Page 39 of Memory of Ashes

Silence stretched between them. His breath came as a wave of heat against her cool skin. His attention dropped to her mouth, and she leaned towards him.

His forceful kiss took her by surprise, as did the ferocity with which she returned it.

She pulled away for a moment. What was she doing?

Her mind emptied of all thoughts as she threw herself back into his embrace, his hands sliding around her waist.

He lifted her onto the table, wincing a little from his wound. His mouth moved down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin.

The heat between her thighs increased. She drew him closer, wrapping her legs around him.

He was dangerous, like the unstable walls of a ruin she should have known better than to enter.

A soldier walked into the tent.

“Out!” Casyl yelled.

This was wrong. She drew back, folding her arms across herself. He turned away.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he said with his back to her. He pulled on a shirt and left the tent.

*

Zandhro’s face plagued her dreams. The metallic taste of his blood lingered in her memory, turning her stomach.

Casyl hadn’t returned to the tent, unless he had done so without waking her. She’d taken the cot, refusing to sleep in his bed. There was nowhere else to go.

After pulling on her boots, she ran her fingers through her hair and peered through the tent opening.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Ruven said when he saw her. He stood talking to Danae and some other soldiers.

“What time is it?” she asked, squinting in the sunlight.

“Ah, you’ve no head for drink, have you?” He laughed. “It stopped raining!”

In the distance, she saw Casyl emerge from the tent Ruven shared with Tharos. Tharos trailed behind.

“You should go get some breakfast. Danae, will you show her where?” he said.

“Come on,” Danae said. “You’ve yet to try the wholesome battle ration breakfast.” She laughed as she led her through the tents.

Casyl, Ruven, Tharos, and some other warriors filtered into Casyl’s tent.

They must have Battle Plan.

Danae showed her the food tent and then disappeared.

Amelia ate her stale bread and honey water, wandering around the camp.

The moans of injured men drifted from the medical tent. Her feet carried her until she was in front of another large tent. The flap was closed. She peered in.

Men were lying chained to metal posts, wounded and blood-soaked. Their stench lingered in the air. Were they still alive? They wore the same armour she’d seen in the enemy camp.

The one closest to the door opened his eyes. He slouched against the metal post.

“You’re the girl they’re after,” he said.

There was no one about, and the others were still unconscious.