Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Desperation … hunger …” Elisaf throws out ideas.
“Or another alliance that benefits them more.”
“With the Ybarisans,” he gives voice to my thoughts.
That sapling who tried to take Annika knew Romeria. They were familiar with each other. A connection exists there, though I haven’t yet deciphered what it could be.
A high-pitched screech echoes through the valley.
“A hag. Now that’s somethin’ to run from,” Fearghal announces with far too much zeal.
39
Romeria
Taking a deep breath, I trudge beyond the invisible border of the camp, my nerves on edge as much from the frequent and hair-raising screams that echo through the wilderness as the brooding warrior perched on the rocks ahead. Zorya redid his braids earlier, but only half of them, leaving the other half of his ash-brown hair cascading down his back.
“What do you want?” Jarek snaps, not even turning around.
“How did you know—”
“Your footfalls.” He pauses. “And your blood stinks.”
I snort as I settle on the boulder beside him, noting how the distant campfire shimmers in the blade he grasps. “No, it doesn’t. I have another day before the morels start fading.” And even when they do, I know the smell of my blood entices him. Entices all of them, no matter how they feel about me. “Which direction do you think they’ll come from?”
“The trees.”
“We’re surrounded by trees.”
“Then my answer is logical. Why are you here, Romeria? To pester me? Or to tell me more lies?”
“I never lied to you.”
“You never told me the truth.”
“Seeing how you’re reacting, can you blame me?” I shift to get more comfortable, wincing at the ache in my thigh where Abarrane chopped me with her wooden stick. Gesine offered to heal the bruising, but the commander scoffed at the idea, insisting I should learn to heal like the warriors I’m trying to impress. “Zander and Abarrane were worried you’d kill me if you knew.”
“I haven’t killed you yet, have I?” he asks, deadpan.
“Should I thank you for that?”
“It would be the courteous thing to do.”
My head falls back with an unexpected laugh, but it’s what I needed to crack into this stifling tension between us. “Thank you for not killing me.”
“Yet.”
“Yet,” I correct. “Can I ask that you resist the urge?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing since the moment I met you?” The faintest hint of amusement touches his voice now.
I cling to it. “I don’t believe that. At first, yeah, but not anymore. I think you were starting to like me. Or at least tolerate me.” I feel Jarek’s gaze on my profile, but I keep mine focused on the darkness ahead. “I talked to Eden.”
Silence is the only answer I get.
“Why do you make yourself out to be a perpetual prick when you can actually be decent and principled?”
“A perpetual prick. I like that.”
I lock my arm against the impulse to elbow his side. We may be talking, but that doesn’t mean he won’t turn on me like a rabid dog might snap at its owner. “She’s been through a lot. I’m worried that anyone who shows her even an inch of kindness will get whatever they want from her.”
“And you assume I would take advantage of her, like a predator homes in on its prey.”
“Well … yes.”
A harsh screech cuts through the night.
I shudder. “What was that?”
“A wild cat. It’s a mating call.” He pauses. “Not all that different from the sounds you were making this morning—”
“Shut up.” This time I do elbow him. At least he’s joking with me now.
A slightly more comfortable silence falls over us.
“Thank you, by the way, for last night. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t chased me down.” And that is the simple truth. Would Zander and Elisaf have been able to fight their way out without Jarek’s strength and skill?
My ring is still on my finger. I slide it off and secure it in my cloak pocket, welcoming the vibrant pulse.
It’s like a second heartbeat to me now.
“What is so special about that ring?” Jarek asks after a moment.
“Zander gave it to me.”
“And yet another lie. Are they practiced, or do they just slide off that slippery tongue of yours?”
“It’s not a lie! He gave it to me!”
“I think it is more than that, though. The night of the attack outside Bellcross, you did not want to leave without it. Why?”
How do I explain without getting into the convoluted and frankly preposterous journey I’ve taken to get here? “Because it helps me, but mostly it protects others.”
“From whom?”
From me, apparently. “It’s a very long story, and not one I trust you with yet.”
Jarek snorts. “That is an odd word for you to wield.”
“Maybe.” The truth is, I learned distrust long ago, a master of duplicity by the time I arrived here.
“How can any of us ever trust you? You are Mordain.”