He tilted her chin, so he could see her eyes. “What, Lovina?” he asked so softly, he barely breathed the words.
Her forget-me-nots stared directly at him, and she whispered, “They’re full of kindness. You look at the world with love.”
Her scarred back flashed to mind. The blazing pyre with his Pa tied to the stake. And her refusing to testify against Pa, even though she knew Bill would lash her. “And you’re brave. Courageous.”
Her eyebrows flew up. “M-me? Brave?”
“Brave.” He gestured at her art. She’d shown him a glimpse of her soul. Shown him himself, as she really saw him. “All those years with Bill, never giving up.”
“My pictures kept me alive.” A tear slid down her cheek. “In Death Valley, Ma died, Da, my brothers …” Lovina sniffed. “There was a tharuk …” she whispered.
Tomaaz stepped closer, angling his head so he could hear.
“… 274, his name was. He liked my art. I drew him little sketches in the dirt with my fingers, or on a scrap of hide with coal. Rabbits, squirrels, owls …. He gave me extra food, hid me when they were beating slaves.” She shook her head. “My art kept me alive. Every day, I try to draw, thankful I survived.”
He couldn’t help it. Tomaaz’s arms encircled her shaking shoulders, and he pulled her against his chest.
She gently pushed him away. “Tomaaz! You’re freezing!”
“Oh shards! I’m making you wet.” He waved her to the fireside. “Go and warm up while I get dry.”
Grabbing some dry clothes from the chest, he went back to the boulder to get changed.
His charcoal face stared at him, smiling, eyes filled with tenderness. How had she captured that? Her art was stunning. Amazing. But nowhere near as incredible as her.
§
After all Tomaaz had done for her, Lovina couldn’t sit idly. She put more wood on the fire and took the pot to the cavern mouth, filling it with clean snow. Pacing back to the fire, she caught a glimpse of his broad shoulders and muscled back as he tugged on a woolen undershirt. She glanced away, her cheeks growing hot, and tossed a handful of dried fruit into the pot of melting snow. That one glimpse had warmed her faster than any campfire.
Lovina bustled to the cave mouth. She dragged back one of the branches he’d fetched—her bad arm making her slow—and left it to dry by the fire. Her arm was aching, and her ribs, too, where Bill had kicked her. She’d healed before, though. Bill had hurt her more times than she could remember, layering pain upon hurt, gashes upon bruises. Lovina picked up the next branch.
Suddenly, Tomaaz was there beside her, picking up the rest of the branches and dropping them near the fire.
Now that she’d seen them, she couldn’t help but notice his arms and back as he worked. Lovina stirred the fruit tea, biting her lip. He wasn’t hers; never would be.
Tomaaz hung a sodden blanket over the half-open entrance. “To stop anyone seeing our fire,” he explained. “The wool’s dark enough not to be noticed.” He hung the other blanket near the fire to dry and busied himself with the mugs.
“No,” she said, taking the mugs from him awkwardly with one hand. “You sit by the fire. You’re tired and cold.”
He protested. She’d known he would. “You looked after me before,” she said, setting the mugs on a rock. “Now it’s my turn.” She poured the water and fruit into the mugs and passed one to him.
He smiled, inhaling the steam. “I feel warmer already.” His green eyes shone in the firelight, like those pearlescent-green Naobian seashells she’d seen in her travels.
Like he liked her.
But how could he? Her body would heal, but inside, she was broken beyond repair.
§
Cold stone floor. Glowing embers. Where was he? A scream jolted him into reality.
Lovina! He scrambled around the fire.
Still asleep, she took another deep breath. Gods, what if a tharuk heard her? He shook her shoulder.
Her eyes flew open, fear contorting her face.
“Lovina, it’s me, Tomaaz. You were having a nightmare. Sorry, I thought someone might hear you.”
“Tomaaz?”
He liked the way his name fell from her lips.
She sat up. Shuddering. “I was back in Death Valley. They were beating Ma …” A sob wracked her frame, then another.
Tomaaz stirred the embers with a stick, not sure what to do.
She kept crying.
He slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight against his side, cradling her head against his shoulder, letting her cry.
A Nasty Surprise
Marlies woke to the patter of drips from the ceiling. She’d been stuck in the snow cave for days. She wriggled the sword in the ventilation shaft to dislodge the loose snow. Something was different. She cocked her head. It was quiet outside; the storm had stopped.
She threw her things in her rucksack. She had to get out of here before tharuk patrols came over from Devil’s Gate. Surely, she wasn’t that far away now. How in the Egg’s name was she going to free a captive dragon? Marlies sighed. She’d figure that out later.
She slid her rucksack down the tunnel mouth and kicked it out of the tunnel. Marlies scrambled upright.
A snarl sounded behind her. Whirling, she gripped her sword. Two tharuks were running down the trail at her.
Snatching her bow and quiver off her rucksack, Marlies nocked an arrow and shot. It flew straight into a tharuk’s snout. It let out a roar of pain and clutched at the arrow, trying to yank it out. That would only make it angry. Loosing another arrow, she hit it in the head and it toppled across the track.
But now the other tharuk was nearly on her. Marlies
