“Can you mount on your own?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Of course I can,” she snapped. She’d already tied her pack into place when he was in the inn, so he hadn’t had to see her struggle through the pain of lifting it so high, every rib seeming to scream at her to stop. Cursing herself for not being quick enough to have clambered into the saddle whilst he was still inside, she grabbed both ends of it, put her foot in the stirrup, and kicked off.
Her leg betrayed her, buckling beneath her and sending her chest first into the hard leather. Ducking her head to hide her face, she slid back to the floor. The only thing stopping her from collapsing in a heap was her grip on the saddle.
Everything hurt from the beating she’d taken, from the hours spent digging the grave, and the past day of walking certainly hadn’t helped. If it weren’t for the poultice he’d given her, she doubted she’d be standing. Aelia waited for the pain to subside before trying again. She did better this time, getting high enough that it was her stomach that slammed into the saddle, knocking the breath from her.
Once back on her feet, she had to close her eyes and rest her forehead against the cool leather as she breathed through the pain. Fucking leg wouldn’t fucking work. If she could just get in the saddle…
“Will you stop being so bloody stubborn and let me help you?” said a low voice from beside her, making her jump. She hadn’t heard him come so close.
She didn’t look at him; she couldn’t. She felt so weak, so embarrassed. She would rather the ground opened up andswallowed her whole rather than admit she couldn’t get on the horse on her own, but seeing as that didn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon, she just nodded.
“May I hold your shin?” he asked, close enough for her to smell the hint of smoke on him. She held her breath, hating that she wanted to do the opposite, that she wanted to press her face into his chest and breathe him in.
Again, she just nodded.
Keeran bent over and wrapped a huge hand around her shin furthest from the horse.
“On three. One, two, three.” She flew into the saddle, his free hand grabbing her thigh to stabilise her, his skin hot even through the fabric of her trousers. Her eyes darted to his hand, large enough to almost wrap halfway round her entire thigh, and then flicked to his face, to find his dark eyes locked onto hers.
He moved his hand, jerking it away as if scalded, and took a few steps back.
“You okay?” he said, his voice gravelly, his eyes unreadable.
“Fine. Thank you.” She hated how weak her voice sounded. How fucking pathetic.
“I’ll be damned.” Keeran said to her horse, running his hand over its forehead. “Shedoesknow those words.”
“They aren’t warranted when the help wasn’t wanted.”
“Manners are always warranted,” Keeran said as he launched himself into the saddle, settling gently onto the horse’s back. He slid his gaze over to meet hers, and the look in his eyes made her toes curl in her boots. “Well, nearly always.”
He didn’t give her time to answer, putting his heel to his horse’s side and making off down the road.
Was… was he flirting? It took her a couple of breaths to compose herself, her heart doing all kinds of fluttery things whilst she watched his back recede down the street. She took inthe broad muscles of his shoulders and wondered what it would be like to be under them, grabbing hold of them…
Aelia sucked in a breath, snapping herself out of it and pushing her own horse on. No, not her horse, Keeran’s horse. Keeran’s horse, that he’d had to lift her onto.
Mortification doused any other, less desirable emotions, and that led quickly to anger again. Anger that he’d seen her like it, anger that he’d put her in that position, anger that she would never be good enough, strong enough,artemianenough.
Fuck him, fuck them all. The sooner she could get to Fenrir, the sooner she could get rid of him. All she wanted in that moment was to run back to her treehouse and bury her face into Otis’s shoulder, for him to tell her what to do. Tears welled in her eyes at the knowledge she’d never be able to do that again; the rollercoaster of emotions she was feeling every minute of every day breaking down her resolve. She dashed away her tears before Keeran could see, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat and forcing her head high. She hung back until they passed through the gates of Drias, heading out once more into the vast plains.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Aelia had never sat so long in a saddle, and she soon became aware of a whole new type of soreness. To distract herself from the relentless rocking of joints that pleaded with her for rest, she opted to try and glean what information she could from Keeran.
Drias had made her aware just how sheltered she had been. The Peregrinian armourer who’d refused to serve Mirra had warned them, had told them how clueless they were, but how could they ever have realised just how much their little village had been protected from? Keeran had been travelling with the Peregrinians; she would be foolish not to pick his brain whilst she had the chance.
She pushed her horse on so she was level with him and cleared her throat, breaking the silence they’d both been comfortably riding in.
“Are all towns in Demuto like Drias?” she asked, moving her horse slightly further from his as the huge black beast Keeran rode flattened its ears back and swung its hindquarters towards them, unhappy with their proximity. Keeran soothed it with a hand on its neck, murmuring something too quiet for her to make out.
“They’re not all that pretty,” he replied once his horse looked less likely to boot her.
Aelia couldn’t bring herself to smile, let alone laugh— not when her heart felt heavy enough to drag her tumbling straight from her horse.
“You said the situation was no better anywhere else in Demuto, that everyone everywhere was too scared of the Astraea to stand up for the humans. How can that be? How can they be getting away with this?”
