Simus rose to his feet. “Snowfall,” he said as simply as he could. “Without you, my life and breath are empty.”
Snowfall’s anger may have faded from her eyes, but he saw her doubt and uncertainty.
Simus took a slow step forward. “I know we haven’t shared, I know we haven’t so much as really touched—”
“We danced,” she whispered, and hope flared in his heart. Simus moved closer, watching her eyes for any sign of rejection. When she didn’t move, didn’t retreat, he reached out and brushed his thumb along her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm and he leaned in ever so slowly, and she leaned forward, and—
“Ewwwww,” a chorus shrilled.
Simus jerked his head around.
Pive stood there with five other children, all staring at them with their faces screwed up in various expressions of disgust. “Are you gonna kiss?” asked one of the smaller ones.
“Don’t you have duties?” Simus asked.
They all recognized his tone, and scattered, mounting up on their gurtles and charging off into the gurtle herd. Simus watched them flee, afraid that he’d been too harsh, until he heard some of them giggling.
Relieved, he turned back to Snowfall, and his heart sank to see the blankness back in her eyes. “Snowfall—”
It was toomuch too fast. She wasn’t sure that she could trust, and yet she wanted to so very much.
Too much.
Simus turned back to her, his face so eager.
And what would that mean, for him, for his people. How would they react, how would Keir react?
She made her face a blank. “Warlord.” She took a step back, away from him into the midst of her baskets, seeking their protection. “You have duties to attend to.”
“Don’t be afraid.” Simus didn’t move closer, his voice a gentle whisper.
Snowfall bristled. “I fear nothing.”
“I do,” Simus said with a wry smile. “I have left myself open to your attack, Snowfall. For a fatal blow from your hand.”
“Warriors do not die from rejection,” Snowfall said sharply. She edged farther back.
“Maybe not die,” Simus said. “But I would break. I would be lost.”
Snowfall looked away, at the grass, at the dung baskets, anywhere but at him.
She heard him sigh, and reach for his belt.
“Here is my dagger.” He pulled it from its sheath. “I offer my surrender to you, Snowfall of the Plains.”
That drew her eyes. Simus took a step closer, keeping his dagger point aimed at his heart.
Horns sounded in the distance, the deep echoing horns of the Singers.
“The Council tent,” Snowfall said. “The raising has begun. You should be there.”
“You are more important,” Simus said.
Snowfall’s eyes went wide. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
Snowfall glanced away. “It seems more complicated now,” she whispered.
