“No, no, it wasn’t Tor’s fault, it was mine.” She made to step toward Tor, but Tristan’s arm was locked around her waist, so she settled for reaching out and taking Tor’s hand in hers. “Tor was just standing there, and I wasn’t concentrating and I…” She took a deep breath knowing that only the truth would help. “I thought I saw Grendel. That he’d found me. I’m so sorry, Tor. I know you’re nothing alike.”
Tor’s face softened as she spoke, but behind her, Tristan’s grumbling growl was even deeper and more aggressive. Whether it was because she was still holding Tor’s hand or because she’d been frightened, she didn’t know.
She let go of Tor and spun slowly within Tristan’s arm so she could lean against his chest and soak up his warm strength. All the men had shaved that morning in preparation for the city, and she couldn’t resist running her nose along his smooth jaw and giving him a small kiss before nestling herself under his chin. “I’m fine, really,” she whispered.
The rumbling changed pitch, ever so slightly, until it was almost a purr. She wrapped her arms around him and held him, uncaring of the other men nearby. Just knowing, somehow, that he needed her to hold him as much as she needed him.
Eventually his hold loosened, and she smiled up at him until he gently let her go.
“Tor, you can help Nim with her arms,” Tris ordered with a nod, and Nim grinned and winked at Tor. He frowned back at her, but she thought the crinkles at the sides of his eyes were his version of a smile. They both knew that Tristan had meant it to be a compliment.
Nim sat on a tree stump and held out her arms while Tor used ink to draw swirling designs in a flowing pattern of reds and blacks all the way up her arms. They had decided that she would travel as his sister to enter the city, so he was marking her with his family tattoos, representing his unique heritage.
She had been so frightened by Grendel that Tor’s tattoos had seemed ominous and threatening, reminding her of being held down, terrified, whenever she glimpsed them. But now, as she watched the evocative patterns slowly developing over her arms—each with its own meaning reflecting Tor’s family history, values, and beliefs—she started to appreciate them for what they truly were.
Nim smiled at the still scowling soldier as he finished the last few markings. “Thank you, Tor. These are truly beautiful. I’m honored to wear the marks of your heritage.”
He looked at her for a moment, face serious as a brief flash of sorrow flickered in his eyes.
Slowly, as if uncertain, he touched his fist to his heart in his people’s traditional greeting. She touched her fist to her heart in reply, acknowledging the solemnity of the moment.
They walked back to the group, where Jos handed her a paste of ash and water to smear through her hair. She left the men and went into the hut alone to gray her hair and strap down her wings before completely covering herself with her cloak. With a bit of luck, no one would be looking for a gray-haired Apollyon spinster with a pronounced hunch traveling with her brother.
She rolled her shoulders a few times, not used to the constraints on her wings, and stepped out into the pale morning sunshine to see most of the men already mounted and ready to move out.
Tristan was waiting for her at Reece’s horse, her satchel already tied securely on behind the saddle, and she did her best to look relaxed and confident as she walked over to him, despite the churning mix of hope and fear in her belly—this was their only chance to save her brother.
But he wasn’t fooled.
He ran a gentle hand under her jaw, tilting her chin up for her to look at him as he spoke. “We’ll find him.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
His face was set as he continued. “Listen to me, Nim. Every man here will protect you. We will investigate what truly happened to Val and do everything we can to make this situation right. But we won’t sacrifice you. Do you understand?”
She nodded again but felt herself frown at the same time. Val was her priority. She had accepted days ago that neither of them might survive the fight to end his captivity.
But now, looking into Tristan’s solemn green eyes, for the first time in weeks, she wanted to live. Desperately.
“If it looks like you are in danger, I will take you away. When we are in the city, I’m in charge, and you will do what I say. Either accept it now, or we don’t go. Promise me.”
She nodded again, more confidently. Tristan had been the Captain of the Palace Guard; it made complete sense for him to take control while they were in the city. Once everyone was safe, well, that was a different matter.
Still, she couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “Yes, Captain Tristan, sir!”
“Sergeant,” he replied by rote before realizing what he’d said, and she giggled when the rest of the squad snorted. Tristan merely glared at them all.
He turned back to her and tucked a grayed lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m being serious, Nim.”
She lifted his hand and brought it to her mouth in a soft kiss, then rested it against her cheek. “I know. I promise to do as you say while we’re in danger.”
He gave a rough grunt that sounded like agreement and then brought his other hand up to hold her face cradled between his palms while he leaned down and kissed her.
His lips owned hers, hot and smooth and firm. And she went up onto her toes to meet him. It was a kiss of longing and worry, of the heat growing between them. A kiss that acknowledged the danger they were riding toward and how much they hadn’t said. And then it was over.
He pulled away and immediately swung her up onto the large bay destrier, hardly looking at her. Not, she realized, because he didn’t want to, but because he was holding himself in tight control.
He spun and walked off, and she wished she could call him back, but the emerald and pewter scales glittering along his arms stopped her. Accompanying her into danger was taking a toll on him, and she didn’t want to make it worse.
