Avery (Random Romance)

by Charlotte McConaghy

  I thought back, stretching my hazy mind. I remembered being tied to a tree, and the rain, and then being stung … but nothing after that, except a story. ‘Did you tell me about your brother in the ice? Or did I dream that?’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Unfortunately that little ramble was real.’ Ambrose reached out to check the bandage around my arm, and then the one around my hand, which was definitely the most painful of my wounds. It throbbed constantly, which I thought was rather apt as a remainder of my own stupidity.

  ‘How are your ribs?’ he asked softly. I met his eyes, unsure what I’d find, but there was no mockery, no smugness.

  ‘Fine,’ I told him. ‘It was a pathetic kick.’

  A slow smile spread across his face, and he actually reached out to ruffle my hair. I recoiled away – both because it was such an intimate gesture and because I was afraid he would let loose the pins that held my long hair.

  Ambrose shot me a weird look, grunted and stood up. ‘We need to get moving.’

  ‘Has the storm passed?’

  ‘Nope, it’s still pretty bad.’

  Great. That meant plodding through the wilderness, soaked to the bone, with nothing to eat and no idea which way to go.

  ‘Can you walk yet?’

  I hauled myself to my feet, testing my muscles. Pretty much every part of me hurt like a bitch, but I nodded. ‘I’ll be fine.’ I had to think of some way to escape, regardless of pain.

  Ambrose started packing up his bits and pieces. I noticed the pot he’d used to make the paste that was around my arm. He was packing it away carefully, as if the contents it held were precious.

  ‘What is this stuff?’

  ‘Antiseptic from the bark of a tree.’

  ‘How did you know how to make it?’ I asked.

  ‘My sister-in-law,’ he shrugged. ‘She’s good with herbs and medicine and stuff.’

  It suddenly occurred to me that he must have gone out into the storm to gather the bark with which he’d made the paste. And then he’d sat up all night, tending to my wounds, changing the bandage on my forehead, and telling me stories. I swallowed, looking away from his hard face under the flicker of the firelight. None of that made any sense to me, so I couldn’t afford to think about it.

  Thunder was cracking loudly, and it sounded alarmingly close. A burst of lightning lit up the water gushing past the entrance and a moment later I felt the ground shake. Ambrose tried to reach the mouth of the cave, but was thrown to his knees – I only caught a glimpse of it because I was slammed against the wall. Rock scraped the infected wound on my arm and I yelped. A deafening rumble took over and rocks started to fall from the roof. One of them grazed my skull, and it felt big enough to have done serious damage if it had landed properly. I curled myself into a ball, trying to shield my head. When the shaking finally stopped and the dust had settled, everything was black – the fire had been doused and I couldn’t see a thing.

  ‘Still alive, Ave?’

  ‘Yep. You?’

  ‘Yep.’

  I listened as Ambrose hauled himself up and moved to inspect the mouth of the cave. ‘It’s totally blocked off,’ he grunted. ‘Storm must have caused an avalanche on the mountain.’

  I climbed to my feet and gingerly brushed myself off. After making my way carefully to where the fire had been, I crouched down and peered through the darkness, catching sight of a few embers still burning. After searching blindly for some kind of stick, I gave up and started wandering further into the cave. I couldn’t see more than an inch in front of my face, but I held my unburnt hand out and explored slowly. After a few minutes, my feet tripped over something that moved and then clacked against the rock. Feeling the ground, my fingers slid around something smooth and dry. It felt like a stick, so I picked it up and made my way back to the fire. I wrapped Ambrose’s discarded shirt around the end of it and lit it on the fire.

  Ambrose had been attacking the rocks, but the torch illuminated the fact that he’d made no progress whatsoever. ‘Don’t want to cave the roof in any more than it is,’ he grunted.

  I couldn’t help glancing down at his calf – the burn was bright red and blistering awfully. In fact his whole leg was swollen and I forced my eyes away, telling myself not to feel guilty – he deserved everything he got.

  ‘Looks like it’s cave exploring for us.’ He turned around, saw the torch and arched his eyebrows. ‘But we might not be the only ones down here.’

  I followed his gaze to the torch in my hands and dropped it in shock. ‘Gross!’ It was a human leg bone.

  Ambrose laughed and bent to pick up the torch before it went out. ‘This from the boy who just skinned a stag on his own without blinking.’

  I blushed pink and turned away, knowing the colour would make me appear more feminine than I could afford. ‘Give it to me. I’ll lead,’ I snapped.

  ‘Slow down, you maniac.’ He grabbed my arm and deftly attached the rope to both our wrists once more.

  ‘Are you serious?’ I hissed. ‘It’s not as though I can escape you in here!’

  ‘I wouldn’t put anything past you, Avery,’ he said cheerfully, then tugged me forward.

  ‘Why are you in such a good mood?’

  ‘I’ve come to a good place.’

  ‘A dark cave?’

  ‘Mentally,’ he clarified with a grin. ‘I’m alive, I get a break from my crazy family, and I get to see a little more of my country. The only irritating thing about this trip is you, Ave, but it turns out your funny little temper tantrums amuse me.’

  My mouth fell open. ‘I’m not remotely surprised that no one’s been able to stand you long enough to marry you.’

  ‘What makes you think I’m unmarried?’

  That stopped me short. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. ‘Frankly, if you are married I feel very, very sorry for the poor girl.’

  This made him laugh again – it was a deep rumble, an unnerving thing.

  We walked through caves, moving deeper and deeper under the mountain. In places the openings grew very narrow, and we had to walk in single file, but often we could plod alongside each other, always careful about where we placed our feet. Once or twice we had to wade through pools of water up to our waists, but it never got so deep that we had to swim. That was, until we’d been walking for what felt like days and the narrow walkway opened up into a massive cavern. The top of the space was so high we could barely see it, and long, glistening stalactites dripped gently into the seemingly endless lake below.

  ‘We’ll have to swim fast so we don’t get too cold,’ I said.

  ‘Give me the torch.’

  ‘No way. I’ll take it.’

  ‘You’re not strong enough.’

  ‘I’m Kayan, you idiot. I was born in the water.’

  ‘You’re also injured and weak – you nearly died last night.’

  We argued for a while longer until I pushed him out of the way and jumped into the water, holding the torch aloft.

  ‘Brat,’ I heard him mutter, but then the rope between us pulled taut and he was tugged face first into the freezing cold lake. Ambrose spluttered as he kicked to the surface, shooting me a glare and striking out towards the opposite side.

  ‘Wrong way, ass,’ I called, heading to the right.

  ‘There’s a huge cave just over there – I can see it!’

  ‘But there’s water trickling down the sides over here, and it has to come from somewhere – we should follow it.’

  ‘Avery, I swear to Gods, if you’re just doing this to annoy me—’

  I swam against the rope, and he tugged it for a moment – making a point of how much stronger he was – then gave in and followed. We swam across to the rocks and explored the crevices, none of which were big enough to fit through. There was a ledge about ten feet up, though, and it looked like it led to a tunnel.

  ‘That’s it. That’s where we need to get to.’

  Ambrose was sceptical, eyes searching the rocks. ‘I could probably boost you
up there, but you’d never be able to pull me up after you.’

  ‘Could you climb up first and then pull me after?’

  His brow furrowed as he considered, running his fingers over the fissures in the rock. ‘Let’s see.’ He started to climb, slipping and sliding, the muscles in his arms and legs tense. Because of how hard the slippery rock face was to grip, he had to move fast, using his momentum to swing him upwards and to the side. I watched closely, telling myself over and over not to be impressed. He was a Pirenti soldier, so of course he would be good at physical things. It didn’t mean he was a good person and it didn’t mean I should respect him.

  Ambrose scrambled into the tunnel. ‘It slopes up!’ He reached down and started hauling me after him. The rope was tied around my wrist, and it felt like he was about to pull my arm out of its socket. When I scrambled onto the ledge, the pain was so bad that I realised he actually had pulled it out of the socket.

  ‘Good Gods,’ Ambrose snapped. ‘How many more injuries are you going to have?’

  ‘You keep giving them to me!’ I exclaimed.

  Without warning, he grabbed my arm and crunched it back into my shoulder. I gave a short scream, then clamped my mouth shut and tried to breathe through the dizzying pain. I prided myself on being tough, but the truth was I was starting to reach the end of my tether. I wasn’t sure how many more injuries I could survive. Closing my eyes, I slumped to the ground and leant my head against the wall. Beads of sweat trickled into my eyes. Ambrose must have sensed that I needed a moment because he didn’t say anything, just let me sit.

  After a while he murmured, ‘A dislocated joint is one of the most painful injuries you can have.’

  I looked up at him. He was leaning casually against the opposite wall, waving the torch in idle patterns, watching the flames in the darkness. That torch was not going to last much longer – we’d already burnt through several items of clothing. We had limited hours of light left, but he was just standing there, waiting for me.

  ‘What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?’ I found myself asking.

  ‘Hmm. I lost two toes on my left foot – that hurt. Got stabbed in the back, literally. See this scar on my eyebrow? I nearly lost the whole eye from that knife. Uh, what else … had a broken cheekbone, several fractured wrists – my right wrist is weaker than the left – many, many broken limbs over the years. Had my guts slashed open once. Lots of burns. Punctured lungs, cracked ribs, dislocated knees … I dunno – I could go on forever.’

  I stared at him, horrified. ‘Damn – that’s a lot of injuries.’

  ‘I’ve been in a lot of fights.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why have you been in so many fights?’

  He frowned, meeting my eyes. It was almost as if he didn’t understand the question. ‘Because I’m strong. Which means that men challenge me. Which means I have to fight them.’

  ‘And does that mean you kill them?’ I asked.

  ‘Most of the time,’ he answered calmly. ‘If I didn’t, I’d be dead.’

  ‘And why would the world be a poorer place if you were dead, Ambrose?’

  His mouth opened but nothing came out. He looked away. ‘What’s poor or rich got to do with anything?’

  ‘Shouldn’t we all try to make the world a richer place?’

  ‘Maybe. Or maybe all we should be trying to do is keep this forsaken place from destroying itself.’

  ‘By fighting wars? How many have you fought?’

  ‘There is only one war.’

  ‘How many battles, then?’

  ‘Fifty-four.’

  I was so stunned that I froze, instantly forgetting about the pain in my shoulder, my hand and my arm. ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘I’ve been fighting since I was fourteen. And the one thing our countries have in common is their need for blood. That makes fifty-four battles in eleven years.’

  ‘And you?’ I demanded. ‘Have you a need for blood?’

  He spun the torch around and around in a wheel of flame. ‘I suppose I’m expected to.’

  ‘But do you?’ I pressed, unsure why I needed the answer so badly.

  Ambrose smiled, but in the eerie light it appeared more like a grimace. ‘I’ve always been the disappointment of my family.’

  And before I could work out what that meant, he strode off into the darkness, tugging gently at me to follow.

  Thorne

  Roselyn was sitting with her legs over the edge of the northern battlements when I found her. I’d taken one glimpse of our room, seen her absence and her fur hanging in the closet and I’d known where she’d be. I never failed to marvel at how she could sit like that with no railing or safety net, just dangling over the edge of a three-hundred-foot drop. Everything scared her except things that were actually scary.

  I reached her side and draped the heavy fur cloak around her underdressed shoulders. She started in shock, her mind miles away, then flinched when she saw me.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She wasn’t supposed to be on the roof. I worried she’d fall off one of these days. But I couldn’t be bothered to chastise her; I was in a strange mood. As a child I had been intimately acquainted with melancholy. As a man I didn’t allow myself the luxury of it. But today, there was something sad tugging at my edges, something weak.

  I put my hand on her arm so she’d stay put, then swung myself onto the battlement next to her. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘I’m not certain – hours, perhaps.’

  ‘Aren’t you cold?’ A stupid question – her lips were blue, but she hadn’t noticed. She didn’t know how to respond, and I sighed, putting my arm around her and trying to rub some warmth into her tiny frame.

  ‘Do you think about him when we’re in bed together?’ I asked her softly. I didn’t even mean to – it just slipped out.

  Rose went as still as a statue, like a creature that knows it’s been spotted by a predator and can’t bear to move.

  ‘Do you wish I were him?’

  ‘No. Never.’

  ‘He’s always been so much smarter than me,’ I said, and a funny thing happened then. I realised I was too tired for rage. I couldn’t hate my brother anymore; I loved him too much. Instead of bitterness, the sentence held pride. My beast crooned.

  Rose saw this and knew she didn’t have to say anything. We stared out at the view together. Beyond the treetops was the ocean – a great stretch of grey under grey. The sky hadn’t yet found its sun since the enormous storm that had raged for days. Everything was bleak, and the cold that had crept into the air was so frigid it made even me feel lost. And I was a man who had lived in the frozen wild of the north.

  ‘You make them laugh at me,’ I said.

  She swallowed and nodded.

  ‘They think me a fool for choosing you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You try very hard, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I closed my eyes. Her voice was soft and rich and perfect. Sometimes she seemed like the wisest woman in the world, but then she would get lost in our very own wing of the fortress, and I’d know there was something wrong with her mind.

  ‘Did your father despair of you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you love him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did he hurt you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I swallowed. ‘You loved a person who hurt you.’

  Roselyn used a hand stiff with cold to brush her hair off her forehead. I watched her profile, the beauty of her face as she gazed out to sea. ‘It’s simple, being hurt. But it’s complicated, loving someone.’

  I tightened my arm around her, thinking that maybe I understood, and maybe I didn’t. ‘If you could choose between Ambrose and me, who would you pick?’

  ‘Thorne,’ she whispered, ‘I wish you wouldn’t ask me such things.’

  ‘Why?’ I demanded. ‘Because you don’t want me to know the answer?’
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  She shook her head helplessly, but I felt abruptly unmoored. I swung myself back onto the roof and paced towards the stairs.

  ‘Thorne, please!’

  I spun around. ‘You are a sorceress, my wife,’ I spat. ‘A cruel, wicked sorceress, come to confuse me and steal my sanity.’

  Tears spilled over her porcelain cheeks.

  ‘I want you to beg,’ I whispered. ‘Beg for my forgiveness.’

  Rose closed her eyes, and I watched more tears slip beneath her lashes. ‘I’ll do whatever you want.’

  ‘On your knees.’

  A sigh left her – a weary thing – and she sank to her knees. ‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘Thorne. I beg you.’

  I shook my head, feeling disgusted and embarrassed. ‘Get up. Gods, just get up.’

  She didn’t get up, so I crossed to her and pulled her to her feet. ‘You’re driving me insane, Roselyn. You’re nothing. I don’t understand how you have so much power over me.’

  ‘I’ve not done anything,’ Rose said, looking up into my eyes. Tendrils of her red hair blew into her face, so I pushed them aside with unsteady hands. ‘You imagine so much, my love, and all I can think to assume is that you are unsure of your hold over me.’

  I swallowed, dropping my hands and stepping back.

  ‘I thought I had told you enough in the beginning, in those first years of our marriage, but it seems you’ve forgotten,’ my wife said. She stepped closer, then stopped, wretched and hopeless, but when she spoke, her voice was clear. ‘I belong to you. Forever. I don’t know what else I can say.’

  I met her big brown eyes and felt myself slip into them – but that was a dangerous path for a man who shouldn’t need a woman, so I wrenched myself away from the depth of her gaze and stormed to the stairs.

  ‘People think you’re arrogant,’ I heard her say softly. ‘But you’re the opposite.’

  I paused, feeling furious. ‘Get inside before you die of a chill, you stupid, impossible woman.’

  Roselyn

  Stupid, impossible woman.

  I stepped up onto the edge of the battlement. It was windy, very windy. A single gust could sweep me off, over the edge, all the way to the ground. I dropped the fur cloak behind me and I stood the edge, dressed only in the white shift I’d worn to bed the night before. The air bit into my skin and deep into my bones. I imagined falling, and I didn’t make any wishes.