“Don’t look at me like that,” Shae says. “I have no idea what you want.”
“Cookies,” Arthur says from behind him. “She definitely wants cookies.”
Shae jumps and forcefully prevents himself from turning around. Arthur’s probably dressed again. Probably. Shae’s too afraid to find out. He stays very still as he hears Arthur rummaging through a bag. Duchess’s attention zeroes in on a point just over Shae’s shoulder at the sound. Then the familiar warmth of the paladin’s aura surrounds him, chasing the chill from his bones.
“Here,” Arthur says, right in his ear. A very bare, very damp arm emerges in his field of vision.
Shae takes the offered cookie from him and says, stiff in more ways than one, “Thanks.”
He feeds the cookie to Duchess, then concentrates very, very intently on stroking her nose, and not turning around until he hears Arthur putting on a shirt.
?
CHAPTER SIX
Arthur
As he puts together dinner, Arthur can’t help staring at the necromancer. While he understands what a great companion Duchess is, and how worthwhile and fulfilling the experience of petting her is, he can tell that’s not the only reason Shae is hanging out with her instead of sitting by the fire. Shae’s been extremely quiet since their conversation that morning, and he’s barely willing to look at Arthur. It’s clear Arthur’s question is bothering him.
It’s bothering Arthur, too. Ten years of necromancy, when Shae doesn’t look older than twenty or twenty-one. Even if he was twenty-five, the same as Arthur, that would mean he contracted with a patron demon at age fifteen.
Arthur can’t imagine what would drive such a young kid to dark magic like that. He has a feeling he’s not going to know for a while, if ever. Shae clearly doesn’t want to talk about it.
That’s fine. Arthur’s a paladin, not a priest. His calling is to defend the faith, the innocent, and the random bystander with his blade and the Vara’s Radiance. He has neither the duty nor the talent to help with psychological troubles.
So, why can’t he stop thinking about it?
“Dinner’s ready,” he calls eventually, and only then does Shae leave Duchess to her own leisurely meal. Shae’s cheeks are faintly pink in the firelight. Maybe he’s embarrassed that he’s already started talking to the horse.
Which is probably the most endearing thing about him. He’s a weird, prickly bastard, but he likes Arthur’s horse, and that counts for more than it should.
Necromancer,Arthur reminds himself sternly.Not endearing. Evil, evil necromancer.
Shae remains quiet as they eat, and he continues looking down, sideways, into the woods, towards the river, everywhere but at Arthur. That gives Arthur the opportunity to continue staring at him, trying to figure out how old he is. Twenty-five is really unlikely, he eventually decides, but every number lower bothers him more and more. Dark circles show easily under Shae’s pale skin, and he’d probably look even younger if he got a good night’s sleep. Ate a bit better, smoothed out the sharp edges and hollow planes of his face.
After dinner, Arthur washes up and then walks a wide perimeter around their camp, hand on his pendant. He murmurs a prayer spell under his breath, calling on the Radiant for awareness and protection through the night. The answer comes not from beyond but from within his body, his Vara-contracted magic settling into a circle around the camp. If anyone touches the boundary, he’ll feel it.
Shae has set out their bedrolls when he returns to the fireside. “What was that I felt? A warding spell?” His face is pink again, and he isn’t meeting Arthur’s eyes.
“Easier than trying to keep watch with just the two of us,” Arthur says. “Though Duchess makes a fine sentry herself.” Then he catches up to the rest of the implications. “You could feel that?”
“Yes.” Shae still doesn’t meet Arthur’s eyes as he sits down at the end of the bedroll and starts unlacing his boots.
Arthur frowns, and an earlier concern returns to him. “Does it hurt when I cast near you?” he asks after a moment. He’s not sure how to avoid that if it does.
Shae’s fingers pause at his boots. “It doesn’thurt.” Amusement threads through his voice. “Good night,” Shae says next, quickly, before Arthur can ask anything else, and crawls into his bedroll. He turns away from Arthur, so all that’s visible are narrow angles beneath the bedding and a mess of dark hair.
Arthur checks on Duchess one last time before smothering the fire in earth. The summer night is warm, and they don’t need to risk drawing attention. It’s so warm, in fact, that after taking off his boots, Arthur lays out on top of his bedroll instead of inside it. His head falls back on the thin pillow, and he stares up at the stars through the black lace of branches.
The night is quiet. Small creatures rustle through the underbrush, and insects sing. Duchess moves around every once in a while on her tether. The necromancer breathes next to him, slow and shallow. Arthur doesn’t think he’s asleep yet. They’re close enough that Arthur could stretch out his hand and touch him.
Arthur’s starting to feel like he’s never going to figure the necromancer out. He gets pissed off when Arthur grabs breakfast, but he almost laughs when Arthur asks if he’s hurt. He locks up and retreats when Arthur asks questions, but he lays out their bedrolls right next to each other. The contradictions shouldn’t be a surprise; necromancers are supposed to be weird. The surprising part is that Arthurwantsto figure him out.
He lies awake for what feels like hours until Shae’s breath deepens, and the line of his body sinks slightly within the bedding. Only then does Arthur follow him into sleep.
For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t dream about Ronan at all.
***
