Page 103 of Ravenrose

But before I turn, my gaze catches on something clutched in Ayer’s fist. I frown, not wanting to get any closer, but it’s hard to make out in the dark. It’s small, wooden… a carving, I think.

He’s been carving something every night this week beside the campfire.

Puzzled, I peer closer, and even in the dim light, I can make out the shape: a winged horse. It’s delicately crafted.

It’s the first good look I’ve gotten of his work-in-progress. The hand-carved horse is unexpected and such a stark comparison to the cold and dangerous war captain I know. Maybe he’s carving it for someone. Does he have someone waiting for him? A wife perhaps?

Just like the fae soldiers in Sitara’s army, the Kovari soldiers must have families too. People who love them. People hoping to see them again.

The notion sits heavy in my chest.

I huff, annoyed with myself for the delay, and shake the thought away while rolling my eyes at my bleeding heart, willing it to harden.

Ayer is dangerous. And he wants me dead.

Maybe not today, considering he pulled me from the river, but I know that hasn’t changed. I’m sure of it, even if I don’t understand it. He could hurt me, use me; he could have just let me drown. And yet…

He hasn’t.

Not yet, I remind myself sharply.

Is he an asshole? Yes.

Dangerous? Without a doubt.

Ayer has had every opportunity to touch me—torture me—or worse. But he hasn’t.

Yet. My inner voice screams reason at me.

I eye the captain warily, my feet frozen in the river's muddy bank, distrusting my assessment of the battle-hardened captain. I take in the hard line of his jaw, resting on that log, his nose only a hair’s breadth above the dark water below.

If he slips one more inch while unconscious, he’ll drown.

I should let him. I should leave him exactly where I’ve found him and do all of Sitara a favor.

Or better yet… I should end him myself.

My gaze drifts back to the wooden carving in his hand.

He wasn’t holding it in the water earlier. He must have taken it out, checked for it, and made sure he hadn’t lost it, even as he was losing consciousness.

Because he saved me.

I curse under my breath. “Stupid, idiotic, asinine—” I grumble, starting toward him, reaching for my newly returned knife on my thigh, just in case soldier boy doesn’t live up to the angel reputation I just painted in my head.

Crouching down beside him, I first check his chest to ensure he’s even breathing.

It rises.

Alive, then.

An emotion flickers inside me. Disappointment or relief, I don’t know. I try not to linger on the latter.

Carefully, I lay my knife down on the sand before I reach for him. I have to hold my breath when my fingertips accidentally brush his cheek.

Slowly—so, so slowly—and carefully, I take his head in my hands, turning it away from where it’s hanging precariously over the water. Then I reach down, pull a rock from the water, and wedge it underneath the log to stabilize it.

Satisfied with my good deed, I lift my fingers, breaking contact with Ayer’s skin. Wasting precious seconds, I hesitate to study his face. It’s— He looks different like this. Unconscious, his features are softer. He looks younger than I had guessed before, more… innocent, and less haunted, maybe.