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“Eat,” he says in a hushed tone, like he’s making a solid effort not to bring attention to the way she’s moving her food around.
She raises an eyebrow. “I am.”
“No, you’re playing with your food.” His tone softens. It’s in the slight crease of his brow that he’s trying to be patient with the standards she was raised with. However wrong they might be.
“No, I’m portioning my food like a lady.”
His lids fall closed like he’s fighting the urge to roll his eyes.
“My dear queen, if you do not eat, you’ll faint. If you faint, I’ll have to peel your slippery body off the floor and carry you back to our room. Don’t make me do that. I’m tired.” He swallows, then leans closer. “Please. I’m just trying to help.”
Ruth turns to him with a condescending smile. “You’re not a woman, so let me explain how this works. I may get away with sneaking a snack or two when I’m alone. But when I’m in public, I have to eat this way. If I don’t, someone will say something. Someone might even throw me into the female ward of the asylum.”
“If anyone—”
“May we sit?”
Two men stand to my right, hovering with one hand on my shoulder and mocking smiles. My stomach does a flip, and my fingers twitch to yank the hand from its tight grip on my skin.
They look like brothers. Dark-brown skin, hair braided close to their scalps, and maroon vests with gold tassels.
Soldiers.
“You may not,” Warrose says calmly, yet his hazel eyes stew in severe irritation.
“Come on, War! You vanish without a word, and now you don’t introduce us to the pretty ladies?” A quick squeeze of my shoulder.
“Remove your hand.” His tone isn’t loud, yet it’s dripping in slow death. Warrose keeps his eyes on the place my shoulder is being covered.
“You’re no fun any—”
Warrose is nearly as fast as Dessin. It’s a swift movement, like the closing of a Venus flytrap. His hand unsheathes a machete on his, and with one flick of his massive arm, he barrels it down to chop off the hand that is gripping me. Only a centimeter before he makes a clean slice, he stops. The wide blade hovering a hair’s length over the man’s wrist.
“Off,” he growls, holding his attacking arm perfectly still, then follows the other man’s gaze to Ruth. “She isn’t a painting on display. Eyes off her too. If I catch you looking again, I’ll carve them out with this rusted machete.”
Well. He certainly is Dessin’s friend, isn’t he?
“Jesus! Relax.” The hand unclamps from my shoulder. The two men grumble about Warrose losing his mind before they leave the dining hall.
Ruth gets my attention with her rising eyebrows and pursed lips.“Wow,” she mouths.“I know,” I mouth back.
We both look away before we start laughing at the other’s expression, and it isn’t hard to wipe away the dopey smile on my face as Dessin enters the dining hall. The volume of the room lowers, loud voices morphing into hushed whispers, heads turning to watch him move, watch him claim every bit of dominant energy in the room.
I swallow down my bite of ham and look away as he gets closer. I see Warrose nod to him from the corner of my eye. Suddenly, my appetite vanishes, replaced with a sour churning of nausea. I stay perfectly still as Dessin lowers himself to the seat next to me. My eyes focus so hard on the meal they begin to burn.
“What’s the plan? We ride at dawn to save the furry grim reaper?” Warrose slides a glass of water to Dessin’s place setting.
“No.” Despite my anger, his deep voice sinks between my legs. “Scouts reported that they’re on the shoreline. They lined a few miles of Hangman’s Valley with traps to catch us or kill us. It’s going to be a couple of days until I can map it out and figure out how I can get through it.”
“Howwecan get through it,” Warrose clarifies.
“No. I can do this on my own.”
“Hangman’s Valley is the forest of every deadly species of beast there is. That’smyspecialty. And you don’t have DaiSzek to help this time. I’m going with you, brother.” DaiSzek. His name burns a hole through my heart.
“I’m going too,” I announce quietly.
“No,” Dessin responds without looking at me. “You’ll stay here until we get back.”
