Aelia side-eyed where he rode next to her, gently rocking in the saddle. She took in the muscle straining beneath the fabric of his sleeves, the breadth of his shoulders and chest that tapered to his trim waist, his huge thighs making the saddle look far too small. Aside from being rather lovely to look at, the sheer bulk of the man screamed of a life spent in heavy training. Physique like that didn’t come from performing with the Peregrinians; it didn’t even come from something as strenuous as years of logging. She’d know. If the scars she’d seen were anything to go by, it had come from something far darker.
It was beyond time for some answers; she just didn’t relish the prospect of asking him. Taking a breath, she steeled herself for the awkwardness, wishing she’d had the sense to quiz him more when she’d still hated him.
Not that she ever really had. He was just an easy target to direct her anger at. It had taken her an entire day on her own to realise it, but it turned out severe boredom was fuel for self-reflection. That and a desperation to think of something, anything, other than the grief that had begun to eat her alive once she was alone.
Shoving that thought quickly aside, she turned in her saddle.
“Keeran, I…” She trailed off, suddenly wishing she’d thought a little further ahead. He looked at her cagily, probably guessing what she was about to ask. She persevered. “How did you learn to fight like that?”
He shrugged. “Practice.”
Aelia tried to keep the scowl off her face, but by the smile twitching at his lips, she failed.
“Where? Who with?”
Keeran flicked his reins over the horse’s neck, adjusting the leather straps more comfortably in his grip.
“I was a soldier in the King's army.”
“What kind of soldier?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. The sword he’d revealed this morning looked far too expensive for a common foot soldier. And he certainly didn’t fight like one.
“A good one.” He smiled devilishly and, for a moment, she was distracted from her line of enquiry.
“You can’t have got all those scars in the army, there hasn’t been a war since I was a toddler.” Keeran’s smile dropped, and Aelia could have kicked herself for her tactlessness.
“That’s true,” he admitted, turning his attention back to the road ahead. "l didn't have the easiest of upbringings. I was born into a society that was much harsher than yours. You had to fight to survive, so that’s what I did, and at first I wasn’t very good… hence the scars."
“There isn’t a society like that in Demuto. No artemian would condone that."
Frustration made her bolder. Despite their animalistic origins, artemians clung to their humane heritage to avoid descending into the incivility of their animal ancestors, fighting their innate instincts that could be so powerful. Did that mean he wasn’t from Demuto?
Keeran stared pensively out across the lake for a few long moments before answering.
“There are some things that I can’t tell you, for both my safety and yours. But no matter how barbaric my past sounds, I can only ask that you trust me. I know that might not seem fair, but all I can say is that I am not like the people I was born amongst." She opened her mouth to press him further, but he held his hand up to silence her. "l really can’t tell you anymore, so there is no point in asking."
His lips were set in a firm line, the black rings in his eyes seeming to darken. Aelia reluctantly changed the subject.
“Who were those men yesterday? Could they have been with the Astraea?" She was surprisingly hopeful at the prospect of his having killed six of them.
“I doubt it, they are more likely to be petty thieves, stealing what they can on the road and selling it at towns and cities."
“I'm surprised they didn't Shift," she mused.
“Thieves tend to be artemians who are smaller, better suited to sneaking and creeping through tight spaces rather than fighters. They were probably more adept at fighting in their human form. What surprised me is that they had no swords, just those knives.”
“Would it have made a difference if they’d had swords?” she asked, genuinely curious.
His lips tugged sideways thoughtfully before he answered. “Honestly? Not really.”
At least he was honest. Aelia played with her horse’s mane, twirling the soft hair through her fingers absentmindedly.
“What are you thinking?” He sounded apprehensive, his voice quiet, as if unsure he wanted the answer.
“Honestly?” She threw back at him. “I was wondering about your eyes.”
His jaw clenched and he looked down at his hands.
“That’s something else I can’t talk about.” This time the quiet in his voice was of an entirely different nature, a hint of danger leaking into it.
