Venn squeezed her gently, and this time she knew she didn’t imagine the brush of his mouth at her temple. “I swear I’ll find him someday.”
Vera tugged away, just enough to face him. He was looking at her, but she knew he was seeing something else. The muscles in his forearms were bunched so tightly, she wondered how they didn’t snap.
Her fingers curled against his tensed arms—grounding him, hopefully, as his touch had grounded her. “I don’t want you to seek him out,” she said, meaning every word. “He’s not worth the time or effort it would take.” And she didn’t want him to leave her. Ever.
Venn didn’t verbally agree with her, but he didn’t argue her words. He slid his arms away, and she forced herself to let him go.
But he didn’t pull away entirely. His hands wrapped around hers, squeezing once. “You should try to sleep. I’ll wake you again if you begin to stir.”
Vera was exhausted enough that she didn’t resist. She laid back down and Venn resettled the blanket over her, then he moved to his own bedroll. He didn’t lay down, though, and even as her eyelids grew heavy, she somehow knew that he didn’t intend to fall back asleep.
She knew she should protest—he needed rest—but sleep already tugged at her, drawing her under. The image of him remained with her, though, even in her dreams: a silent watchman, sitting under the stars on the side of a Mortisian highway, guarding her sleep.
Chapter 6
Venn
They’d been traveling for three days, and Venn was beginning to think he’d been overly optimistic in his estimation of how long it would take to reach Duvan. Only having one horse slowed them down, and the other travelers on the road also impacted things. They’d passed several merchant caravans headed to Krid, and several travelers on foot had trailed behind them. Venn usually insisted they ride the horse when travelers caught up to them, so they could get ahead, and he conversely chose to walk beside the horse if someone came up on horseback, letting the stranger pull ahead. He didn’t want to travel too close to anyone, even if that meant adding time to their journey.
Vera hadn’t had another nightmare, though sometimes she stirred restlessly as she slept. That first night on the road still haunted him. He’d shot awake at the sound of her distressed whimper, and even when he’d realized she was only dreaming, his heart had still hammered. It had taken a great force of will to drop the dagger he’d instinctively grabbed.
At first, he’d been relieved it was only a dream. Then, as she’d talked to him, telling him more of what she’d suffered . . . Her pain had become all too real, and he ached for something to attack.
Tariq.
A man Venn had never set eyes on, but was determined to annihilate. The piece of fates-blasted scum deserved a hundred deaths. Even though Vera had all but asked him not to hunt Tariq down, Venn knew he would never be able to make such a promise. If Vera and Serene didn’t need him right now, he would have already gone after the mercenary.
Even now, days later, he had to push thoughts of revenge aside so he could keep his focus. There would be a day to deal with Tariq, but for now he needed to get Vera safely to Duvan.
At midday, they left the road and sought shade near a wide thicket of trees. Venn kept the road in sight as he ate, though he did peer into the trees as well. It wasn’t enough to call them woods, but it was the largest and deepest stand of trees they’d seen yet. And danger could lurk anywhere, even behind the large boulders that peppered the hilly landscape.
Venn was taking a drink when Vera stilled.
So attuned to her, he lowered the water skin at once. “What?”
Her brow furrowed as she twisted to peer into the trees behind them. “I thought I heard . . .”
Venn strained his ears, and after a few heartbeats he heard it, too. Soft and distant, a muffled cry.
They both came to their feet. Venn grabbed one of the daggers at his belt and handed it to her. “Stay with the horse.”
Vera took the blade with a frown. “But—”
“It could just be an animal,” he said. “But it could also be some kind of a trap. Let me scout the area first.”
She didn’t look happy about remaining behind, but she nodded.
Venn palmed another dagger and slid between trees, angling in the direction the sound had originated. It wasn’t long before he heard it again—an almost cracking cry that ended sharply—and he altered his course slightly. He stepped carefully, picking his way among the underbrush and steering clear of anything that might give away his presence.
The next time he heard the cry, there was no mistaking it—an infant’s shriek, new and weak. Venn’s heart lurched and he stepped faster. He knew that sound. His nieces had only had that particular newborn cry for a period of weeks.
Finally, he spotted a blanket. Gray and threadbare, it was bunched up on the ground between two large rocks. A tiny fist punched through the folds, but the baby’s face was hidden. The cry was thin this time—more of a whimper, edged with a whine.
He dropped his knife and pulled down the blanket, already making a cooing noise he only ever had for his nieces. The infant’s eyes were closed, the small face scrunched up tight in a severe frown, which made a jutting island of that tiny chin.
Venn made a quick examination. There was no soiling cloth on her, but she wore a small child’s shirt that drowned her. Fates, she was small. She could only be a week or two old. Her skin was pinkish, but there was no hiding that she was Devendran. A quick inspection showed no wounds or signs of abuse, other than some insect bites on her arms and legs. She couldn’t have been abandoned for long, then.
Venn kept murmuring to her as he checked her over, and then—satisfied that touching her wouldn’t cause her pain—he scooped her into his arms, cradling her small and fragile body against his chest. Her downy hair was dark and matted to her head, and she instantly started rooting as she nuzzled against him.
