Page 92 of The Silversmith

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An hour later, Damond stood with us outside the horse stables on the outskirts of Tovick. He planned on staying in town for a few more days before deciding whether to rebuild the tavern, or, with war against Molochai in the near future, relocating to the Winterton Caves.

The sun was bright in the sky, and I prayed the others were far away by now. I wished there was a way to know when they returned to their families. Safe, where Molochai and his Insidions could not find them.

Both our bags were slung over my favorite mare, and her sleek black glistened in the morning mist. Two bags were all we had. Most of our supplies had gone with the others. I had insisted as such, confident Gavin would be able to get us whatever we needed on the way. Perhaps I would even try my own hand at a hunt.

“Time to go.” Gavin led the chestnut-brown stallion beside the black mare.

“We can take just her.” I rested a hand on the mare’s sleek neck and looked at Gavin. “I’ll ride with you. It feels safer that way.”

And warmer. Even with gloves, my hat, scarf, and the wolf’s pelt shielding me, the wind bit at my cheeks.

“If that’s what you want,” he answered after a moment of jaw-clenching contemplation.

I turned to Damond, who took my face in his smooth, slender hands and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Sweet, brilliant, beautiful girl.” He sighed. “Keep him on his toes for me, will you?”

I snorted, wondering if that was possible. But then I remembered what Damond had said about my teacher losing his wits and returned his knowing smirk with a nod.

It seemed like muscle memory—the way I hitched myself up and over the black mare. She shifted her majestic form beneath me. Excitement rushed through me, as if it flowed straight from her body into mine. I waited while Gavin leaned over and muttered something to Damond—a command, by the way Damond nodded in response—and climbed onto the saddle behind me. I gave Damond one last look of thanks, and we rode off.

I sucked in a shallow breath at the way Gavin felt pressed against my back—warm, powerful, dominating. Aware of every shift of his body, the way his strong legs locked on either side of mine, both of us straddling the mare. How, with every breath, his chest rose and fell against my back. My stomach quivered.

I shoved it away, quenching it with thoughts of something, anything else. This was going to be a very long couple of days if I didn’t get a hold of myself.

“How long will it take to get there?” I asked, in dire need of a distraction.

“A little over two days by horse.”

Two days. That’s all I had left with him before I was handed off to my ancient, sorcerer father.

“There are a few small villages on the way. We can stop each night,” he continued. “I want you out of the cold if we can help it.”

“I’ll be fine with a campfire. I was before, and it was colder in Warrich.”

He gave no response, which meant no budging on that, apparently.

Changing the subject, I asked, “What did you tell Gemma?”

I waited through his silence. Gave him about a minute before speaking again.

“What did you tell Gemma?” I repeated, wondering if he’d heard me. “What did you say to make her trust you?”

He sighed and shifted around me, gripping the reins so firmly that I could see the tendons rippling beneath his scarred, calloused hands. I shivered at a sight as terrifying as it was tempting. The thought of those hands on me…

“I told her the truth, Ella,” he finally spoke, his deep voice firm.

“And what’s that?”

“Gemma understands the lengths I will go to protect you.”

“You scared her.” I remembered the troubled look on her face beneath the moonlight. “Something was off with her when she came to bed last night.”

“I didn’t scare her,” he replied calmly. “I just helped her understand the true weight of the burden you carry.”

“What does that even mean?”

Silence ensued.