“Cross my heart and hope to die.” A dirty finger dutifully crossed her heart.
Mathos pulled out another piece of dried beef, and a handful of small coins, which he handed over slowly. “Now, apple pip, you be more careful on the road, okay?”
“Okay. Fank you, mister.” The girl gave him a small smile as she backed away. “It’s Alis.”
“Nice to meet you, Alis,” Mathos replied sincerely, although Lucilla noticed that he didn’t offer their names in return.
And she was relieved. For some insane reason, she didn’t want to be introduced as Claudia.
The whole interaction was unsettling her. Was this how Mathos had been treating her? Like a feral child in need of soothing? Purchasing her compliance with food and soft words. Or was he genuinely trying his best to help them both? How could she possibly tell?
The girl turned and ran down the road ahead of them, and Lucilla stifled a gasp. She had wings! Gods. Hidden behind that big shirt, she was a Mabin.
Mathos turned toward her, his nostrils flaring as he bit out, “Don’t. Say. Anything.”
Lucilla blinked and kept her mouth shut, deeply insulted. But, at the same time, she realized that he had heard her sudden breath and was trying to stop her from hurting the child.
Oh, that realization burned. She wanted to tell him that she would never, could never hurt a child. But then it occurred to her that, for all his strength and confidence, she had hurthim, and the words died in her mouth.
Mathos stalked toward them and flung himself back onto Heracles with a grunt, but as he turned to watch the young girl disappear into the distance, she saw his face soften into a smile, his skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes.
It was the first real smile he’d given since she met him. A smile of real warmth. With no agenda, no points to score, just a genuine reflection of his feelings. And it did something strange to her.
It made her wish he would look at her like that.
Chapter Six
Mathos watched Alis “rabbiting”down the road with a bittersweet ache in his chest. She was a bright little thing. Too young to be out scurrying, half-starved, through the hedgerows. She should be in school. Or learning from her mama at the very least. But he knew from too many years as a soldier traveling through the kingdom how many children lacked even that. Especially with the way that Geraint, and those in power before him, had been pouring the kingdom’s resources—especially the lives of the young men—year after year into the campaigns in the north.
He watched until she was safely off the road and running down a dirt track between the fields, then nudged Heracles into a fast trot, with Lucilla once again flanked by him and Tor.
They had spent too long on the road, and he was anxious to get off it. The bridge was less than a mile away, but he wanted them over it and back in the safety of the surrounding forest. Ideally, they needed an animal path that would take them away from any kind of habitation or other people.
Still, he didn’t regret stopping to check on the girl. Nor did he regret making sure she had something to eat. All in, it had probably only cost them three or four minutes, and he would have worried about her forever if they hadn’t stopped. It would have been horrendous if she had lain, hurt and helpless, by the side of the road, unable to get home, no one knowing where she was.
And, although he would have done the same for anyone, Alis had reminded him of Crissy.
She’d been about the same age when he left; nine years old and full of life and cheek. Gods, he missed her. He’d written regularly and sent small gifts when he could, but over the years she’d replied less and less. Eventually, she’d stopped altogether, and after two more years of trying, he’d admitted defeat. But it never stopped hurting.
She’d be eighteen now. Almost a woman. Someone who might not even recognize him on the street, even though he had raised her almost single-handedly from when she was three years old.
In the end, their mother’s new husband had been the one who separated them. He hadn’t wanted Mathos around. Mathos was too young, too cocky, too used to being the head of the household. Too much of a failure, if they were all being honest. And Baul had given them an ultimatum. If Baul was going to marry Mother, Mathos had to go.
Mother had wept and begged her new fiancé to allow him to stay. Well, she’d begged for a few days at least. Maybe two. And then she’d dried her eyes and asked her son to leave.
After years of taking care of them all. After working night and day to keep the household running. After eking out their dwindling resources as his mother’s and older sisters’ frivolous spending brought them to the edge of ruin. After battling against his own inabilities and lack of experience, day after day, desperate not to fail them all. After being almost a father to Crissy, despite being little more than a child himself.
In the end, he’d lost it all. And then Mother had told him to go… and he had.
He’d walked away the next day and enlisted. Signed up to the army at nineteen and was immediately posted to some of the worst hellholes imaginable. And yet, in so many ways, he had still felt freer than when he’d been struggling under the impossible responsibility he had tried to shoulder all alone.
He still missed Crissy, though, and he probably always would. What was she like? Had her time with him helped her to grow into a strong, independent woman? Or had she become more like their mother in the years since he had gone?
He cast a glance at Lucilla. What would she have been like if she’d ever been allowed to experience life outside the house she was born in? Would she still have been so unaware of the needs of her people? So completely helpless?
She’s not helpless.
True, she had surprised him several times. Her quick apology when she felt she’d been in the wrong; the way she had survived alone and lost for so long; even now, how she hadn’t insisted on taking a break. He had to admit a growing respect for her stoicism. She was clearly tired and hungry and sore, but she didn’t whine or complain or expect any kind of special treatment.
