*
Locke thought he probably should have felt guilty, seeing the blood drain from Roar’s face when he told her where she would be riding now that her horse was pulling the Rock. But Ransom had put the idea into his head, and it had stayed there, tugging at his mind. And it did seem like a much better idea to have her ride on his horse with him than for her to squeeze into the already packed Rock with Duke, Bait, and now Sly.
Besides, if he could not scrape up any guilt for kissing her, there was little chance he’d feel any about having her pressed up against him on a horse.
According to their maps, there had once been a town a few hours east of their current location. No one could remember any specifics about it, so they just had to hope it had a blacksmith, but the first concern was finding out if the town was even still there.
And if having Roar on his horse gave him the opportunity to wheedle a little more information out of her, then all the better. He heaved himself into the saddle, then held a hand out to help her up too. She gave him that furious glare that never failed to make his blood pump a little faster. She ignored his hand and hauled herself up behind him without any help, and her tall, lithe frame molded against his back. Almost immediately, she shifted, trying to find a way to sit comfortably in the saddle while also touching him as little as possible. The saddle was large, but not meant for two people, so she would end up pressed against him sooner or later. He only smiled, and snapped the reins.
He hadn’t lied when he’d told her he didn’t understand her, at least not completely. She’d kissed him back, but he honestly did not know what she would do if he kissed her again—accept him or punch him. She was a bundle of contradictions, but one thing he understood all too well was her independence.
It reminded him of his own early days with Duke. The old man, whose hair had been shorter and darker then and only streaked with gray, had given Locke more than he could possibly hope for. A purpose. A home. It was on the road and ever changing, but it was more of a home than what he’d had in Locke. But even with the delirious happiness he felt with his new life, he had chaffed under Duke’s control. He’d been a scrawny child the last time anyone had ever told him what to do; and for every ounce of strength he spent holding on to his new life, he expended just as much energy rebelling against it. Hell, it wasn’t that long ago that he’d slipped away in the night to go after a hurricane alone when Duke had expressly forbidden it.
He was intimately familiar with Roar’s sort of reckless independence. It was one thing for him to risk his own life, but to see her risk hers uncorked emotions in him that he thought he had buried years ago.
For the first hour, Roar was stubbornly silent behind him. She had pushed herself back so far in the saddle that she sat on the upward curve at the back, and had to clench her legs tight to keep herself in place. And even then, a change in terrain or speed sent her tumbling forward, her hands grabbing his waist to keep from slamming into him. After the tenth or so time she had tried and failed to keep from falling against him, he was out of patience. Wrapping the reins once around the pommel so he didn’t lose them, he reached both hands back to grip her thighs, well above her burns, and tugged her forward. She squeaked in response, her fingers tangling in the leather straps and holsters that crossed his abdomen. He would be lying if he didn’t admit that he got pleasure out of both her outraged cry and the feel of her surrounding him.
“There,” he said, his voice low so that only she could hear. “We’re touching. I can feel you, all soft and warm against my back.” He heard her sharp intake of breath behind him, and he could swear her fingers tightened on the holster around his midsection. “You can feel me, and the world has not descended into flame again.” Though there was plenty of heat moving down his spine.
“You are such an ass!”
He smiled. “Probably.”
“Definitely.”
“Yes, but I’m an ass who gets what he wants.”
He hadn’t meant those words to sound quite so possessive. He still thought it was a bad idea to get attached to her, but since the kiss, he was having trouble getting himself to care. All the thoughts he had ignored so diligently before abraded him constantly now. Good idea or not—he wanted her. He feared she was fast becoming a chink in his armor, but with her arms still around his middle, those long, delicate fingers splayed out over his stomach, the last thing he wanted to do was pull away.
The sun was setting, but they were near the town on the map, so they pushed on. A smell hung on the breeze that singed his nose and made his eyes water—the rot of death and the smell of burned flesh. In the falling night, they could not see the town clearly, but he had a feeling he knew what was waiting. And sure enough when they got close enough to see, the town was in ruins. Stone and wood lay in heaping piles, the shape of what once was visible only in a few places where a wall or a chimney had miraculously stayed standing.
Behind the ruins of the town they found a funeral pyre, only half burned. He had a feeling this was the town the remnants fled. They likely set the pyre ablaze before they left, and the fire died before it finished the job. Roar buried her face between his shoulder blades and he heard her taking short, broken breaths. Duke lit the pyre again, and the scent of smoke and horror followed them long after they left.
When no trace of death clung to the air, they stopped to make camp for the night. No one wanted to go to sleep, nor did anyone want to light a fire after what they’d seen. So they sat for a while in the dark, talking quietly. They ate bread and berries grown by Jinx before exhaustion forced them all to sleep.
*
The door to Novaya’s cell slammed open in the dead of night. She was curled up on her pitiful cot, and she quickly adjusted her threadbare blanket to ensure it covered the handprint-shaped burn marks on her mattress.
Prince Cassius stepped inside, a torch held high in his hand, and Nova’s magic shook awake at the sight of the flame.
She had not bathed properly in weeks. A handful of times they had dropped a bucket of water into her cell. She had tried to make it go as far as possible, but even on those days, she never got fully clean. Even her body seemed changed—her arms and legs thinner, the roundness of her hips and stomach less pronounced.
Was it not enough that the prince came to question her during the day, now he had to disturb her nights as well? Before all this, nighttime had been the height of her anxiety. But now it was her one solace. The air grew cooler, soothing her heated skin. The dark blocked out her surroundings so that just for a little while, she could pretend she was back in her own room.