CHAPTER FIFTEEN
He stopped some distance away, as if waiting for a signal from me to proceed. My stomach twisted. His face was different today. Still striking, but yesterday he was decidedly angry from the moment he saw me and I felt he wanted to hate me.
Today he wanted something else.
In the glare of the overhead sun, shadows slashed across his cheekbones, and his eyes were a deeper cutting blue against the muted landscape. Framed in dark lashes, they were the kind of eyes that could stop anyone and make them reconsider their steps. He made me reconsider mine. I swallowed. He casually held up two baskets in one hand as if they were an explanation for his presence. “Pauline sent me. She said you forgot these.”
I resisted rolling my eyes. Of course she did. The ever-resourceful Pauline. Even in her weakened state, she was still a steadfast member of the queen’s court, trying to weave possibilities for her charge from afar, and of course, she was the sort that even Rafe couldn’t refuse.
“Thank you,” I answered. “She was taken ill and had to return to the inn, but I forgot to get her baskets before she left.”
He nodded as if it all made perfect sense, and then his gaze passed over my shoulders and bare arms. My chemise was apparently not as modest as I had thought it to be, but there was little I could do to remedy that now. Along with my knife, my shirt was still hanging on Otto’s saddle. I walked closer to retrieve the baskets, trying to ignore the flash of heat spreading across my chest.
His horse was monstrous and made my Ravian seem like a child’s pony. It was clearly built not for speed but for strength, and maybe intimidation. Rafe sat so high on the saddle he had to lean down to hand me the baskets.
“I’m sorry if I intruded,” he said as I took the baskets from him.
His apology caught me off guard. His voice was polite and genuine, holding none of the rancor of yesterday.
“A kindness isn’t an intrusion,” I replied. I looked up at him, and before I could cut off my own words, I heard myself inviting him to stay and water his horse. “If you have the time, that is.” What had I done? Something about him greatly troubled me, but something enthralled me too, so much so that I was being far too reckless with my invitations.
His brows lifted as he considered my offer, and for a moment, I prayed he would say no. “I think I have the time,” he said. He swung down from his horse and led it to the pool, but it only sniffed at the water. It was a black and white piebald, and though formidable in stature, quite possibly the most beautiful horse I had ever seen. Its coat gleamed, and the feathers on its fore and hind legs were shimmering white clouds that danced when it walked. Rafe dropped the lead and turned back to me.
“You’re gathering berries?”
“Berdi needs them for the festival.”
He walked closer, stopping just an arm’s length away, and surveyed the canyon. “Way out here? There are none closer to the inn?”
I held my ground. “Not like the berries here. These are twice the size.”
He stared at me as if I hadn’t spoken. I knew that something else was going on here. Our gazes were locked as if our wills were battling on some mysterious plane, and I knew if I turned away, I would lose. Finally he looked down for a moment, almost contritely, chewing on his lower lip, and I breathed.
His expression softened. “Do you need help?” he asked.
Help? I fumbled with the baskets, dropping one. “You’re in distinctly better spirits today than you were yesterday,” I said as I stooped to pick it up.
“I wasn’t in poor spirits.”
I straightened. “Yes you were. You were an ill-mannered boor.”
A grin slowly lifted the corners of his mouth, that same maddening, arrogant, secretive grin of last night. “You surprise me, Lia.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“In many ways. Not least of which is your terrible fear of rabbits.”
“Fear of rabbits—” I blinked slow and hard. “You shouldn’t believe everything people tell you. Pauline has been known to generously embroider the truth.”
He slowly rubbed his chin. “Don’t we all?”
I studied him, no less than I had Gwyneth, though he was even more of a puzzle. Everything he said seemed to carry a gravity beyond his stated words.
I’d make Pauline pay for this, beginning with a lecture about rabbits. I turned and walked to the berry bushes. Setting a basket down at my feet, I began filling the other. Rafe’s footsteps crunched on the ground behind me. He stopped at my side and picked up the extra basket. “Truce? For now? I promise not to be an ill-mannered boor.”
I kept my eyes on the berry bush in front of me, trying to suppress a grin. “Truce,” I answered.
He plucked several berries, staying close to my side, dropping a few into my basket as though he was getting ahead of me. “I haven’t done this since I was a child,” he said.
“Then you’re doing quite well. Not one has gone in your mouth yet.”
“You mean I’m allowed to do that?”
I smiled inwardly. His voice was almost playful, though I couldn’t imagine any such expression on his face. “No, you’re not allowed,” I replied.
“Just as well. It’s not a taste I should acquire. There aren’t many berry bushes where I’m from.”
“And just where would that be?”
His hand paused on a berry like it was a monumental decision whether to pluck it or not. He finally pulled and explained he was from a small town in the southernmost part of Morrighan. When I asked the name, he said it was very small and had no name.
It was obvious he didn’t want to reveal exactly where he was from. Maybe he was escaping an unpleasant past like me, but that didn’t mean I had to swallow his story with the first bite. I could play with him a little. “A town with no name? Really? How very odd.” I waited for him to scramble, and he didn’t disappoint me.
“It’s only a region. A few scattered dwellings at most. We’re farmers there. Mostly farmers. And you? Where are you from?”
A nameless region? Maybe. And he was strong, fit, tanned from the sun like a farmer might be, but there was also so much that seemed very unfarmerish about him—the way he spoke, even the way he carried himself—and especially his unnerving blue eyes. They were fierce, like a warrior’s. They weren’t the eyes of a content farmer passing his days turning the soil.
I took the berry still poised in his fingers and popped it in my mouth. Where was I from? I narrowed my eyes and smiled. “A small town in the northernmost part of Morrighan. Mostly farmers. Only a region, really. A few scattered dwellings. At most. No name.”
He couldn’t restrain a chuckle. “Then we come from opposite but similar worlds, don’t we?”
I stared at him, entranced that I was able to make him laugh. I watched his smile slowly fade from his face. Gentle lines still creased his eyes. His laugh seemed to relax everything about him. He was younger than I originally thought, nineteen maybe. I was intrigued by—
My eyes widened. I had been studying him and hadn’t even answered his question. I looked away, my chest thumping, and returned with renewed vigor to my half-filled basket, plucking several green berries before his hand reached out and touched mine.
“Shall we walk for a bit?” he suggested. “I think this bush is stripped clean unless Berdi wants sour fruit.”
“Yes, maybe we should move on.”
He let go of my hand, and we walked a little farther down the canyon, gathering berries as we went. He asked me how long I had worked at the inn, and I told him only a few weeks. “What did you do before that?”
Anything I did in Civica wasn’t worth mentioning. Almost. “I was a thief,” I said, “but decided to try my hand at making an honest living. So far, so good.”
He smiled. “But at least you have something to fall back on?”
“Exactly.”
“And your parents? Do you see them often?”
Since the day of my escape with Pauline, I hadn’t discussed them with anyone. There will be a bounty on my head. “My parents are dead. Did you enjoy the venison last night?”
He acknowledged my abrupt change of subject with a nod. “Very much. It was delicious. Gwyneth brought me a generous helping.”
I couldn’t help but wonder what else she had been generous with. Not that she ever overstepped the bounds of propriety, but she did know how to lavish attention on certain patrons, and I wondered if Rafe had been one of them.
“You’ll be staying on, then?”
“For a time. At least through the festival.”
“You’re devout?”
“About some things.”
It was a neatly evasive answer that still left me wondering if his principal interest in the festival was food or faith. The annual festival was as much about food and drink as it was about holy observances, some partaking in more of one than the other.
“I noticed the nicks on your hands. Did you get them from your work?”
He examined one hand in front of him like he was just noticing the nicks too. “Oh, these. Almost healed now. Yes, from my work as a farmhand, but I’m between jobs right now.”
“If you can’t pay, Berdi will strip it from your hide.”
“Berdi needn’t worry. My lack of work is only temporary. I’ve enough to pay my way.”
“Then your hide is spared. Though there’s always some work around the inn you could do in trade. The cottage, for instance, is in need of a new roof. Then Berdi could rent it out properly and make a better profit.”
“Then where would you stay?”
How did he know I stayed in the cottage? Was it apparent from the direction I was walking last night? Still, I could have been traveling a back path to any number of homes a short walk from the inn—unless he had watched me all the way to my door last night.
As if he could see the thoughts churning in my head, he added, “Pauline told me she was going to the cottage to rest when she asked me to bring you the baskets.”
“I’m sure the loft will suit Pauline and me just as well as Berdi’s paying guests. I’ve stayed in much worse.”
He grunted as though he didn’t believe me, and I wondered how he perceived me. Did privilege show in my face or speech? It showed nowhere else. My nails were chipped, my hands chapped, and my clothing torn. I suddenly felt pride in my difficult trek from Civica to Terravin. Hiding our tracks was our priority over comfort, and more than once, we slept on hard stony ground without the benefit of a warm fire.
The canyon narrowed, and we climbed a gentle path until we emerged on a grassy plateau that looked out on the sea. The winds were strong here, whipping at the loose tendrils of my hair. I reached up to push them back and surveyed the ocean, purple with frosted caps, a wild tempest, alluring and frightening. The warm temperatures of the canyon vanished, and I felt the chill on my bare shoulders. Waves swirled and crashed on the jagged rocks in an inlet far beneath us, leaving foamy trails behind.
“I wouldn’t get close,” Rafe warned. “The cliffs may be unstable.”
I looked down at the fissures that reached out like claws from the cliff edge and took a step back. We were surrounded only by windswept grass. “I suppose there are no berry bushes up here,” I said, stating the obvious.
“None,” he answered. His eyes lifted from the fissures to me, long seconds passing, and I felt the weight of his attention as if he were studying me. He caught himself and looked away, staring farther down the coast.
I followed the line of his gaze. In the distance, the enormous bleached remains of two massive domes that had caved in on the windward side rose high above the surf like the ribbed carcasses of giant sea creatures tossed to the shore.
“They must have been impressive once,” I said.
“Once? They still are, don’t you think?”
I shrugged. The texts of Morrighan were riddled with caution about the Ancients. I saw sadness when I looked at what was left of them. The demigods who had once controlled the heavens had been brought low, humbled to the point of death. I always imagined I heard their crumbled masterpieces singing an endless mourning dirge. I turned, looking at the wild grass shivering across the plateau. “I see only reminders that nothing lasts forever, not even greatness.”
“Some things last.”
I faced him. “Really? And just what would that be?”
“The things that matter.”
His reply surprised me both in substance and delivery. It was oddly quaint, na?ve even, but heartfelt. Certainly not what I’d expect to hear from someone with a hard edge like him. I could easily challenge him. The things that mattered to me hadn’t lasted. What I wouldn’t give to have my brothers here in Terravin or to see love on the faces of my parents once again. And the things that mattered to my parents hadn’t lasted either, like the tradition of a First Daughter. I was a grave disappointment to them. My only response to him was a noncommittal shrug.
He frowned. “Do you disdain everything of the old ways? All the traditions of the ages?”
“Most. That’s why I came to Terravin. Things are different here.”
His head cocked to the side, and he edged closer. I couldn’t move without stepping toward the fissures of the cliff. He was only inches from me when he reached out, his fingers brushing my shoulder. Heat streamed through me.
“And what’s this?” he asked. “It bears some resemblance to tradition. To mark a celebration?”
I looked to where he had touched my skin. My chemise had slipped from my shoulder, revealing a portion of the lion claw and the vines of Morrighan. What had they done that I couldn’t be rid of this beast? Damn the artisans!
I yanked at my chemise to cover it. “It’s a terrible mistake. That’s what it is. Little more than the marks of grunting barbarians!”
I was incensed that this damnable kavah refused to let me go. I tried to brush past him, but a strong jerk left me suddenly facing him again, his hand securely circling about my wrist. We didn’t speak. He only stared at me, his jaw tense, as if he was holding back words.
“Say it,” I finally said.
He released his grip. “I already told you. Be careful where you step.”
I waited, thinking he would say more, do more. I wanted more. But he made no move.
“Is that all?” I asked.
His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, and his chest heaved as he let it out again. “That’s all,” he said, and he turned and walked back down the path toward the canyon.
His bite will be cruel, but his tongue cunning,
His breath seductive, but his grip deadly.
The Dragon knows only hunger, never sated,
Only thirst, never quenched.
—Song of Venda