It can’t be.The magic has never chosen a non-fae before. But I can’t ignore the evidence rolling through me. The Nightwild magic has chosen a new member for the Guard, and it’s weaving itself into her. Claiming her the way it claimed the rest of my Guard. Not as a prisoner. Not as a pet.
Asmine.
I pull my hand back and stand up. She stirs at the loss of contact, making a soft sound that twists in my chest.
I should wake her, and make her walk to the furs herself. Instead, I bend and lift her. She weighs nothing, and she curls into me without waking, face pressing into my chest, fingers catching in my shirt.
The bond hums, warm and content.
I carry her to the sleeping platform, and lay her on the furs. The tunic has ridden up again, baring her thighs. I look at the exposed skin for longer than I should. Then I pull the fabric down, cover her with a blanket, and watch her burrow into the warmth.
Then I turn and walk out into the night.
TWENTY-NINE
ALLERIA
I’ve beenawake for hours, sitting on the sleeping platform, a bowl of porridge that went cold ages ago balanced on my knees. The last thing I remember is kneeling beside his chair while he talked with Therin and Vel, their voices washing over me in waves I couldn’t follow. My eyes kept drifting shut no matter how hard I tried to keep them open … and then I woke up here, on the furs, with a blanket covering me.
Someone moved me. They put me to bed and covered me. And I don’t remember being lifted or carried or laid down. I don’t remember anything between the sound of their voices and waking up with the blanket tucked around me.
Hemust have done it.
But even worse is what happened before that. Before Vel and Therin arrived.
His mouth on mine. His hand fisted in my hair. The heat of his body pressed against mine. And the way I leaned into him instead of pulling away. The sound I made when his hand slid up my thigh.
Even now, my body responds to the memory. Heat crawlsup my neck, and there’s a tightness low in my stomach that has nothing to do with the cold porridge.
Interesting. At least now I know what it takes to shut you up.
My face burns, and I shovel another spoonful of porridge into my mouth.
I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to remember the way my fingers curled into his shirt, or the heat that spread through me … or how, for one moment, I forgot everything he’s done to me.
The entrance flap rippling is the only notice I get that someone is coming in. I abandon the bowl and slide off the platform, lowering myself to my knees on the furs. The position is automatic now.
Cairn steps inside.
My pulse kicks hard against my throat. I fix my eyes on the furs, studying the pattern of the weave like it’s the most interesting thing in the tent, but I can feel him in this space. The air changes when he’s here. It turns heavier. It’s harder to breathe.
Something lands on the table with a quiet thump. I wait for him to speak. When he doesn’t, I risk a quick glance up.
He’s standing by the table, watching me. One hand is splayed across the tabletop, fingers drumming across it silently. Our eyes lock. My stomach drops. I’m the one who looks away first. But hestilldoesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns away and sits down.
I stay where I am, waiting for the command to kneel beside him. It doesn’t come.
The entrance ripples again, and the woman who brought me breakfast yesterday walks in. Cairn stands up, moving to greet her.
“Serath. How are you today?”
“Stronger.” She reaches out and touches his arm, her fingers resting against his sleeve. He covers her hand with his own, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, then he lets go.
“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” His voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it. He waves a hand in my direction without looking. “I’d appreciate it if you would stay with her today. There are fresh clothes on the table.”
Her head dips. “Yes, of course, Eldráfn.” The way she says the word, warm and filled with affection, makes me curious about what it means.
He strides toward the entrance, passes me without a glance, and leaves.
