Page 105 of Bride of Ash & Dust

I gasp, then rock back on my heels, pulling my hand away. Zarek winces. He opens his eyes and sits up so quickly that I almost fall backward. His hand drops to his waist, feeling for the dagger that’s no longer there.

And then he smiles. His shoulders drop, and despite the bruised, swollen eye, the split lip, and the dark marks across his chest, the curve of his lips still takes my breath away.

“Princess,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep. “How late is it?”

I shake my head as I try not to stare at his bare chest. There’s a smear of dried blood across his collarbone from the cut down his neck. That cut doesn’t look deep, thank the gods, but still, he was sleeping in the dirt.

“We should get moving,” Zarek says.

“No,” I say, still staring at his neck. “We need to wash that. It could get infected.”

Zarek looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. I stare right back, etiquette be damned. Finally, he sighs, then drops his head. I frown at the patchwork of bruises covering his bare abdomen. I have half a dozen salves that would help the pain and keep the swelling under control, but they’re all back in Vsenrog. Assuming no one has destroyed my belongings, that is.

“Fine,” Zarek says. “I’ll wash it.”

“No,” I reply again. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

I pull my dagger from its sheath on my thigh and cut strips from the cleanest parts of the white stallion’s thick wool saddle blanket. Then I take them to the river, soak them, and bring them back to Zarek. He reaches for the damp fabric, but I ignore him.

I start at his throat. He swallows as I bring the cloth to his skin; I feel his pulse beat against my fingers. The warmth of his body seeps through the water-cooled fabric.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” I whisper.

He nods, and his throat contracts. Beads of water slide down his neck and trace paths across the dust spread over his chest. I try to ignore the needy pulse between my legs as I wipe grit and dried blood from his skin.

Finally, I lean back on my heels and toss the strips of saddle blanket to the side.

“Thank you,” Zarek says. His voice sounds thick and oddly formal. I turn away, my cheeks burning for reasons I can’t begin to understand.

Zarek clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice sounds almost normal.

“We really should be going,” he says, as if we’ve overstayed our welcome at a gala and he’s trying to break the news to me as gently as possible.

I nod, then turn to stare at the indigo sky. The first of the night’s stars dances above me. Something cold closes around my chest. We’re close to the old hunting camp, the one my father apparently gave to my mother as a wedding present.

The place where Anura said she’d meet my brother if everything went wrong. And, hells, it’s hard for me to think of a single thing that hasn’t gone wrong since Anura and I had that conversation in the walled gardens of the Vsenrog palace. I’ve been to that hunting camp dozens of times, yes, but always during the day. And I was a child.

I swallow hard. It doesn’t matter. Once we get into the valley, I’ll be able to find the camp.

I have to.

Chapter 58

Lilias

HER GUARD

Iclap my hand over my mouth to keep from cheering. Or screaming.

I thought finding the old hunting camp would be easy once we reached the valley and found the rough road that followed the Marion River’s headwaters. I assumed the whole journey would come back to me, and I’d be able to tell Zarek exactly where we were and how long it would take to reach the camp.

But I didn’t recognize anything. The dark, silent pines, the looming shadows of the mountains, the soft gurgle of the cold, black river, all of it could have placed us anywhere in the kingdom. It was only the vaguest whisper of intuition that made me turn right and follow the stream upriver.

Zarek didn’t say a word. He just followed my lead, silent as the night surrounding us. And, the further we went, the more I began to dread admitting that I was lost. Perhaps I could just wait until morning.

But here it is, gleaming silver in the moonlight. The massive pine that was once split by lightning, the mark to turn off the road and follow the rutted path into the valley that hides the royal hunting camp.

The old split pine isn’t as big as I remember, and the road beneath it looks even rougher than it was when I was a child. Still, it’s the right tree. This is the right place. Thank the gods.