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“How’s that working out?”
Taryn gestured at the school of tiny fishes circling the boat, and Lara felt her cheeks warm as they both laughed at her expense. Then Aren said, “Go get some rest, Taryn. I’ll take over for a bit.”
Lara’s heart skipped as Aren settled on the seat facing Lara. He waited until the other boat was nearly to the beach before asking, “Why exactly have you volunteered yourself for this particular misery?”
Lara stared at the bottom of the canoe, which was taking on a bit of water through a tiny crack that she’d need patch. “Because. If I don’t learn to master the sea, I’ll never be able to go anywhere with you.”
“Master?” He leaned forward, and her eyes, of their own accord, fixed on his lips, heat rising to her cheeks as she remembered the feel of them against her own.
“Perhaps tolerate is a better word,” she murmured, noticing a nasty scrape on the inside of his forearm. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing. I had an altercation with a rock, and the rock came out better in the exchange.”
Part of her was afraid to move closer to him, already aware that in his presence, she’d stopped seeing and hearing what was going on around them. But, she told herself, he was also the key to seeing more of Ithicana, and that was a necessary part of her plan. “Let me have a look.”
He shifted nearer, unbuckling the greave that protected the backside of his arm. “See? Nothing of consequence.”
“It should still be bandaged.”
It didn’t need to be bandaged. Both of them knew it. But that didn’t stop her from taking hold of his wrist. Or him from supplying her with salve and a roll of fabric. The boat rocked on a series of larger waves, and his knee bumped against the side of her thigh, sending a surge of heat the rest of the way up her leg, filling her with a sensation that was decidedly distracting.
Forcing her attention on the injury, Lara picked out a few bits of rock, smeared the raw spots with salve, then carefully wrapped the bandage, but it was impossible not to notice how his breath moved the errant wisps of hair on her forehead. The way the muscles in his forearm flexed when he moved. The way his other hand brushed her hip as he gripped the side of the canoe.
“You’re knowledgeable in the healing arts.”
“Any idiot can wind a bandage around an arm.”
“I meant more what you did on Serrith.”
Lara shrugged, tying off the bandage. “All Maridrinian women are expected to be able to put their husbands back together. I received the appropriate training.”
“Practicing stitches on a cloth isn’t the same as running a needle and thread through a person’s bleeding skin. I nearly fainted the first time I had to do it.”
A smile rose on her face, and she unfastened the bandage knot, unsatisfied with it. “Women haven’t the luxury of such squeamishness, Your Grace.”
“You’re avoiding the question,Your Grace.” His voice was light, teasing, but beneath she sensed a seriousness, as though he were searching for a lie.
“My sisters and I practiced on the servants and guards whenever there was an injury. On the horses and camels, too.” That was the truth. What she didn’t tell him was that her true training came from trying to save the lives of the Valcottan warriors she and her sisters fought on the training yard. It had been a twisted way to learn. In one heartbeat, trying to take a man’s life. In the next, trying to save it. Only to take it again.
“It’s a useful skill to have around here. That is, if you’re willing.”
Buckling the greave over the bandage, the back of her hand brushed his palm, and he closed his fingers around hers. Her train of thought vanished. “I’ll help as much as I’m able to. They’re my people now.”
His expression softened. “That they are.”
Both of them jumped as something rapped sharply against the hull of the canoe, and Lara looked up to see Jor standing in the boat next to them, paddle in hand. “You ready?”
“For what?”
The older man gave him an incredulous look. “The horns, Aren. Amarid is moving south.”
Lara hadn’t heard any horns blow. Hadn’t seen the other canoe approach. Hadn’t noticed a goddamned thing while bandaging that arm. And neither, it appeared, had Aren.
He clambered out of her canoe and into the other vessel, setting them both to rocking, and then they were on the move toward the entrance to the cove. Lara stared after them, finally shouting, “How am I supposed to get back to shore?”
“You have an paddle,” he shouted back, a wild grin on his face as the wind caught at his hair. “Use it!”
* * *
