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I made a sound of disappointment and embarrassment and started to drop my hand until I realized dark gunk was clumped under my fingernails.
Wanting them clean, I brought them closer and began a vigorous hand-grooming regimen, only to realize the grime was actually dried blood, not dirt or sand.
With a shiver of revulsion, I scrubbed at them more frantically, chipping my lovely polish in the process.
I couldn’t be sure if the blood belonged to Farrow or one of the men we had killed, but all the same, it reminded me of the lives we’d taken a mere hour ago.
Five dead. Because of us.
And here I’d been, in the water, moaning and wanting sex.
Shame coursed through my veins. After killing Yasmin, I’d been sick with guilt and terror for years, reliving the horror of what I’d done, unable to move on and live with myself. But now, I’d murdered again, yet I’d already forgotten.
I know it’d all been in self-defense and they would’ve killed us if we hadn’t killed them first, but I hadn’t even felt a smidgeon of remorse at the time. With Farrow there, it’d felt somehow okay.
What was wrong with me?
Was I becoming so desensitized to death that it didn’t even faze me? Or was the presence of my true love somehow helping me process and move on so quickly that I never even felt the normal aftershocks of murder?
A little shaken by my own blasé reaction, I finished my shower immediately and hurried from the water, no longer in the mood for pleasure.
After drying and changing into my new dress, I hurried to the place Farrow said he’d be waiting, setting up camp. Now that we were in Far Shore and the terrain was vastly different, he said we’d rest only a couple hours here in the woods today, then start off again by mid-afternoon. From there, we would travel parallel to the main road until we came to the Cull River, where we’d reserve passage on a ferry to take us downstream to Blayton.
Where his sick mother waited.
Once I reached our campsite, I found that he’d already taken care of the horses, fashioned a smaller, triangular-shaped tent—one that only had walls, not a roof this time—and was kneeling in front of a fire he’d started.
I paused for a moment to watch his back as he poked a stick at the logs, nursing the flames to burn brighter. He’d changed as well. No longer in his war gear of a simple leather kilt, sandals with the fur ties crisscrossing up his legs to his knees, and matching wrist guards, he’d garbed himself in brown trousers and a heavy green woolen tunic with dark boots.
From the back, I would’ve mistaken him for a stranger, save for the fact that my mark recognized him and instantly calmed me with a sense of security.
I stepped toward him, wanting to kneel beside him and place my hand on his sturdy back, lean my cheek against his shoulder, and gaze into the fire with him. But then I remembered how worried I’d been about my own lacking emotions.
Wringing my hands, I released a breath. “We just left those men lying where they died.”
He glanced over his shoulder at me and then turned as he stood. The man was so handsome it made my stomach knot with need.
I grasped a portion of my dress’s skirt and worried the cloth between my fingers. I could only ever seem to focus on him whenever he was near. Was this going to make me forget to feel compassion for others, strip me of my humanity, and never worry about the rest of the realm ever again?
That was kind of distressing.
“If it’d been us,” he finally said, “they wouldn’t have given us a proper burial either, princess.”
“But we’re not them,” I argued. “I’d like to think myself better. And I think we should’ve—”
“What?” He stepped toward me. “Robbed the buzzards of their morning meal?”
I bit my lip. He had a point. By feeding the birds those corpses, we’d allowed the circle of life to continue so they could be nourished, then fly on and do whatever buzzards did to enrich the land.
But still.
“Did it bother you at all that we had to kill them?” I asked timidly.
He paused in front of me and tipped his head to the side. “Taking life always bothers me, my lady. I wonder if they had family, mouths to feed, children who’ll go fatherless without them, wives who’ll mourn their loss, sick mothers who depended on them for nursing.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they were the type who beat their wives, starved their children, and kicked their ailing parents out into the gutters. Maybe I did the realm a service to rid it of them. We’ll never be sure. Why? What’s bothering you most, princess?”
“I…” I blushed. “It’s actually a much vainer, more selfish concern than that. I hadn’t wondered about their families at all. I was just worried about myself, and why killing them hadn’t shaken me as much as it did the first time. When I murdered Yasmin.”
Farrow’s gaze softened with understanding and kindness. “That was your first time. The first time’s always different. And it was with someone you knew personally and were close to. Today, those men were dangerous strangers who were threatening our lives. They made no secret about the fact that they planned to rape and kill you. You aren’t required to mourn their deaths or even regret what we did. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”
