She tips her head back to see me.
There’s too much trust in her eyes right now.
What the fuck have I done?
I’m certain she’ll return to distrusting me soon enough.
“Stay there,” I command her, forcing myself to let her go before I hurry to the discarded pieces of my armor strewn across the porch, the steps, and the grass.
With every plate I place around my body, the weight settles around me and my blood calms, forming a cage I willingly accept.
After fixing the final piece to my body, I scoop up my axe and slip it back into its built-in holder at my back. Then, finally, I slide my helmet over my face.
Once again concealed, I take a deep breath and then expel it, attempting to exhale the scent of roses that clings to me like a forbidden promise.
Just like quelling my arousal, it doesn’t happen quickly.
Thyra leans against the wall beside the door, her arms wrapped around herself.
She’s shivering. It isn’t all that cold in the Iron Kingdom, but it’s cooler at night than I imagine the coast must be.
Now I face a new problem.
She can’t sleep in the bloodied room. I don’t have a spare blanket to wrap around her. Even if I hadn’t crawled up onto the bed, one side of the bedding was already splattered with her attacker’s blood. Worse, with my armor on, I can’t keep her as warm as she needs tobe.
Maybe I could cut off the blanket’s sodden parts and wrap her up in what’s clean so she could sleep out here on the porch…
Just as I grimace at that less-than-ideal solution, a rush of wind at my back puts me on my guard, my hand shooting to my axe.
I relax as my eagle soars toward us, circles above the cabin, before he descends to the clearing directly in front of me.
Judging by the contented way he settles down onto the grass, his belly is full, and he’s ready to stay until we need to fly again.
I stop for a moment to consider the way he ruffles his feathers and tucks his wings to his sides.
There’s an idea.
“Thyra, come here,” I call, half-turning back to her. “You’re going to sleep under my bird’s wing.”
She pads toward me, her bare feet silent on the steps and then the grass. She pauses beside me for a small moment before she asks, “Are you sure that’s okay?”
I huff. “Yes, I’m?—”
Oh. It’s suddenly clear her question wasn’t for me.
My eagle lifts his wing, adjusting his position so she can nestle closely beside him, tucking the tunic around her backside and behind her bent knees.
He closes his wing over her again, and she’s out of my sight. It unsettles me. I tell myself it shouldn’t. After all, I left her chained to my bed.
But that was before an assassin found us.
I cross the short distance to my eagle, squat beside him, and tug his wing up just a little, reassuring myself that Thyra’s still there. Her eyes are already closed, and her breathing is calm, but the bruises around her neck are darkening. Tomorrow, I’ll ask Cassia to finda way to cover them. My mother can’t be allowed to believe that Thyra is vulnerable or wounded in any way.
When I lower my eagle’s wing, I find him glaring at me.
“Keep her warm,” I snap, unnerved by how quickly and willingly he provided for her needs. “And keep her safe.”
He bounces his head at me, giving a low, indignant squawk. As if he wouldn’t keep her safe.
