she were a toddler. She had no memory of wrapping her own arms around his neck and laying her head against his shoulder, but she had to admit, despite the aches pulsing through her body with each step, it was a nice place to be. Bandages made from torn strips of clothing wrapped her wrists where those pins had pierced. She sensed the support of other bandages around her shoulders and thighs. Thinking of the intimacy those bandages implied made her flush.
Amaranthe lifted her head. The slight movement brought fresh pain, something reminiscent of the blasting headache one might suffer after a night carousing with Maldynado. Not that she’d been foolish enough to do that. More than once anyway.
“We will stop soon. It has been some time since I heard sign of pursuit.” Sicarius’s dark eyes lowered to meet hers, and a little flutter teased Amaranthe’s gut. Given what she’d endured, she probably shouldn’t be in the mood to melt over looks from men, but they hadn’t spent a lot of time with their heads close together, and his eyes held a gentleness she’d never seen in them before. It seemed impossible to believe, but he must not have pieced together the fact that she’d betrayed him. Maybe he’d been too busy figuring out how to thwart Pike.
Amaranthe broke eye contact and cleared her throat. “They probably stumbled across Pike. I assume from that scream that he’s dead.”
Sicarius’s focus returned to the trail. “Yes.”
“Thank you for not… eliminating anyone else.”
“As you said, they were not a threat once their leader was gone.”
A perfectly logical way to say it, one that meshed with his philosophy of not leaving enemies alive behind him, but Amaranthe preferred to think that he’d made the decision because he knew it would please her. Some men brought women flowers. Sicarius chose not to kill people. The latter seemed a tad more momentous. Of course, his solicitude might all be in her head.
He didn’t come all this way because of logic, girl, she told herself. He cares.
Unless he’d come because he was worried that she would, under the pressure of torture, betray his secrets. Even now he might be waiting for the moment to ask if she’d blabbed.
Amaranthe grimaced. Why couldn’t she just enjoy the fact that she was snuggled in the man’s arms?
“You are thinking,” Sicarius said. A hint of censure laced the words.
Amaranthe forced her thoughts away from treasured secrets cast upon the wind like dandelion seeds. “Yes. Is that not allowed?”
“Your body and mind need rest.”
“We’re following the trail of enemies we’ll have to confront. I think the rest portion of the exercise comes after we deal with them.”
“The trail is cold. We will not likely encounter them until we reach their destination.” He flicked his gaze toward the twilight darkness of the sulfurous, alligator-and-snake-filled, strangled-by-vegetation swamp, no doubt implying it unlikely that the Forge meeting place was anywhere nearby.
“So, I should simply lie snuggled against your chest without thinking for a while?” If only she could.
“Yes.”
Amaranthe laid her head against his shoulder. She managed to keep her brain-and her mouth-still for almost thirty seconds. “How did you find me?”
Tired and aching though she may be, she couldn’t help but smile at the hint of disapproval that flattened his lips. Someone else wouldn’t see it at all, or would take it as a sinister glower. She knew he was simply irked at her inability to obey an order to rest.
“They flew in a straight line.” Sicarius stepped over a creek and left the trail, turning to follow the gravely bed upstream.
“I’d forgotten your knack for answering questions with terseness bordering on obscurity.” Amaranthe touched his jaw fondly to let him know she was teasing. Her fingers brushed against the short hair of his fledgling beard. “If you’d let me use that sharp black knife of yours, I could clean this up for you.”
“Sespian has the knife.”
“Ah. Another blade then. I’m sure they’re all sharp. Of course, you don’t have to opt for a clean shave. The scruffy look has merit. The growth just needs a little tidying.” Amaranthe supposed, by babbling on inane topics, she could avoid the one that awaited sharing.
“I’m more concerned with tending you.”
Amaranthe’s breath caught at the simple statement, and at the way he gazed straight into her eyes as he said it. No, she wasn’t imagining his solicitude. His words warmed her, but they filled her with bleak guilt as well. First, because she’d doubted he truly cared. And second… because she’d failed him.
The ride grew bumpier as Sicarius climbed higher off the trail. Amaranthe was on the verge of asking where he was going when he pushed aside a few ropy bundles of moss dangling from exposed tree roots and peered into a dark opening. He found a flat spot and set Amaranthe down. Thanks to her inactivity, her muscles had stiffened terribly, and she could scarcely move without sucking in a pained breath-or spouting out a stream of curses. She was relieved to play spectator as Sicarius investigated a small cave, gathered fronds and boughs for bedding and a fire, and finally struck flint to one of his knives. He dragged in an unfamiliar satchel Amaranthe hadn’t realized he’d been wearing. It must have belonged to one of the soldiers, or perhaps he’d traded his heavier rucksack for it at some point on his journey.
“Any chance there’s food in that sack?” Amaranthe crawled into the low cave and propped herself against the dirt wall behind the fire. Roots dangled from the ceiling, and the husks of dead bugs littered the earthen floor. After that crate, it felt like a luxurious warrior-caste resort. She didn’t even have the urge to fashion a broom from a branch and sweep.
“The sort of energy-high but nutrient-deficient travel rations soldiers carry, yes. I saved something better for you.” Sicarius dug into the satchel and pulled out a canteen for her and two of his travel bars, the ones made of dried meats and fat. Smashed from his days on the road, they looked even less appealing than usual. When he held them out, like someone making a gift of a cherished possession, Amaranthe managed to hold back a groan-barely. Those “energy-high” snacks the soldiers had been carrying sounded far more promising, like they might be full of sugar or dried fruit.
Sicarius’s eyes narrowed. He’d probably gone hungry a few days to reserve them for her.
“Thank you, very considerate of you to save them,” Amaranthe said, seeking a compromise that might let her dig into the soldier rations, if only as a dessert. “But, ah… after your grueling trek, I’m sure you’re in as much need of nutrients as I. How about we each have one?”
He hesitated before nodding. “Acceptable.”
Sicarius handed her a bar, then built up the fire. He went in and out of the cave, bringing in enough wood to supply an army stuck in a frozen outpost on the Northern Frontier. Amaranthe wished he’d join her against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, so that she could lean on him and sleep until dawn, knowing she didn’t have to worry about anyone hurting her. But perhaps, for the conversation they needed to have, distance was better. While she debated how to broach the subject, she chewed on the corner of her bar, grimacing at the fact that her teeth felt loose in their sockets. Was that from a week’s worth of malnutrition? Or was her body simply that much of a mess? Relieved the cave lacked a mirror, she resolved to avoid clear pools of water for a while.
“Do you want a bath?” Sicarius asked.
Surprised out of her musings, Amaranthe gaped at him. Her first thoughts bounced back and forth between tantalized speculation and outright disbelief-had he truly offered to bathe her? — but they all crashed to the ground under the weight of reality. How could she accept the spa experience when she was wondering how to tell him she’d betrayed him? Remembering the last time he’d assisted her with a bath-and the ice cubes floating about on the surface- spa might not be the best word, but still.
Sicarius was waiting for an answer. Amaranthe groped for something.
“Are you saying I don’t smell good these days?” Ugh, that was a horrible thank-you for his sweet offer.
Sicarius held up a canteen and a damp rag that had probably been a soldier’s shirt. “You look like you could use… ” He was too tactful to tell her she was a wreck.
“Tender ministrations?” Amaranthe raised her brows. “Are you offering?”
Sicarius gazed into her eyes. “Whatever you wish, Amaranthe.”
He’d never voiced those words before, and, in another situation, they would have flooded her with warmth, but she suspected they were born out of pity, or maybe guilt. She wasn’t sure why that word came to mind. What
