Chapter
39

Britta

DAWN REVEALS THE IMPACT OF THE STORM. A few fingers of snow rest over the forest. Not only will it be harder to find Cohen’s tracks; it’ll also be easier for someone to follow us. Without a bow and with an injured arm, I’m down to protecting us with just my dagger and my less accurate left arm.

I don’t want to consider what this might mean for us. My focus needs to remain on our survival.

We eat some dried venison and nuts, and get dressed. Aodren’s movements are stilted. I watch him fumble with his tunic, noting the tremor in his hands and the accompanying grimace. I offer to heal him, but Aodren resists.

“You cannot risk aiding me when you’re injured,” he says.

I let my suggestion drop because there’s no time for me to rest and recoup my energy, and there’s no telling what dangers we may face today. However, guilt pricks at my resolution when Aodren stands, walks stiffly toward Gale, and fails at lifting his foot into the stirrup. He tries to stifle a groan.

I need to find him somewhere warm to sleep tonight so he can heal from the winter exposure.

We ride Gale south as more clouds roll in overhead. Aodren sits behind me, holding on to my waist as best he can with numb hands.

For the first part of our journey, neither of us talks. It’s so much harder to converse with him this morning. I don’t know if it’s our connection stealing all my words, or the fact that we’re alone, or that I’ve seen him unclothed. Seeds, memories of last night burn my cheeks. The only man I thought I’d ever see unclothed was Cohen. But I cannot unsee Aodren, and every time I twist around to say something to him, my foolish blush is our constant companion.

Survival, I tell myself. Aodren wouldn’t have made it through the night.

When Aodren asks me about my childhood, I latch on to the distraction. I talk about Papa, Cohen, training to hunt, and growing up in Brentyn. I tell him about the time Cohen and I got into a scuffle with some boys over a bag of apples. “There’s a tree half on Papa’s property and half on royal lands. As we picked Papa’s apples, I got it in my head that the ones on the other side of the tree were better. So I picked some, but a couple of boys from town saw me. They told me if I didn’t give them all the apples, they’d turn me into the guard.”

“And did you?”

I move my head side to side. “No, but I gave one a black eye. Cohen told the other kid that if they said a word about the fruit or me, we’d come after them that night.”

He laughs. “Ah, so you were brazen and friends with a bully.”

“Cohen isn’t a bully—he’s just . . . protective.” A warm smile spreads across my face. He was definitely an intimidator when needed. Which is why he makes such a great bounty hunter. It’s also why he made such a good friend. I always felt safe. Cherished.

Aodren seems to mull over what I’ve said, pausing long enough that it almost tips into awkward silence. “You’ve been friends a long time.”

“I cannot imagine what my life would’ve been like without him.” All the guilt I’ve been holding at bay comes back full force. If I could do things over, I would. I’d be honest with Cohen about my bond to Aodren. I hate that I kept it a secret at all. It’s such a silly thing to keep hidden from the man I love. I’d have more faith in our relationship instead of allowing my insecurities to guide my decisions.

“I’m glad he’s there for you.” His words register with conflicting temperatures. Truth and lie. “True friends are the one commodity unavailable to royalty.”

“What do you mean?” I twist to look at him.

“I had Jamis as my regent—but as you can see, the man’s a cunning snake. And I had Omar, who is as warm and kind as he is now.”

“What about the nobles? Weren’t you friends with any of them?”

Gale steps over a fallen log, jostling us. My arm twinges, but it’s not as awful as it was yesterday. Enat told me that Spiriters heal faster than other people because we naturally absorb energy from the world around us. I hope that’s the case. I need my shooting arm to heal.

Aodren’s sigh hits my neck. “The castle is full of people. Nobles constantly in pursuit of gaining my favor. Or others who are unwilling to approach me because they believe if they glance the wrong way at me they’ll be sent to the dungeon.”

I shiver at the thought of going there ever again.

Aodren mistakes my body language for a temperature drop. His arms wrap tighter around my waist, eliminating any remaining space between us. My skin soaks in the heat of his touch like a sponge. Survival mode and all.

“I’m cold, and I cannot keep myself on the back edge of this saddle much longer,” he says. “Nor do I think it’s necessary since we’ve, well, shared a bed.”

I laugh at the awkwardness of his comment. “Yes, we did.”

Sometime between escaping the castle and now, I’ve stopped thinking of him as the king of Malam. He’s surprisingly easy to be around. I imagine, had we grown up in different situations, we would’ve been friends.

“So, you picked royal apples?” Aodren jabs me in the ribs. I jerk out of my thoughts and throw a scowl at him. “That means you stole from me, Miss Flannery.”

I burst out laughing. “Yes, well, add that to the list of things I owe you to make us even.”

“As far as I’m concerned, I’ll always be in your debt. So consider the apple tree yours.”

“Aodren.” I clear my throat. “You said you don’t have any friends, but that’s not true. I—I consider you a friend.”

“Because of the bond?” Uncertainty laces his tone.

I’ve not wanted to cross any lines in our relationship, but last night trampled that idea. I sigh. “Even without the bond, I can see that you’re a good man.”

“Do you think you’ll ever want more than friendship?”

He doesn’t have to say with me. Despite my inexperience with men, I can see the way he watches me and feel the tension between us. And he kissed me. Only one other man has touched his lips to mine. I glance down at Aodren’s arm, locked around me. He has strong arms, like Cohen. Cohen, the one man who’s ever shown romantic interest in me. While Aodren’s unprompted kindness and mention of something more is flattering, it pushes my heart onto an offbeat and sends me into a confusing spin. So lamely, I say, “I don’t know.”

Seeming to accept my answer, he falls silent.

Neither one of us talks again until we reach the cliffs and dismount. With the recent snowfall, it’s difficult to see any tracks. We split up to hasten our effort, both prowling around the edge of the cliff searching for any recent sign of passage.

“Britta . . .” Aodren’s voice quakes in a way that causes me to still. At first, I think it’s the cold freezing his hands again. He’s been holding them close to his body or mine all day. But I watch as he stiffly shuffles toward me and points at the ground where my boots have kicked through the snow. Beneath my print, a deep red crust is hiding on the cliff. “I think that’s blood.”

I inspect the mark closer, the faintest metallic scent grating my nostrils. My fingernails dig into my palms. Please don’t let it be Cohen.

If the blood is from someone in his group, they would’ve needed to see a healer right away. Right now we’re equally far from a town we’ve already passed and one of the mountain villages. Both are perhaps seven leagues away. Knowing Cohen, he would’ve chosen to move onward. I suggest we continue to the logging town of Tahr. If we hurry, we might make it there by nightfall. The idea of a warm inn for Aodren and possibly finding information on Cohen puts some more push in my movements.

However, when sunset comes, we’re still a few leagues from the town, and thick gray clouds linger overhead, blocking the moonlight. A crisp, earthy scent fills the air. It’s the promise of another snowstorm.

With no cave in sight, we have no choice but to set up camp. For coverage, we throw Hagan’s woven tarp over a low-hanging branch and then secure the ends out to scrub brush. Since there’s only the one bedroll, Aodren lays it in the middle of the sheltered ground. That done, we take a seat on a large rock outside the tent and make supper of the remaining dried venison.

“I saw Cohen’s scars once,” Aodren says, staring up at the clouds.

I finish chewing my last bit of meat and remain silent, confused by his seemingly random confession.

His gaze turns to meet mine. He brushes his hand over the stubble around his mouth, dusting off invisible crumbs. “Did you save him as well?”

I chew my lip. I’ve never talked about what happened with the mountain cat to anyone other than Cohen and Enat. But I want to be honest with him, so I tell Aodren about the past.

When I finish the story, Aodren turns to face me. “I’m sorry if, in asking you about Cohen, I’ve overstepped the bounds of our friendship. When I saw his scars, I noticed their similarity to mine.”

“No, it’s fine. I—I just haven’t talked about it much. There aren’t many people I trust.”

“Am I one of those people now?”

“Yes, you are.”

His shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath. “Did healing Cohen change your relationship? Were you closer after?”

I’m not sure where his questions are leading. “We’re not together because of that.”

“No, of course not.” His leg slides closer to mine.

“I love Cohen,” I say, needing him to know.

Something flickers across his face. “Yes, I imagined you did. I only meant that what you did could bring friends together in a unique way. And I’ve noticed how he always watches out for you.”

A sour taste coats my palate. “Yeah, well, he wants to keep me safe.”

He pushes off the rock and turns to face me. “Is that what you want? Do you want to be kept?”

I don’t answer.

Aodren’s comment burrows into my thoughts. Cohen has proven that he’ll go to great, frustrating lengths for me. And in return, I’ve reacted with anger that has always felt justified.

But if I flip the statement around, putting myself in Cohen’s place, I know undoubtedly that I’d do whatever was necessary to protect Cohen. And I have.

The first snowflake lands on my nose. I touch it and then hold out my hand, palm flat, to catch a few more. When I was fourteen, Cohen stayed out all night with me to enjoy the season’s first snowstorm. The night earned him a cold that lasted weeks. He wouldn’t let me feel bad about his illness. Instead he said, I would’ve stayed out two nights, if you’d asked. I told him he was mad. He said, Only for you.

But I never allowed us to linger in the snow after that. I worried that he would catch the same illness.

Now as I follow the teeny white flakes falling slowly from the sky, I’m sad that this is the first time I’ve just sat and watched them since that night with Cohen. And though Aodren is here with me, it isn’t the same. Some things cannot be replaced.