rising Wave will be on the eastern plains, and that's the general direction the general and his men have gone, so we need to head northeast for now, until we can turn south and join them.”
“What is the Rising Wave?” she asked.
He frowned down at her.
“I was a prisoner in the fortress for nearly two years,” she reminded him. “And no one told me anything. The queen herself could be dead, for all I know.”
“The queen isn't dead.” Luc's forehead smoothed. “The Rising Wave is the rebel army.”
“Do you think they'll have given up hope you're alive?” She worried her lip. “They might have fallen into disarray and gone their separate ways.”
He stared at her. “Why would they fall into disarray without me?”
She tried a small smile on him. “Because you are the person the Herald calls the Turncoat King?”
He sucked in a breath. “I told you I was not.”
She pressed her lips together. Settled in to get a bit more comfortable. “I know, but I didn't believe you.”
He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the bark of the trunk. “They won't have fallen into disarray. There are strong leaders in command of the battalions, and they'll keep things together.” He looked down at her, and she felt ensnared in his gaze.
Her lips parted, and she felt a fizzing in her blood.
She lay against the bare skin of his chest, the heat of him warming her hands, her cheek.
Something hard pressed against her thigh, and she sucked in a breath as she realized what it was.
The heat in her blood pooled between her legs, and she ran her hand up his chest to his neck, curved her hand around his nape and pulled him closer.
He hesitated a moment, then cradled the back of her head with a hand and kissed her, his other hand sliding up to cup her breast.
It was as if he had lit a fire inside her.
She couldn't get enough of him, and thank the heavens, he acted as if he couldn't get enough of her, lifting her tunic so they were skin to skin.
He devoured her mouth and slid a finger into the band of her pants, and she gasped in shock and delight as he rubbed her just where her body was insisting it needed attention.
“I have never been . . .” She shuddered, pressed closer to increase the sensation. “Don't stop.”
He bent his head, latched on to the tip of her breast and she made a sound at the back of her throat as she arched to give him better access.
She fumbled with her hand, wrapped it around the hard length of him, and it was his turn to groan.
Suddenly a feeling washed over her, shaking her to her core as she shuddered, blind and deaf for a moment, before she collapsed, panting against his shoulder.
“More,” she said, and then bit down on the tendon between his shoulder and neck.
He lifted her, stripping her trousers, and fumbling with his own.
“You said you have never—” He groaned as she aligned her center against the tip of his cock, and rubbed.
“Never felt so much.” She was ablaze for him, desperate, and overjoyed when his hands shook as he gripped her hips and lifted her up and then down on him.
It was a tight fit, and she wriggled and rocked herself down his length, delighting in the effect it had on him, until suddenly she was firmly seated, flush against him, and she shuddered at the feel of it.
She leaned forward, lips against his ear. “More.”
The muscles in his arms bunched. And he gave her more.
She didn't know how much later it was that he finally lifted her off his lap.
She drew on her trousers, sated and energized. She gave him a wide smile as she flopped back down beside him.
He lifted a hand and touched the short ends of her hair. “Why did they do this?”
“To punish me.” That was the truth, but she knew she was holding back enough that it was almost a lie.
That didn't sit well, now that she had felt him inside her.
“You said you heard something you weren't meant to. What was it that you were sent there for so long?”
She let her lips twist. “I heard the Herald conspiring against the queen.”
His shock at her answer was immediate. “How were you in a position to do that?”
She hunched over her knees, looking down as she plucked at blades of grass. “My parents were trade envoys from Grimwalt, visiting the queen at Fernwell. I was with them.” Except they were more than trade envoys. So much more. But perhaps it wasn't wise to tell the Turncoat King you were niece to the queen.
“Surely Grimwalt has protested—” Understanding lit his eyes. “That is why they've closed their border. In protest.”
She nodded. “I didn't know they had until you told me. And most likely it was more to do with the death of my parents than my disappearance. No one knew what became of me. I smuggled out a message, but I thought it had never made it to my parents. Now I know it did, and coming to rescue me is why they died.”
She looked up, caught his gaze.
“Whoever killed them—the Herald or his people—is why they died. What parent wouldn't try to rescue their child?” The words were spoken with a deep layer of empathy.
She wondered who had tried to rescue him and died trying.
Remembered he'd been in a Chosen camp.
What parent wouldn't have tried to rescue their child from one of those?
She shivered and looked up at the early morning sunlight. “We need to go.”
He nodded, rose up and held out a hand to her.
When he pulled her to her feet, he tugged her into his arms and bent his head, burying his face in her hair and inhaling her scent.
She tightened her grip on him, and then remembered his ribs.
“Your injuries.” She fought to get out from his embrace, her gaze darting to the bruising on his torso.
“My ribs were bruised, not cracked. There was only pleasure, no pain.” He held her gaze, and while she didn't believe him, he seemed no worse for it.
She sighed. “And your wounds from before? We should change the dressings and wash them, but we don't have bandages or clean water.”
In fact, they would have to find water soon. She was so thirsty, her lips were dry and she could feel the dull throb of a headache.
“We’ll find a stream. We can look at the cuts, rinse the bandages.” He started walking. “But they feel fine. Better than I would have thought.”
It pleased her to think that perhaps the working she had done on the deep cut she had sewn had spread to the others, but she doubted it had.
He was healthy and strong. And there was something other about him. A speed and coordination she thought was a kind of magic in itself.
She had been starved of companionship and human touch for two years, and now she had both, in the form of an extraordinary man.
It would be very hard to leave him.
But leave him she must.
Chapter 7
“What do you mean you can't go with me?” Luc was crouched in the stream, naked in water that came up to his neck.
Ava was equally naked, using the fine sand on the river bottom to scrub at her skin and get rid of weeks of grime, while Luc was simply waiting for the water to soften his bandages so they could peel them away.
The sky above was a deep blue, the water cool, the grass that e
dged the stream a vibrant green, and Luc's dark hair and light blue eyes were vivid against the warm gold of his skin.
A feel of being bombarded by sensations swept over her. She had had nothing but four stone walls for so long, and the colors, the sounds, the scents in the air, suddenly overwhelmed her.
She held out a hand to stop him saying anymore, closed her eyes and breathed.
“You're all right.” He was suddenly beside her, his arms around her and she pressed into him, letting the pull of the current, the feel of his water-beaded skin, calm her.
“I couldn't take the colors anymore,” she whispered.
“I know.”
She understood that he did know. Had probably struggled with this himself.
“I want to come with you,” she told him, eyes still closed, letting his strength hold her suspended in the water. “But I have to find my grandmother.” And then kill the Herald.
He was still, and when she opened her eyes, his gaze was on her face, serious and thoughtful. “You could send her a message.”
She shook her head. “I don't trust a message. And I want to see her with my own eyes.”
“As soon as I join with the Wave, we are going to have to start moving toward Fernwell. My capture would have already delayed us two weeks by the time I get back, and all the tribes and groups I’ve managed to collect together since we first turned on Kassia will lose some conviction if we don’t progress. I won't be able to wait for you.”
She'd guessed that. And in a way, it was better. She was not simply going to find her grandmother. She planned to hunt the Herald down and kill him, and that could take months. Luc and his army would not have that kind of time. Not with the season already changing, the leaves beginning to turn.
“I will come find you, as soon as I can.”
He frowned. Opened his mouth to speak, and before he could say something that would force her to lie, she noticed a bandage had lifted off his arm, and she caught it as it floated past.
“Look.” She lifted his arm and felt a well of pride at how beautifully the stitching had held. “We need to cut the stitches out before the skin grows over them.”
“That's . . . incredible.” He lifted his arm up, flexed his hand. “It felt healed to me, but the stitches are almost the only way to tell where the cut was.”
He unwrapped the other bandages, and she caught them as they began to float away.
When she looked up, he was staring at her, suspicion lurking in his expression.
“How is this possible?” He showed her his arms, then rose up out of the water, bringing her with him by hooking his hands under her armpits. Then he stepped back to look at the cuts in his side.
She turned and lunged for another bandage as the river caught it, and then briefly fought him when he held her back from going after it.
“Answer the question, Ava.”
She couldn't keep from watching the strip of fabric ripple in the water and then disappear below the surface. She had had so much taken away, she needed every scrap she could find, even if it was bloody bandages made from old sheets.
Realizing how mad that made her sound, she finally straightened and looked up at Luc. It was drummed into her, over and over. Never confess what you can do, or you'll never be safe. It hadn’t mattered. Herron had known—somehow, he'd known. He'd hinted her father had told him, but she would never believe that.
Perhaps Herron had set spies to eavesdrop on her parents. That made sense to her.
But now she had to refuse to answer, or reveal herself, and she didn't know what to do.
With a cry of exasperation, she spun away from him, jumping onto the bank to pull on her clothes.
When she turned back, he stood in the same place, waist deep in water, so beautiful, each muscle was defined.
She stared at him for a long moment, noting the long-faded scars on his chest and arms.
“I—”
The baying of dogs cut her off, and with a gasp, she angled south, shielding her eyes against the sun to try and see what was coming.
Luc gave a vicious curse, hauling himself up onto the bank to pull on his pants and wrap his cloak around him. He had gotten rid of the too-small boots long ago.
“You go east,” Ava said to him. “I can confuse the dogs.”
“I'm not leaving you.” He flicked an astonished look at her as he buckled the scabbard he’d taken from Garmand around his waist, slid out the sword. “They're close.” He sounded calm.
He turned slowly, taking in the wood behind them, the open field in front. “You hide there.” He pointed to a thicket of bushes a little way down the stream.
Ava could hear the thunder of hooves already. Any moment now, the horses and riders would appear from the valley below.
“Now, Ava. Go. Before they see you.”
She let out a small scream of frustration. “If they capture you again—”
“It's the best plan we have, but that's if you listen to me.” He shoved her into the river and she fell with a splash, spluttered, and then dived under, swimming to the small stand of brush where he wanted her to hide.
When she surfaced and pulled herself, dripping, amongst the gnarled, entwined trunks, he was gone.
She set to work immediately. She still had all the bandages but one, and there was a long strand of thread she'd seen on one of the raw edges. She tugged it loose, threaded her needle, and then centered herself.
Thought of the dogs.
They would be punished if they steered the general wrong again, so while she wanted them to run away, she didn't want them running home.
They would be hunted if they formed a roaming pack, and that wasn't fair to them, anyway. They were used to people.
So she thought of them running through the forest, past Luc, to wait for her on the other side.
She could take them with her to Grimwalt, find a home for them there.
She made the few stitches, a stylized tree, a dog. She used three of the bandages, her hands shaking in her effort to be quick and still have a usable working. Then she slid back into the water, threw the bandages onto the far bank, and then swam back to her hiding place.
The dogs didn't sound as vicious, as loud, this time, and she guessed they still wanted to go east, had been forced to change route.
She heard the sound of them running and panting, and then the call as they found the bandages.
“There he is!”
The voice that called out made her hunch down a little more.
Juni.
How had he spotted Luc?
Unless . . . she had to fight the fear that washed over her.
He had shown himself. To draw them into the forest. Away from her.
She closed her eyes, listening to the dogs as they milled around the bandages.
“What the—?”
The dogs started running, this time without a sound.
She heard them splash through the river, into the forest.
“They've caught his scent, looks like.” The man who spoke sounded pleased.
“So it appears.”
If Juni's voice had sent a shiver through her, the sound of the general himself was enough to make her hold her breath, so she didn't make a single sound.
The only way to win this was not to get caught.
Chapter 8
Luc pressed back against the rough bark and waited, sword raised, for the hounds to find him.
They had stopped barking, but he could hear their panting breath and the sound of their feet running through dried leaves, coming toward him. Then suddenly, they were running past, more like a coordinated pack than the usual haphazard mix of dogs from a hunting kennel.
They were focused and silent, and none of them—not one—so much as looked his way as they loped into the dark green gloom of the forest and disappeared.
“He can't have run so far already.” The man who spoke was close, close enough that Luc shrugged off the dogs' strange behavior, and prepared for combat.
“He must have. Did you see them go? They had the scent.”
“They haven't steered us right yet. Why would they start now?” the soldier muttered under his breath, and walked past Luc, eyes on the ground, looking for tracks.
He must have caught sight of Luc from the corner of his eye because he stumbled to a stop, turned, mouth agape, and then gave a shout.
With a roar, Luc swung at him, cutting him down, then turned, blood arcing from his blade as he brought it round to take on the next one, and then stopped dead.
Staggered back.
He looked down, found the arrow sticking out of his bare chest.
And collapsed.
“Don't kill him.” The general's call came from behind the men that were suddenly crowded around him. “We need to find out where Ava's gone first.”
Luc closed his eyes and pretended to slip into unconsciousness.
It was a trick they all learned in the Chosen camps.
Sometimes, there was no winning. The best you could do was pretend to be at the end of your endurance, and sometimes you got a reprieve.
Nothing good would come of being questioned about Ava's whereabouts.
He wasn't going to tell them, and they weren't going to stop.
Better to buy a little time.
Hands grabbed him, lifted him, and he kept limp and silent. He thought he'd feel worse, but it wasn't that bad.
The arrow had pierced his skin and hit bone—he guessed his sternum. A lucky escape.
“Do we pull it out?”
“Leave it. If he's dying, he'll go quicker if you pull it out. I need him to hold on a bit until he can tell us where our little princess is.”
“Do you think she was with him? Maybe that's why the dogs have run off.”
“Maybe.” The general paused. “Who's gone after them?”
“The hunt master,” Juni said.
“You go help him. If Ava is that way, she might be a bit much for him on his own.”
A few of the men chuckled, and Luc heard the sound of boots running after the dogs.
“Let's set up camp here in the meadow. The horses need a break and there's water.” The general said nothing else, but Luc could hear the soldiers spring into action.
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