She heard something crashing through the copse of palm trees behind her. Branches parted, and Locke stepped into view. His face had darkened with exertion, and the hair over his forehead stuck to his skin with sweat. He looked like he’d just run half the world to get to her, and yet from the moment he’d seen her, he hadn’t taken another step. He stood frozen in the shadows of the swaying palms. His eyes dipped down, taking in the towel that covered her. Her skin warmed as his eyes traced over the length of her uncovered legs. Abruptly, he turned away.
“I should have announced myself.” His voice was low, but it carried on the wind, and the familiar cadence of his speech was like an embrace that she had not realized she needed.
She smiled. “Your crashing through the trees was announcement enough.”
His head lowered, and she could see the beginning of a smile. She took a moment to study him while he was turned profile. His harness was missing, but he wore his Stormheart belt. Over his linen shirt was a thick hooded leather jacket in the same style as the one she had bought in Toleme, made to allow easy access to his weapons and supplies. He looked … weary.
“I’ll go. Let you finish, uh … finish.”
He turned back the way he came and she said, “Wait!”
He did. She didn’t know how to put into words the clawing feeling she got in her chest at the thought of him leaving. Duke hadn’t told her where Locke was when she woke, only that he would be back, and that he had barely left her side the previous two days.
Two days. The thought still boggled her mind.
“Roar?” Locke asked, his voice strangled.
“Just give me a moment. I’m almost done, and then we can talk. Stay there, just as you are.”
He swallowed, and then nodded his assent.
Trusting that she was strong enough to endure a moment or two in the water, she shed the towel and waded in. The water was so cold it stung her skin. She crossed her arms over her chest to block the wind, and shuffled a little farther in. The current was swift, so she bent down where she was rather than risk getting any deeper. She scooped up water in her hand, splashing it over her upper body. She gritted her teeth against the shock, and tried to move as quickly as she could.
Some of her hair fell down into her face, a tumble of snow-white strands. She jerked backward in shock and lost her footing, falling back into the water.
“Roar? Roar, what happened?”
Her body shook with cold, so the words came out in a stutter as she said, “I—I’m f-fine. I fell. That’s all.”
“Let me go get Jinx to help you.”
“No,” she said, “I can do this.” He groaned and scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, but didn’t protest. “Why don’t you sit down?” she asked. “You are making me nervous.”
He shuffled closer without looking at her. Then he sat down facing toward the palm trees so that he couldn’t see her without turning all the way around.
She focused back on what had made her fall in the first place. How was her hair blond again? Surely it could not have faded in mere days. Nova assured her that the dye would last for several months. She grabbed a chunk of hair, pulling it within her line of sight, and sure enough, all of it was once again that familiar pale blond—from the ends, to as far up as she could see.
“Locke…” she called out from where she still sat in the rushing river. “My hair is different?”
He cleared his throat. “It was like that after … after the skyfire.”
Light flashed below her, and if she had not felt her heartbeat pick up, she would have known it by the flickering lights in her chest. She leaned her head upon her knees and focused on breathing, on staying calm, not on all the things that were wrong. She must have stayed silent too long because Locke called out her name again.
“Almost done,” she said, pushing herself back into motion. She decided to dunk her head beneath the water and call that good enough. She came back up shivering, but her head felt clearer and her body less fatigued already. Carefully, she pushed up to her feet and wobbled toward the shore. Water sluiced over her skin in icy rivulets, and she snatched up the linen towel as soon as she made it to the bank, pulling it tight around her. For a moment, she stood there, trying to shake off the cold, staring at Locke’s broad back. He looked tense, and he kept running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his.
There was something empowering about knowing she made him nervous. That it wasn’t only she who came unraveled when they were together.
With her hair sopping wet, she dried her body as much as she could, and pulled the tunic back over her head.
“I’m covered.” The tunic still left her legs bare, and it clung to her damp skin in places, but it was more modest than the towel. He began to turn slowly. The line of his jaw came into view first, and her eyes caught on the hair that grew there. It was thicker than usual, closer to a beard like Ransom wore. She wanted to run her fingers over his face, to learn the texture of his bristled jaw.
Then his eyes were on her—on her wet hair and her flushed face and shaking hands and bare legs. He was on his feet immediately, crossing toward her and pulling her against his hard chest.
“You’re freezing.”
She burrowed further into his hold, pressing her face into the hollow of his throat and breathing in the scent of him. He smelled like the woods and sweat and horses and warmth. The heat he gave off transcended touch. It filled up her lungs and her heart and the aching hollow place inside that she had been wrestling with since she woke.
For long moments, they were content to stand there wrapped up in each other. He held the tears at bay, held back all her fears and doubts. Over and over, he ran his fingers through her wet hair, and that easy, safe moment came to an end when he said, “This color suits you. I did not think anything could make you more lovely, but I was wrong.”
She spun away from him, gasping, as the rest of the world came rushing back in.
“I should take you back to camp,” he said. “You need to rest.”
“No,” she cried, her voice too loud, too desperate. Softer, she said, “I’m not ready to go back.”
He looked like he wanted to disagree, but after a moment’s hesitation, he peeled off the leather jacket he wore, leaving him in a linen shirt that was rolled up to his elbows. He didn’t give her a choice, only picked up her hand and pushed it into one of the sleeves. She was still cold, so she didn’t fight too hard as he coaxed her into his jacket.
He took her hand and pulled her farther up the bank, into a nook between a semicircle of palm trees that blocked some of the wind. He settled her between his knees, wrapping his arms around her as another layer of warmth.
“How do you feel?” The deep gravel of his voice made her turn; she found his head bowed and his face turned sideways, his eyes fixed on her beneath the fall of his dark hair. She should not have felt pleased at the distress he wore like a second skin, but she had spent her entire life feeling like she wasn’t enough. To think that a man like Locke felt so strongly about her was a boost to her weary spirit.