“I like it in your world, living by your rules,” Griff panted as he covered Mal’s neck and collarbone in little bites and kisses from nice, good teeth. “Think I’m moving in.”
Mal’s lips clung to his in answer—as if those kisses were a ladder leading out of the shadows of the past, promising someplace brighter.
Later—two rounds later, as Griff lay in Mal’s arms with no desire to get up and back in the saddle for a sore day’s ride—Mal was stroking his hair when he suddenly scooped up some fallen leaves. He scattered the handful over Griff’s tousled curls, a grin slowly forming as he took in the sight. “There, now you look like the elf you are. Have I told you how much I like your hair?”
“Maybe once or twice,” Griff admitted, “but I’ll never tire of hearing it.” He didn’t even bother to shake the leaves off, onlylaughed, probably looking like he’d just left a party with confetti all over him in the late morning light.
Mal’s grin widened at the sound of that laughter, growing until it was toothy and devious, just how Griff liked it. It was the kind of grin that made the nearest stagnant puddles glitter, as if Mal’s happiness somehow suffused this place with magic.
The thief held up his hands, index fingers and thumbs lightly touching at the tips to form a picture frame of sorts through which he glanced as if memorizing the sight of Griff from this new angle, his flushed face saying more than words.
“You know, when we get back with all those coins, I think I ought to buy you a bigger stove than whatever you’ve been using,” Mal declared warmly. “Something with lots of pipes and burners, since you like cooking so much. Yeah?”
Griff loved the sound of that—just like he loved the way Mal’s fingers were stroking along his thigh like he was thinking about another round. “A new stove. A whole bunch of burners and … bigger, longer pipes and … that’ll be good, I think.” His hot breath gusted over Mal’s lips, his mind not remotely on cooking. “Maybe some bigger pots to go on it too. All kinds of bells and whistles. The biggest stove this side of the Teeth, right?”
“To go with the biggest bed anyone’s ever had, and the best pillows in Mayfair, which I’ve already—” Mal stopped suddenly, and Griff’s pulse picked up speed as he saw the way his lover’s eyes had widened just a touch at something in the trees.
“Shadow?” he mouthed as Mal disentangled himself swiftly and pulled on his pants. “But I thought—it’s Rhun, isn’t it? Even Alys seems pretty convinced now.”
Nodding, the blond man strode over to what, to Griff’s eyes, looked no different than any other pocket of shade. But it must have looked like something else to Mal, who called back to Griff over his shoulder, “That’s right, but apparently he needs a reminder about healthy boundaries, because he is not welcome to watchanything that’s been going on between us this morning! Or last night, for that matter. Not okay.”
The way his voice kept rising made it clear he was addressing Rhun’s shadow too, and Griff couldn’t help but smile at the way Mal was trying to put a ghost in its place.
Running a hand over his red, flaky tattoo, Mal scowled, though the expression took on a touch of thoughtfulness as he turned away from that faceless version of Rhun. “I wonder …” he said, striding back to Griff’s side as if suddenly on alert. “Maybe he’s trying to warn us about something.”
He reached for his hunting knife, putting his other arm around Griff’s waist as he cast his most scathing glower into the surrounding trees and pockets of shade.
Overhead, a few ravens rustled their feathers and clicked their beaks as they settled into the borders of the trio’s camp, and Mal glared at them next before refocusing on Griff. “Keeping you safe seems to be a full-time job. Good thing I’m a businessman and not afraid of hard work,” he declared, kissing some color back into Griff’s face that had been leached away by the suggestion of more danger.
“Who wants easy,” he said shakily against his lover’s lips. Except that he did, right now, rather than being hunted by more revenants and wading around in a swamp full of the dark queen’s creatures.
“We should pack,” Mal said, almost reluctantly for a change, once Griff’s shaking had mostly subsided. “So we’re ready to go the minute Alys gets back. Double the pace this afternoon, remember? Though I really hope Rhun is wrong about the danger, or I’m wrong about why I keep seeing him. Maybe he’s trying to lead us to better treasure.”
Chapter TwentyAnimals
Griff was sealing up the last of their packs and securing it to Prancer the renamed mule when Alys returned to camp just before noon as promised, frustrated from combing through weeds and puddles and finding nothing of interest. She still had the orc’s head with her, which was unfortunate, but thankfully the troll was back where it belonged, taking a nap in its cave after being sung more than a few lullabies.
“You’re a good mom, Alys,” Griff told her as she handed him a full water canteen to pack. She must have revisited the creek in her wanderings.
She blushed and shook her head, but she was smiling.
“A better knight than Rhun too,” Mal said firmly, which wiped away the traces of that smile, replacing it with something more thoughtful. “Don’t be so hard on yourself about the search,” he added as he pulled out his flask. “Maybe he ran out of personal effects to give you. At least he’s looking out for us.”
Griff wished he could do something that would help Mal reach for that thing less, but he had already guessed the reason why he’d just done so. He was searching for whatever hesuspected Rhun had appeared to warn them about, and there was nothing Mal hated more than a threat he couldn’t see coming.
“Wonder if Rhun and his friends fought more than just the troll out here too.” Mal chased the words with a sip. “They should have marked the rest of that shit on the map for us, if so.” Raising the flask, he glanced at his companions and said, “Still, here’s to Rhun, the man of the hour, for bringing us all back together.”
“To Rhun,” Griff echoed. He had to use his maul out here more often than he would have liked, but he would do anything for the memory of the man who’d raised them. He hoped Rhun’s spirit was lingering nearby for the toast, being reminded of their enduring love.
“To Papa,” Alys joined in, taking the flask when Mal offered.
Leaving it with her for a moment, Mal strode over to Griff and pulled the black scarf from around his neck. He didn’t say a word as he wrapped it around Griff’s shoulders instead despite the afternoon’s warmth, kissing his cheek and flooding him with a different heat as he did so, the old scarf once again passing between them like a promise.
Then they were off again, pressing deeper into the Mire, where there were fewer patches of sunlight breaking through and more ominously glowing flowers thriving in the gloom. All that remained of the camp where everything had changed was an empty blue glass bottle, the troll’s heavy club, and an uprooted blackberry bush.
Griff tried to settle his nerves by answering various birdcalls as they picked up the path at a vicious pace, but the longer they marched, the less sure he was what sort of animals were making the sounds that seemed to echo from the bracken. He had heard rumors of the Shadow Queen keeping giant spiders out here, large as dogs and twice as motivated to hunt. After he fell quiet, the loudest sound any of them made was the slush of the mule’s hooves as the beast trudged through puddles of muddy water alongside him, Griff having insisted on testing his leg while the daylight held.
Every so often, he stopped to pull a small knife from his belt and cut some herbs to use in their next hot meal, whenever that might be. He found comfrey for his healing kit. Wild onions for flavoring and a few withered morels.
