“Would you like some help?”
I sighed. I didn’t want to need it, but obviously I wasn’t getting up on my own. “Yes.”
She climbed out of her cot, wearing a blue tunic that matched the shade of her eyes. That blue. I’d seen it before—in the dream. It hung loose on her small frame, but somehow she made it look elegant.
“Put your arm around my shoulder,” she said.
“You can’t lift me.”
“Have a little faith.” She slipped her arm gently around my waist and braced herself. “Ready?”
Before I could answer, she edged backward, pulling me with her. She gritted her teeth, face flushing with the effort, and helped me sit upright.
Pain shot through my side. I released a loud hiss.
“Sorry.” She winced. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I’m fine,” I said gruffly.
But I wasn’t thinking about the pain anymore. I was thinking about how strong she was. How steady.
Damn her. She kept catching me off guard—making me feel things I’d forgotten a long time ago.
I dragged my fingers through my hair. “Could you get me some water?” Heat crept up my neck. “I’m not sure I can stand.”
“No, you probably shouldn’t. Getting you up off the floor would be ten times harder than getting you off the cot.” She left me and headed toward the small waterfall that fed fresh water into the cavern.
Her hips swayed with each step. I couldn’t look away. The memory of her in that corset—half dressed, breathless—flashed through my mind. How much I’d wanted to trace my hands over her skin. Not that I could do anything about it now. I could barely lift my arms without wanting to pass out.
She dipped a metal mug into the pool and filled it.
I ran my tongue over my dry lips. Thirst burned inside me. I didn’t know whether it was for the water or for Alice.
Caterpillar’s word drifted through my mind. Love.
How could he say that? How could he claim I was in love with Alice? I didn’t believe in fated mates or love at first sight. What I felt was attraction—nothing more. And gratitude. She’d nearly died saving me; of course I felt something.
But love? That required trust. Vulnerability. Things I’d stopped believing in years ago.
The Elder Dimension was filled with fake promises. I wouldn’t fall for them again.
Alice came back with the mug and a piece of wanderbread with a slab of butter on it. More than ordinary bread—one piece could sustain a man for days. She handed them to me. “Here. I thought you might be hungry.”
I cast my gaze over her tunic. It was too big for her—obviously one of the men's—but somehow that made it worse. The fabric draped over her curves, hinting at the body underneath. The body I'd seen half bare in that bathroom. “Where did you get that?”
“Archer.” She sat down on her cot. “He’s the only one whose clothes didn’t completely swallow me. Why doesn’t he ever speak?”
I gobbled down the wanderbread while watching her straighten her blankets. The bread tasted buttery and savory—just what I liked. It always did. Wanderbread changed its flavor to suit the eater. Already I could feel the strength seeping back into my limbs. Not enough to fight, but enough to stop feeling like a corpse.
I cleared my throat. “He’s taken a vow of silence. He won’t speak until the queen is overthrown and the rightful heir is king.”
Alice went still. “He gave up his voice? For a cause that might never happen?”
“He believes it will.” I shrugged, though something in my chest tightened. Archer had been silent for years. Years of swallowing words, of watching and waiting, of holding onto hope when the rest of us had let it flicker. “He’s the most stubborn man I know. And maybe the bravest.”
“You mean Grump should be king?”
“He’s firstborn. It’s his birthright.” I met her eyes. “Archer believes that. Enough to stay silent until it’s true.”
