AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“A little,” he lied. He set aside Devon’s things and handed her the canteen he’d filled earlier.
She took it, shivering as she drank. The water of the Julne was always cold, even in summer. The river came straight from the northern mountains, slicing through a deep ravine. When it hit the valley, the river slowed and widened, breaking into several branches as it wound through the forest. It was somewhat of a barrier between southern Ryden and the capital, not that it saved the people who lived in the south from King Henri’s laws—or the son he sent to enforce them.
“Fletcher and Rena?” Mia asked softly.
“They haven’t made it.”
She fiddled with the canteen’s cap. “Maybe they were ambushed, too. They might have had to take a different route.”
“Maybe.”
Mia bit her lower lip, her eyes aimed down. “I shouldn’t have asked them to come. And Devon . . .”
Grayson grasped her hand, and he must not be completely numb, because he felt a warm spark when he touched her. “What happened to Devon wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t it?” She lifted her head, and tears glittered in her eyes. “He wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t insisted on bringing him with us.”
“You didn’t force him to do anything. He chose to leave.” He squeezed her chilled fingers, keeping her gaze on him. “Mia, he loved you. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself for what happened.”
Mia’s lips trembled. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t lose Fletcher and Rena, too.”
“We don’t know what happened to them,” Grayson said. “If they’re able, they might still meet us in Porynth.” If Fletcherhadbetrayed them, then no doubt a portion of Henri’s army would be waiting for them, too. But he couldn’t think of another place to run, and it was in the general direction of Mortise, anyway. If he decided going into the port city would be too dangerous, they could bypass it and keep going south. They didn’t have enough supplies or gold for that, but Grayson would deal with that eventuality when—if—it ever came up.
The more pressing reality was that they couldn’t make the entire journey to Porynth without horses. That would delay them too much, but they didn’t have the coin to buy horses. He’d rather not interact with anyone, anyway—he wasn’t exactly unknown in Ryden. Stealing horses would also draw attention, but that would probably be their best option. It was just so hard to think. At least the pain in his head had dulled.
“We can’t keep waiting for them, can we?” Mia asked, breaking into his thoughts.
He raked a hand through his dark hair, ordering himself to focus. “No.”
She nodded, though regret hung in her eyes. “They’ll meet us at the harbor, like you said.”
He didn’t dispute her hope. “We’ll need supplies eventually,” he said, “but I want to keep to the forest as long as we can.”
She shifted closer and wrapped a hand around one of his. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He stared at her.
Her expression softened, though her grip on his hand tightened. “For what you had to do last night,” she explained. “Carter . . .”
He tensed. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“I know.” She watched him closely. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Fates, no.He remembered the first time he’d committed murder. His father had ordered him to take an old man’s life, and he had. Soon after, he’d broken apart in Mia’s arms.
He couldn’t afford to break right now.
“Maybe later,” he said. “We need to eat, and then we need to start moving.”
Indecision wavered on her face, but she didn’t argue. She passed him the canteen, and he drank deeply; they would refill all of them before leaving Oland’s Bridge. While he unwrapped dried fruit and jerked meat, Mia reached for the jar of burn ointment he’d set aside.
“We can do that later,” he protested. “You should eat.”
“Let me take care of you.” She twisted off the lid as she knelt before him. Her fingers brushed his heavily stubbled chin. Fates, when had he last shaved? It had to have been in Mortise.
He made no reply, just winced as the cold, slightly oily substance touched his skin. The scent was sharp and cool, and Mia’s touch was infinitely gentle as she traced the balm over his burn, starting at the back of his jaw and moving across the infected cut. Despite the drugs in his body that dulled everything, he could feel every careful brush of her feather-light touch.
Her breaths were thin and shallow, matching his own. A furrow grew between her brows. “The blisters seem worse.” She leaned in, angling for a better view.
