“Well, not perfect, maybe.” Because that sounded even more naïve than she’d been. Though she’d had a vision of herself in her robes and mask, perfectly self-possessed, strong, and unassailable. Naïve, indeed. “But much better than I had been.”
He gave a lopsided smile, shaking his head absently at something. “It is funny, how the goal always seems to move. I once thought that when I got big and strong enough to fight the golems, then they wouldn’t scare me so cursed much. Then I thought if only we could win the war, everything would go back to normal. Then it was, if only we could build the aqueducts before winter, grow enough crops, bring in enough water, then next summer we’d be fine.”
He glanced at her again, pushing back his hair from his eyes. “We know what became of that hope.”
The Trom had burned the crops and their clever aqueducts. “And now your goal is to get me to Dru alive.”
He studied her a moment. “It’s a good interim goal, anyway. Shorter term than that is figuring out how to get you to eat this meat so you won’t waste away on me.”
“I’ll eat it,” she said, though her stomach revolted. Maybe if she closed her eyes. She owed him that much. She’d made vows to help him save the Destrye and she wouldn’t be foresworn again. “Thank you for cooking it for me. It was ungracious of me to say otherwise.”
Lonen smiled at her, warmth in it. “I think we can cut you extra rope given the circumstances. I’m sure I’d be far more than ungracious, were I in your tree.”
She had no reply to that, so she waited, steeling herself for the unpleasantness ahead. Lonen pulled some of the meat off the spit and put it on a utensil he’d pulled from the saddle bags, working intently with his knife. Coming around the fire, he sat beside her on the cloak, and handed her what turned out to be a plate, but made of metal instead of glass. “Here’s a flask with water to wash it down with if you need to,” he said. “I cooked it really well and pulled it into slivers so you don’t have to chew it much. You can pretend it’s those grubs you like to eat.”
“Grubs?” She kept her eyes firmly on his face, so as not to look what in her lap. He didn’t seem to be joking. “I don’t eat grubs.”
“Those white, wormy looking things you ate for our big meal before the council meeting, when you went in and kicked ass, forcing them to agree to make you queen.”
She nearly laughed at how he kept trying to build up her ego. She must seem pitiful indeed if he felt he needed to put so much effort into it. “Is that how it happened?”
“That’s how I remember it.” He reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, trailing a finger down her cheek. “You were spectacular. Still are.”
She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, surprised at how much she’d needed to hear that. Pitiful, yes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He nodded at the plate. “Eat your grubs.”
“It was grain.”
“This is just like grain. Just a little more processed down the line.”
“What a way to think of it. I will never understand you and your barbarian ways.”
“Back at you, sorceress. Eat.”
“I can’t while you’re watching me.”
“Tough. Do it anyway. If you stall any longer, I will make good on my threat. At least sitting on you will be fun for me.”
“You’re such a bully,” she muttered, but at the resolute glint in his eyes, she pinched up some of the meat, held her breath and shoved it in her mouth. It kind of felt like grain to her fingers, but tasted… ugh. Like blood and char. She didn’t have to chew much—he was true to his word on that—so she swallowed as hastily as possible.
He raised a thick brow in question. “First bite down.”
“And I didn’t even puke on you.”
He laughed and ran a hand down her hair. “You’ll do, sorceress. Are you cold—do you want the cloak on you?”
“No—the fire is really warm. Trying to cover me up?”
“If only.” He got up and went to the other side of the fire again, unspitting another little carcass. “If you’ve got enough so far, I’m eating this one.”
“Please do.” He did look far too gaunt. More so than ever, and he’d arrived back in Bára skinner than he’d been on his first visit. Despite his muscled chest and shoulders, and the ridged lines of his abdomen, his hip bones stood out sharply and she could see his lower ribs. Of course, his leanness only served to define the lines of his muscles and sinews, tempting her to run her fingers along them, to explore him as she hadn’t been able to before. “Have all you like,” she said with fervor, quickly swallowing another pinch of the meat. If she didn’t look at the cooking bodies—or inhale the smell too deeply—she could kind of forget what it was.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook.” Lonen leveled a stern look at her. “You’ll get more for breakfast.”
Relieved that he apparently wouldn’t make her eat more than he’d already given her, she ate what she had as fast as possible. It did fill her stomach, the warmth of the food welcome.
“You were telling me about the magic and how you thought things would fall into place once you had your mask,” he reminded her.
“And you never forget a question once you’ve asked it.”
He grinned, eyes sparkling. “See? You do understand me and my barbarian ways.”
She huffed out an exasperated sigh, which only broadened his grin. At least talking let her not think about the animal she ate. And what its name to itself might have been. Finer sentiment apparently flew out the open window when it came to survival. “I thought that once I had my mask I’d understand all the temple lessons. That everything would make sense and I would know what I was doing all the time.”
Lonen grunted a laugh. “Good luck with that. I’m still waiting to know what I’m doing.”
“You too? Some king and queen we make.”
“If only our subjects could see us now.”
He surprised the laugh out of her. Somehow he managed to do that—make her laugh at the most absurd moments, even at her lowest, like this night. She shook her head ruefully, the silken slide of her drying hair an unusual sensation on her bare skin. Lonen stared at her a moment, rapt, before yanking his gaze away. Maybe he did still find her attractive. Another irrelevant thing to be wondering about, though these things seemed to be looming large in her heart and mind.
“Sometimes we focus on the small things because the big ones are too much to contemplate all at once,” Chuffta said as he landed by the fire, looking sleek and satisfied. “And the rodent things didn’t have names. I asked and they didn’t answer.”
She nearly choked on her mouthful, Lonen giving her a quizzical look. “Chuffta,” she said by way of explanation. “Trying to make me feel better. Anyway, to answer your question, I have no idea how this works. We left the city and the wild magic hit me hard, just like the last time. Mother told me to remember sgath comes from Sgatha and to make it wane like her crescent until it went dark to the new moon. So I did.”
“And promptly passed out,” Lonen noted in a wry tone.
“Well, I think that would have happened anyway. Then, when I woke up later, all that feeling of magic coming in was gone.”
“But you were weak. Could barely move.”
As if she needed reminding of how he’d had to help her. Perhaps being up close and personal with her more unattractive body functions had served to repel him. She couldn’t blame him there. “I had thought that was because of the backlash of the wild magic. That’s how it affected me the last time. But now I think some of it is because I began to starve, being away from Bára’s magic.”
He nodded. “That’s what you said. Like a flower without water, you wilted. You’re better now, though. And getting stronger all the time.”
“The food helped.” She set the plate aside, surprised to find it empty. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure to feed my wife.”
“Me and Buttercup. You take
good care of us.”
He winced. “Don’t tell anyone that name, okay? It’s beneath a warhorse’s dignity. And don’t dodge the subject. It’s more than the food.”
“Yes, but I don’t know what. It’s like there’s a coherent kind of magic here that I can absorb. But my portals are still closed because I can’t read your thoughts, much, and I don’t overload when you touch me. Which is why we should have sex while we’re here, because we might not have another opportunity.”
“Now who won’t drop the topic she’s interested in pursuing? I’m not doing it, Oria, so let it go.”
“You were the one to go on about it, how much you wanted me and that you’d find a way,” she snapped, full of ire again. And the sting of humiliation that he’d rejected the offer yet again.
“And we will. When you’re healthy again.”
“What if I’m never healthy again, Lonen—have you thought of that? What if this is the best I’ll ever be? We could leave this oasis and I’ll begin to starve again.”
He set his jaw stubbornly. “I refuse to believe that. However, if that should happen and we can’t find a way to reverse it, then I’ll bring you back here to get strong. Then you can believe I’ll make love to you until you can’t see straight. Something to look forward to.”
She didn’t return his crooked grin. “I know this is your thing, your way of looking at life, to be all idealistic and proclaim we’ll ‘climb that tree when we come to it,’ but have you considered, really thought about the fact that maybe I’m no longer the sorceress I was? Even if I can manage to live, my relationship with magic might have forever changed.” Her voice caught on that, but she refused to shed any more tears of self-pity. “Not only might I be useless in helping you fight the Trom, it’s entirely likely I could become a stone around your neck. The forever sickly wife who is nothing but a burden. You should think long and hard on this, Destrye—and before you decide to expend the effort to drag me across the rest of the desert.”
He stared into the fire, then at her through the screen of his dark lashes. “Is that what the sex thing is about? You’re wanting to give me something in exchange for taking care of you.”
“It seems only fair.” She sounded bitter. Better than pitiful, though. “I don’t have anything else to offer.”
“I would be severely pissed about that,” he said in a conversational tone, wrapping up the meat and stowing it. “Except I’m too tired. And neither of us is in any state to be rational. Still, I’m going to point out that I married you with every intention of keeping my vows. That’s what marriage is about: being partners and helping each other when we need it. I want to make love to you, yes, but not as some sort of equivalent exchange of favors, so you can get that out of your head. You might not think better of me than that, but I do.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” She’d made a miserable mess of it. She couldn’t seem to do anything right. “I… want you, too. I wanted to touch you while I’m able to.”
“We can do that, Oria.” He finished his tasks, scrubbing his hands clean in the sand. “Chuffta, you’ll mind the fire? Not too hot. Keep it low, just like this.”
Her Familiar spread his wings and imitated a bow, happily setting a proprietary talon on the topmost log on the ready pile of wood. Lonen came around the fire to her. “Lie down, love—let’s get some sleep. Things will look brighter in the morning.”
It felt good to do so. To give up the effort of sitting upright and stretch out on the warm fur. Lonen lay down behind her, drawing her back up against his bare chest, hot from the fire and his inherent vitality, and cupped his body around hers. “Lift your head,” murmured.
She did and he moved her hair, smoothing it over her shoulder and moving his arm under her head. His biceps made a surprisingly good pillow, the hairless skin of his underarm soft against her cheek. He drew the fur around them and she melted into the comfort of it all. Sleep—real sleep—not the dragging weight of unconsciousness suffused her mind.
“I might have been an idealist once.” Lonen’s voice came softly, dreamy and reflective. She might have thought he spoke only to himself, but he kissed her hair, his other hand resting on her belly, softly caressing her with quiet fingers. “But I lost it along the way. I only found it again when I saw you, Oria. My world had become a bleak, sterile place that housed only cruelty and desperation. You brought magic into my life. That’s everything.”
In that interstitial place between waking and dreaming, his words meant everything to her, too.
~ 10 ~
He came awake all at once, as he’d acquired the habit of doing on the long campaign trail. A good and bad skill. He gained alertness rapidly—critical in case of attack—but it also gave him a disorienting jolt. Gone were the days of slow, drowsy awakening, gradually remembering his dreams and the events of the night before, idly pondering plans for the coming day. Instead his heart thundered into readiness to fight, his body tensed to spring, long before his brain caught up.
Fortunately, long habit also helped him catch up quickly so he didn’t disturb Oria, still sleeping deeply in his arms. Which also allowed him to ease his hips back from her delicious bottom before she woke and discovered how he’d been grinding his morning erection against her. She didn’t need more reminders of his burning lust to have her—nor did he need another seduction attempt from her to test his resolve.
They still lay exactly as they’d fallen asleep and the sun had risen to long past anything he could call morning—a testament to their deep exhaustion. Probably only the growing heat had awakened him. He felt hugely better, however. Nothing like water, food, and rest to restore a man. And a beautiful woman to salve his soul. Oria’s hair gleamed copper bright in the midday sun and he indulged himself by winding a lock of it around his finger like a ring. It looked quite fine. When they reached Dru—and he refused to contemplate any other outcome, if that made him an idealist, so be it—he’d have Oria’s beah made of copper in exactly this shade.
Smooth or plaited, he wasn’t yet certain.
Her breathing changed from the deep evenness of sleep and she stirred, so he risked caressing her. Pushing the already too-warm cloak back, he stroked a hand down her slight waist and the curve of her hips, then back up her concave belly. Far too thin, but so soft and sweet. She had a point about indulging in touching. Though he’d never get enough of her, never saturate himself with her presence to satisfy that craving.
She lifted a hand to rub at her eyes, frowned, then turned in his arms, blinking at him. A reflection of his own awakening, remembering what had happened before she slept, though with all the drowsy dreaminess he’d lost somewhere on a corpse-strewn battlefield.
“Hello,” he said, softly, to help her along, restraining himself from asking how she felt as it seemed to annoy her. Probably he wouldn’t like that first thing when he awoke either.
“Hi.” She frowned a little. “We’re at the oasis still, right?”
He suppressed a smile, lest she think he laughed at her. “Yes. Just since yesterday evening.”
She narrowed her eyes, the softness of sleep quickly vanishing as the coppery awareness sharpened. Some of her magic swirled through him, sparkling and sure. She’d recovered a great deal during her sleep. “You laugh at me,” she noted in a tart tone, “but just try going in and out of consciousness for several days and you’d get paranoid about lost time, too.”
“I wasn’t laughing, Oria.” He smoothed a hand along the arch of her spine, her hair falling silky over it. “At least not at you. It only amused me that it was your first question.”
“The first one I articulated anyway.” In a rapid shift of mood, she curved into him, pressing her slim body into his, her nipples taut pebbles against his chest and he bit back a groan. Awake, she lost that fragile quality, the vibrancy of her personality somehow transforming her from warm coal to blazing bonfire against him. A miscalculation there in savoring her sleeping presence instead of getting up before she awoke, p
utting him firmly in danger of forgetting her well-being and succumbing to his savage nature. Greatly recovered or not, she needed much more rest and gentle caring—not the debauched array of what he longed to do to her.
He wouldn’t again make the mistake of mishandling this precious gift from Arill.
Oria, however, had other ideas. She tangled her fingers in the hair of his chest, tugging at it with a playful glint in her eye. “My first question was ‘who is this magnificent man in my bed?’”
He put a hand over hers, steeling himself to withstand the temptation she presented—along with the ridiculous rush of pleasure that she found him attractive, and the very good sign that she felt good enough to flirt. He hadn’t always been sure. She’d dropped hints here and there, but the Báran girl he’d married only days before had been reticent in her naïveté, and the sorceress canny in what she revealed to him. Both far easier to deal with than this temptress determined to seduce him.
“Had you forgotten me already?” He asked lightly, in the same teasing tone.
“I thought perhaps one of the llerna had snuck into my bed to claim tribute for the water and sanctuary.” She wriggled against him, sliding a slender thigh along his as he fought to keep his groin well back.
“Are there such creatures?”
She raised her brows, thankfully distracted by the question. “Who do you think built these oases?”
“We didn’t know. We’d didn’t even know where Bára was until we followed the golems back. Our scouts found the oases along the way. What are these llerna?”
“Builders and guardians. They gathered together the water as the great rivers dried to trickles, concentrating them in sacred spots, where only the thirsty could enter.” She spoke the words like she recited an old lesson.
“That explains why they weren’t drained like everything else,” he mused. “I’d wondered how—” He broke off on a gasp as her clever hand wrapped around his hard cock. “Oria.”
The Tides of Bára Page 10
