He told Bell the truth, and Bell still wanted him. Fuck, did Bell still want him. Last night was, not to be overdramatic, one of the most amazing nights of Rakos’s life.
The world is still spiraling out of control around him. He’s still marked as a deserter. He’s still outrunning Prince Vana and the entire Draskoran army. He still doesn’t have his dragon back. But he’s not lying to Bell anymore, and that’s more of a relief than he ever imagined.
Bastard teleports frantically after the pebbles, attempting and usually failing to catch them before they land. Rakos wonders how she would get along with Sarka.
Dawn creeps through the sky, lighting the dark spires of Nost and the plumes of smoke still rising from the ruined labyrinth. Mist clouds over the canyon, refracting the light in golden rays.
The wagon shifts and creaks. Rakos can’t help his ridiculous grin as Bell approaches and slumps down beside him—with a faint hiss of pain.
“You should go back to sleep,” Rakos says. “The caravan isn’t leaving again until tomorrow. We can take the day off.”
“I know.” Bell cuddles closer to Rakos, angling his face upwards.
Rakos catches his lips in a lazy, gentle kiss, far sweeter than the pink and gold sunrise. In that moment, everything is serene and perfect.
Then Bastard abandons her pebble and jumps back into Bell’s lap, squeaking indignantly. The familiar dark shape of a hawk circles overhead.
“Are you scared of the hawk?” Bell tickles Bastard’s chin. “Don’t worry, it can’t swoop faster than you can teleport. Though maybe some threatening predators might be good for your attitude.”
Rakos’s heart sinks, and the serenity vanishes away.
“Change of plans.” The tension in his voice makes Bell look up. “We have to leave the caravan today.”
“All right. Why?” Bell’s trust in Rakos is humbling.
“That hawk belongs to Prince Vana. I don’t know how much it can communicate to him—he’s always been tightlipped about that. But we can’t be too careful. If the hawk has seen us, Vana might know we’re here.”
“Oh, great. What’s the new plan?”
Rakos rubs his head. “I don’t think we can find another caravan in Nost without getting caught. Can you handle a three-day ride?”
Bell holds Bastard close to his neck. “Aren’t we still a week away from the mountains?”
Rakos shakes his head. “Three days. Now that I don’t have to hide my magic, we can take a shortcut.”
“Exciting.” Bell leans in for another kiss. “Then I can handle a three-day ride.”
While Bell gathers their meager belongings, Rakos brings the last of Ludvik’s gold to Petunia’s wagon. He knocks at the door, bracing himself to find undressed bed workers piled everywhere. But Petunia is the only one who answers, her face covered in a weird, greenish paste.
“You’re up already.” Petunia manages to look very judgmental for someone covered in goop. “From the noise last night, I thought I wouldn’t see you till noon.”
“Sorry about that,” Rakos says, not feeling sorry at all. “And sorry to wake you so early. I need a favor.”
Her eyes narrow. “What kind of favor?”
Rakos hefts Ludvik’s coin purse. “The kind of favor I pay you for.”
Petunia opens the door a few more inches. “I’m listening.”
“Bell and I are leaving the caravan. I need someone else to buy two horses for us. Decent traveling horses. Big enough to ride double if need be.”
“Run into trouble?” Petunia asks.
“I’m paying in gold, not gossip.” Rakos hands the pouch over. “You can keep what’s left over. And use our wagon space if you want some time away from your companions.”
Petunia shamelessly rifles through the coin purse. “I’ll see the horses come with saddles.”
“If any apothecaries are open, could you grab some pain elixir too?” Rakos adds. “There should be enough gold.”
