Oh, gods have mercy.
“Yes.” Echo was proud of the fact that she managed to speak the word like a sane human being instead of squeaking it. And she was even prouder that she hadn’t said “Please.”
He’s in pain, she reminded herself. You unbelievable letch.
Caius sat on the edge of the bed, one leg dangling off the side, the other folded in front of him. Echo settled behind him, keenly aware of the crumpled blankets and the closed door and the overall coziness of the room. A fire burned merrily in the small hearth set into the far wall, bathing the space in a soft amber glow.
Echo placed the open tin on the sheets beside her. She scooped up a generous glob with one hand. The balm was still cool, so she rubbed it between her palms to warm it. Caius’s silence amplified the intimacy of the moment. Rarely did he allow himself to appear vulnerable in front of an audience, but he had shown no reluctance to bare his wounds to her eyes. Maybe it was because she had seen them before, and with him in a far worse state than he was in now. Or perhaps there was no artifice between them anymore. Once, he’d hid behind a mask, pretended to be someone he wasn’t to trick Echo into trusting him. It had worked, for a time, but masks fell. They always did. The truth outed itself. The walls dividing them had crumbled, slowly, gradually. He knew that Echo possessed knowledge of him she shouldn’t have—Rose’s memories supplied her enough detail to fill in the gaps in her understanding of him—but there was something else there, something beyond her access to the firebird’s vessels that had opened a channel between her and Caius. He had let her in. He’d let her see the parts of himself he’d kept hidden for so long, and in turn, she had opened up herself—through conversations shared under starlit skies and chaste touches that offered more comfort than she could possibly express. With Caius, Echo could be herself, not a symbol or a savior or a soldier. And with her, he didn’t need to be a leader or a prince or a beacon of hope for his people. This room, with its messy bedding and crackling fire, was perhaps the only place in the world where the two of them could just be.
She brought her hands, shiny with balm, to his back. He flinched when she touched him, even though she was careful to place her fingers on a spot of unblemished skin first; then he relaxed with visible effort.
“Okay?” Echo asked. Her hands still rested on the curve of his shoulders on either side of his neck. She could feel the tension in his muscles even as he fought against it.
He nodded. “Okay.”
She kept her touch light as she spread the balm over the worst of his wounds. Her fingers traced the abraded skin as if following a road map, starting from his shoulder blades and wandering down the column of his spine to the slight dip of his lower back.
It didn’t take long for whatever herbs Ivy had mixed into the balm to work their magic. Caius’s head drooped forward, and every now and then he exhaled soft sighs of relief.
Echo was only halfway done when he spoke. “Thank you.”
Don’t say any time. Do not say any time.
“Any time,” she said.
A quiet chuckle made the muscles in his back twitch beneath her hands.
“Sorry.” She winced. “That was crass.”
He turned his head slightly so he could meet her eyes over his shoulder. “Don’t you dare apologize. I’m not made of stone. It’s nice to feel appreciated.”
Echo groaned. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Should I not be?”
“No,” she grumbled, working the salve into a particularly nasty cut.
A tightening of his eyes was the only sign of discomfort he allowed himself. “Then I shall endeavor to behave in a more suitably somber fashion if it pleases the lady.”
“Lady.” Echo snorted. “You can take the urchin out of the street, but you can’t take the street out of the urchin.”
Another soft chuckle. “I’m sure we can make a proper lady of you yet. All we need is a nice frilly dress, a parasol, maybe a fan. A goat to sacrifice to the gods.”
She slapped his unharmed shoulder as he laughed. A tiny snort might have escaped her.
“Make that two goats,” Caius added.
“Shut up and let me work,” Echo said. A lightness blossomed in her chest as the tension seeped out of the room. The warmth was pleasant, as was the company. It felt unbearably good to remember that not everything was war and death and loss. Echo wanted to bottle the moment and carry it with her so she could remind herself of that comforting truth when she needed it most.
Caius’s head rolled forward as Echo dug her thumbs into a knot of muscle low on his back. Her efforts were rewarded with a grunt of pleasure as the knot loosened under her touch. A different kind of heat flared in her cheeks, this one having nothing to do with embarrassment.
“I knew you would come for me.”
Caius’s voice was so quiet she had to lean in to hear him. Her hands still against his back, the skin tingling from the salve. They were so close that the hairs at the nape of his neck stirred with her breath.
“No matter what Tanith did or where she took me, I knew you would find me.”
Echo inhaled and exhaled slowly, mesmerized by the way his skin twitched as her breath hit it. “I was afraid I wouldn’t,” she said. “Or that I’d be too late and you would already be…”
Dead. She couldn’t bring herself to say that. They had lost so much between the two of them that the mere thought of adding his name to the growing list of the fallen was too much to bear.
With careful movements, Caius turned to face her. She wondered if her expression mirrored his. It was open. Raw. His pupils were dilated, perhaps because of the dim light. Or perhaps they’d been like that because she’d been touching him. His eyes hid nothing from her. He reached for her hand, unbothered by the slippery balm coating her skin. His thumb worked circles into her palm, an echo of what she had done to the stiff muscles of his back.
This close, she could smell his skin, even with the thick, cloying scent of the balm. Oil, the kind she knew Dorian used to clean his weapons. A faint whiff of woodsmoke, probably from tending the fire in the hearth. Beneath that, the slightest hint of apples. She never knew where it came from, but it was always there.
Takuminarsivalliajuq, she thought. An Inuit word to describe a person who becomes more beautiful over time. Nothing about Caius had changed intrinsically, but as Echo looked at him now, it was as if all the other times she’d looked at him didn’t really count. He was different now. She was different.
From this distance, she could see each individual scale on his cheekbones. She could have counted them if she wanted to. They caught the light from the fire, glistening in a way that reminded her of stars dappling the surface of a lake. His lips parted on a long exhalation, drawing her eye.