She disentangled herself from the web and settled back into her skin with a sigh, letting her senses ground her—the cold, the dripping rain, Casrian’s steady breath, and the pop of the fire. The smell of damp earth and brackish water. She opened her eyes to find the sky beginning to lighten in the east.
So.
The patrol had passed east, away from the river and the fort along its banks. The rain would have washed away most of their tracks even if she could find where they’d come out of the swamp. Casrian believed his men were moving toward the fort. He’d want to continue in that direction if there was no trail.
How was she going to convince him to go east? She didn’t want to lie, but she couldn’t very well tell him that the trees had told her to turn east.
Casrian might not be as heartless as she’d once believed him to be, but he wouldn’t overlookthat. Just look at how he’d reacted to the charms, and everyone used charms. If he even suspected she could talk to trees, he’d think she was casting spells. And then the man who shared his blanket because her teeth were chattering would turn back into the cold asshole she remembered from Jarn.
He believed in his work.
He thought he was preventing the spread of evil.
Protecting the innocent.
She wasn’t evil. She was trying to protect people too. She shouldn’t have to hide like this.
Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her shins and tried to decide. The fire died down to embers and she listened to the willows they’d camped beneath. Their roots tangled in the wet soil. Their long, thin branches drifted in the wind. She waited until there was enough light to see by, and then she touched Casrian’s shoulder to wake him. His eyes opened immediately with an alertness she found enviable. It always took her a good half hour before she even felt alive in the morning.
She stirred the fire and then went down to the river with a cake of soap while he boiled water for tea and got himself ready for the day. She wanted to wash the smell of swamp off of herand even though she stared at the dark water for a long time after she stripped down, she eventually managed to work up her courage and wade into the water, praying the whole time there weren’t any serpents waiting for her.
The river smelled clean here, though it was cold. She washed quickly, scrubbing the mud from her hair and dunking herself in the running water until the stench of the swamp left her skin. She was shivering and covered in goosebumps by the time she hauled herself back to the bank and pulled on her clothes, but it was worth it to feel clean again.
When she returned to the camp, Casrian was waiting. His gaze slid down her body, gauging her readiness to travel.
He lifted his chin. “How’s the leg?”
“Good,” she said. “I washed it out again. I don’t even know if I’ll bother to wrap it back up.”
“You should. Wounds tend to go bad quickly within the sphere of a witch’s influence. Put some salve on it.”
As if she didn’t know her own business. She braided her wet hair while Casrian went about the camp, rolling the blankets up and packing their supplies.
When he turned to her with an expectant look, she raised her brows. “What?”
“Grab your knife. We’ll take a half hour to train before we head out. Have you eaten?”
“The bread’s gone.” So was the cheese he’d bought off Tilly. All they had left was the jerky and a couple of hard biscuits.
“Eat, even if you have to choke it down. You’re too skinny as it is.”
She huffed, insulted. “Who’s leaving bruises now?”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on. I’ll go easy on you since you’re feeling so fragile this morning.”
“I’m not fragile.” No one had ever called her fragile in her life.
He moved to an open space and took up a fighting stance, his legs spread, his arms open and loose at his sides. His hands were empty, but he still looked annoyingly confident in his ability to handle anything she threw at him. He grinned at her. “Show me how tough you are then.”
She tried. Dear God, did she try. Just one good hit was all she wanted. She didn’t want to hurt him. She just wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. She’d stitch him up again if he bled.
But she couldn’t even get close enough to snag his clothes, let alone make a cut. He didn’t go easy on her as far as she could see. He knocked her on her ass at least a half-dozen times, critiquing the way she fell of all things. But she got up every time he backed away, and she thought once or twice she saw a gleam of approval in his eyes when she dodged a kick or blocked a hit.
After a time, he wrapped her up in his arms and held her while she struggled to break free. His hand was locked around her wrist where she held the knife. At least she was warm now. She panted, trying to catch her breath. His breath against her cheek was steady and even.
“What did you learn from this?”
“That every time I see you, I should turn around and run. I knew that already. I don’t know why I keep forgetting it. You’re trouble.”
