“We have to rest,” she protests, and dozens of Frathik eyes watch us, ready to intervene if I force her to go with me.
“I just need to get something. It will be quick. Please,” I add. That polite nothing unlocks her soft heart, and she willingly follows me to the hangar.
I leave her outside to wait and duck into my bird, unscrewing the nav panel as quickly as possible to retrieve my blade. I strap the sheath to the inside of my thigh, where it frictions uncomfortably against my cock. I’ll have to find a new hiding spot for it in Lena’s quarters, because I can’t wear it like this.
That’s not all I came for, though. I search through my food stores and choose a few pouches, and then I gather my extra svelis and sashes that weren’t singed in the crash.
“Need help?” she asks when I exit, falling into step beside me.
My lip curls. As if I would let her bear my burdens. I would not want a debt to her, however small. “You think me so weak, I cannot carry some clothes?”
She laughs. Always laughing. “No. I was just being nice.”
“Well, stop. It is unnecessary. I won’t be manipulated.” I bite off each sentence like a curse.
“I did it to be decent, not because it’snecessary. I’m not trying to manipulate you. Jesus. What kind of life have you had?” She turns her head to scrutinize me, as if the answer is on my face. Not finding it there, she adds, “Really. I’d make the same offer to anyone.”
“ToHarl.”
She hums in agreement as we reach her quarters, where she holds the door open for me. “Him or Rose or Oljin orUnnu. Anyone who was carrying something,” she says as I pass through.
If I was annoyed to be the target of her manipulation, I’m even more annoyed to be grouped with the others. I toss the svelis onto the bed. “I am the same to you as all these?” I ask, bitter.
“I didn’t say that, did I?” Lena eyes the garments now strewn among the furs. She picks one up. “Want to hang up your clothes? Or I guess we could fold them.”
“They are yours. Do with them what you want.”
She gapes at me. “I don’t need—”
“Look at yourself!” I say harshly, gesturing to the rags she wears. The ones her “friends” gave her.
She looks down at herself, cheeks reddening, and when she looks up again, her eyes are shiny, her expression warm. “Thank you.”
Only she would thank me for an insult.
Chapter 13
Lena
He gave me his clothes. A whole pile of them. I doubt he has any left except the ones he’s wearing. They’re mostly black to match his priest cloak, though there are a few sashes in different colors, some embroidered along the edges in a design that reminds me of Celtic knotwork. They’ve all clearly been worn, but they’re in perfect condition. And they’re soft like cashmere when I run the fabric between my fingers. And they smell like him, one part citrus, one part smoke.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I tell him, touched.
“I didn’t do it because it wasnecessary,” he parrots back at me in a nasty tone. “I just didn’t want to look at you.”
The boy is in his feelings right now. Definitely needs a hug. I sidle up to him like I would a poisonous snake and sneak my arms around him. He stiffens, lifting his chin up like he’s afraid I’m going to try and kiss his sacred mouth or something. I pet his back until he melts a little, and then I plant one in the center of his chest, as high as I can reach.
He makes a noise and pushes me away. “Get dressed so we can sleep.”
“I’m already wearing my pajamas,” I point out. He just grunts and walks away, turning his back to me as he crouches down near Elvis’s enclosure. Giving me privacy to change.
I slip out of Rose’s old jacket and my worn-thin jammies and slide on some of Lyro’s soft, expensive-feeling clothes. Loose, open-sided trousers that tie at the waist. A sleeveless wrap tunic that I close with a wide, purple sash. They’re a little long for me, the hem of the tunic brushing my knees and the trousers blousing around my ankles, but they’re comfortable and so pretty. After months wearing the same pair of elastic-waisted shorts, this feels like formal wear.
I fold the rest of them and store them in a corner. When I finish, Lyro is still hunched in the corner. I assume he’s praying at first, but then I see him reach into Elvis’s enclosure.
What is hedoing?!
The adrenaline burst feels like being stabbed through the heart. I’m not even sure how I cross the room, but the next thing I know, I’m tackling him, knocking us both sideways onto the floor. His head makes a sickening noise when it hits the metal grates.
