“Here,” Aegir said, placing a compass in my hands. “Hold this for me.”
He was about to lean back, but my question brought him even closer. “How does it work?”
He gathered both reins in his left hand. With the right, he grabbed my wrist.
“Hold it in your palm, like this,” he said, flattening my hand. “Do you see this needle over here? That needle always points north. Since it’s pointing in that direction, it reassures me that we are indeed heading west.”
I often glanced at the golden compass, at the fine trembling needle that always sought north. I was quite mesmerised by its function, the magnetic pull always telling the arrowhead where home was.
I sat out today’s axe-throwing session, both because I felt tired, and also because my arms felt sore. Instead, I chewed on my food, watching the men doing what they do best. All right, I watchedhimdoing what he does best.
Aegir replaced the compass in my hands the moment we mounted.
By the time we began our second part of the journey, I could feel my body wearing off. And the meat and vegetables I filled myself with earlier were not helping. Neither was the horse that moved us at an ambling pace and a slow rocking movement that made me feel like a weary babe being lulled to sleep. My eyelids turned heavy, and I began to fade in and out of reality. I flinched and readjusted my spine, all the while forcing my eyes to remain open. My head lowered to the compass. I watched its quiveringneedle with droopy lids, against which I lost the battle. When I opened my eyes, I found my hands empty.
“Shit! The compass,” I breathed. “I—I think I dropped it.”
“Relax,” Aegir said, bringing his face close to my ear. “I took it back.”
Thank the gods.
After another head-jerking nod, he said, “If you need to sleep, you can just lean back.”
“No, I’m all right,” I replied, eyes blinking. But I lost the battle once more when my head lolled. I startled myself awake. Then Aegir’s arm tightened around my waist and he leaned forward, grabbing hold of my leg with his other hand.
“You know, I’m surprised your last name isn’t Stonehead,” he grumbled as he lifted my leg. In one swift swoop, I was turned sideways. I instinctively reached out and wrapped my arms around his neck, but his arm was already at my back, holding me in place.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my words slightly sharp with a hint of confusion.
“You’re riding side-saddle,” he ordered.
“I was riding just fine.”
I expected him to argue something back, but instead, he tightened his hold on my waist and forced me to lean my side against his chest. I made it a point not to sleep in protest, but failed miserably. I surrendered my whole self the second I rested my head against him—the moment his powers hummed against my ear, caressing me to dreamland. When I opened my eyes, I found my face buried in the space between his neck and shoulder, my fist tightly gripping the shirt I had mended a few days ago. My other hand was laced on top of his, wrapped securely around my waist. I immediately placed both arms on my lap and lifted my head.
“How long was I out?” I asked, rubbing my face.
“About two hours.”
Oh.
I shifted my weight and lifted my leg over the horse’s back, returning to my earlier position. Except this time, I didn’t bother with the wholeleaning-forward-air-barrierthing. Instead, I nestled my back against his chest as if he were a personal comfortable sofa and not a prince. Our fingers touched when he slid the compass back into my hands, causing my stomach to flutter. I wondered if he felt that little quiver, as his other arm was still wrapped around my waist. He never removed it.
I was about to enter my tent when Aegir approached.
“You’re safe with us. Don’t let worry ruin your sleep.”
I nodded, giving him a small smile.It wasn’t just worry that kept me awake, Lord Hailin. If he knew the thoughts I had about him…
“Good night, Cordelia,” he said, moving towards his tent, which was set beside mine.
“Good night, Lord Hailin.”
He turned my way. “Are you planning on calling me Lord Hailin forever?”
“What else should I call you?”
“Well, Aegir, of course. Sounds less barbaric thanmerciless brute,don’t you think?”
