Tugging the fur-lined cloak closer to her body, she dropped down near the fire and let it warm away those homesick feelings that she knew deep down were never going to go away. She was not going home again, and even though Finn promised he would help her get there to her sister, she knew he meant well, but doubted that even with his help she would ever get there.
She would have to make a new life, find new family. Glancing toward her half-brother again and watching him bellow out commands, he didn’t feel like family, even though they shared blood. Would he, could he someday help fill the void inside her? The only person who’d even come close to making her feel the slightest bit comfortable since she’d left home had been Finn, and he… well, things with him had taken an unexpected turn toward the uncomfortable. She hadn’t been lying when she said she wanted to believe in him, but it was going to take a lot more than an apology and the incredibly gentle touch of his hands on her face to make that happen. She barely knew him, despite how familiar he sometimes felt, and he was always doing things to prove to her just how little she did know about him.
Closing her eyes, unshed tears grew cold in the corners of her eyes, but they never fell. She could still feel Finn’s calloused palms on her cheeks, and he’d been so close to her she’d felt the warm exhale of his breath on her forehead when he sighed frustration. She almost couldn’t breathe when he’d touched her like that, and for a moment she completely forgot why she’d been so mad at him in the first place.
In that moment the biggest part of her wanted him to just pull her against him and kiss her—not the way Trystay once kissed her, his lips tainted with unspoken lies, but for real and with every part of himself. The scariest part of that was not that she wanted it, but that she actually believed if Finn were to kiss her that way she would lose every part of herself to him much more quickly than she had let herself go to Trys.
Worse was that she didn’t even understand why. Finn was not the kind of man she could have ever envisioned herself with in her lighthearted daydreams, or was he?
More often than not he was rude, obnoxious and completely disrespectful to everyone around him. He said whatever words seemed to roll through his head, as if there was no way to stop them from flying from his tongue. He was wild as an untamed beast at the best of times, but there was something so gentle about him. When she’d been sharing his warmth the night before, cuddled up in his arms, she never wanted to leave their safety and comfort. The whole world could have disintegrated around them at that moment and she wouldn’t have cared one bit. Just so long as she was at the end of the world with Finn.
His boisterous laughter rang through the camp and she glanced up to see the hulking mass of his shadow trembling with amusement. She didn’t know what was so funny, but the sound of his happiness made her feel… lighter.
“Gods,” she muttered into the trim of her cloak, “what is wrong with me?”
Her attraction to him felt so right sometimes, but completely unnatural at others, as if some force beyond her comprehension was drawing her to him. Trystay certainly hadn’t been her portrait of the ideal husband either, not until he’d wooed her with kind words and gentle kisses, but both his words and his kisses were lies. Finn was often kind even though he wouldn’t want anyone to think that way of him, and in his own way he was gentle, she supposed, but he couldn’t have been more different from Trystay if he tried.
On the other hand, maybe he wasn’t different. Finn was keeping something from her, and he had been since they sat in the temple together in Drekne. He knew something about her, something important, but whenever she asked he pretended not to know what she was talking about. It was unnerving, but the biggest part of her wanted to believe she was only imagining it—that Finn would never do anything to intentionally hurt her. He may have been a big-mouthed bigot with more brains in his fists than in his head, but when he said he would never hurt her, there was so much sincerity in his eyes she wanted desperately to believe in him.
And then there was Brendolowyn, who reminded her of one of the most familiar and comfortable people she’d ever known. He looked nothing like Pahjah, but his mannerisms, the way he carried himself was so intimate to her she felt like she already knew him. To make matters worse, he always seemed to know exactly when she needed saving from her own foolish heart, appearing at just the right time and drawing her away from Finn just enough to keep her from doing something truly stupid.
If he hadn’t shown up when he did behind that tent, there was no telling what she might have let herself go through with. She just knew at the time she didn’t want to be mad at Finn anymore and she would have done anything to make him understand that.
Disentangling her arms from the folds of her cloak, she dropped her hands into her lap and looked up just in time to noticed the half-elven mage approaching Logren, but Finn was no longer with him. He caught her stare before turning inward to report and offered her an appreciative smile that made her feel almost as warm as her thoughts of Finn. Logren had said he’d been flirting with her when they were walking together that morning, and maybe he had, but why did any of that even matter?
She was an exile, a fugitive. The last thing in the world she should have been preoccupied with was matters of the heart. The gods knew well enough the kind of trouble listening to that heart of hers brought on. The last time she’d listened to her heart, it had nearly gotten her killed. Her heart was stupid, or maybe she was stupid for letting it lead her.
“Where do you get off sitting around while there’s work to be done, Princess?” His heavy body dropped onto the cloak she’d laid out to sit on. Shoulder nudging playfully into hers, Finn grinned over at her. How did he always seem to know when she needed comfort, she wondered, the heart in her chest beating a little faster when he leaned into her.
“I grew up with a castle full of servants doing all my work for me. I’m just lazy, I guess.” She rolled her eyes toward Logren, who disappeared into the largest tent with Bren at his back.
“That’s what I figured.” He nudged into her again, and though she wished he wouldn’t sit so close to her because it only confused her that much more, she didn’t want him to move away either. “These people take everything they do very seriously. I’ve never seen a camp go up so fast in my life. Once they learn out how tough you really are, I’m sure they’ll put you straight to work.”
“I doubt it,” she mumbled, glancing up at two of the scouts passing by.
Both of them regarded her with strange, almost reverent eyes, their gazes making her feel so uncomfortable she squirmed. Even after they joined the other scouts near the fire pit, where they were lifting one of the elk they’d brought back to feast on, she could almost feel their eyes on her, almost see their tight lips muttering about her when their gazes shifted toward where she sat.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were fattening me up so they can cook me and eat me when we get to this Dunvarak place.”
Finn’s boisterous laughter rolled obnoxiously through the camp, turning a few heads in their direction. It took him almost a full minute to calm down enough to lean into her and quietly reassure her. “Don’t worry, Princess. Even if they were trying to fatten you up, it’d take a lot more than a few free meals and a couple of lazy hours by the fire to put enough meat on your bones to make a meal out of you. Me, on the other hand…” He gestured to the tightness of his mismatched clothing. “Remind me not to wolf out without a spare change of clothes on hand. I can barely breathe in these pants.”
“Maybe you should hold your breath,” she teased.
The taut tanned leather stretched against him like a second skin, accentuating every muscular curve beneath. The few times she’d actually been able to see him guarding Bren’s back while he finished lifting the magical barrier around the camp, she actually found herself tilting her head to admire the muscular curve of his backside in those tight breeches. They looked good on him, even if they were barely long enough to cover the tops of his boo
ts.
Her face immediately grew heated as she realized she’d been sizing him up and committing those form-fitting breeches to memory for thoughtful future imaginings. Her heart may have been an idiot, but her hormones were beyond her control, and while he may not have seemed her type upon first reflection, he was definitely nice to look at. He was so tall and broad-shouldered, that even just sitting next to him made her feel so small, but safe. She thought again about how warm he’d been when she curled up to him while sleeping, how comfortable and natural it felt to succumb to his arms…
If he’d kissed her behind that tent earlier before Brendolowyn came along, what would she have done? Melted against him? Forgotten her own name?
Finn didn’t miss a beat. He winked playfully, and she reached out to swat at him. Giving in to her own laughter and allowing herself to forget just how infuriating he could be, she was still giggling when Vilnjar joined them, dropping down on the other side of his brother and leaning into the conversation.
“I’m glad to see the two of you are laughing together again. I wouldn’t want your mutual exiling to the tundra to be too miserable.”
“What’s not to laugh about?” She drew in a deep breath to steady the fluttering amusement in her belly. “My life has become so absurd, laughing at it all seems to be the only way to make any sense of it.”
“That’s the spirit, Princess.”
That time when he nudged into her, they lingered close together for a moment, shoulder to shoulder and watching in silence as the last tent was raised on the other side of the camp. The scent of cooking meat was already permeating the camp, but beneath it she could still smell the wolf on his skin, a faint but familiar musky afterthought of the beast within. That scent combined with the thoughts she’d been entertaining just moments before and she swore her whole face felt like it was burning hot and for a moment she didn’t even realize she was supposed to be shivering.
With the barrier fully raised everyone began to settle into the camp. The armor came off and they relaxed to gather around the fires together to enjoy food and one another’s company. Lorelei was surprised by how homey the camp began to feel. Plates of meat were passed, cups were filled with a sour, honeyed ale that loosened tongues enough that when Logren’s war horn began to pass from one man to the next vivid stories of battles past were told with such vivid detail, she actually felt as though she’d been there herself.
Logren seemed to be enjoying more ale than most. Lorelei watched him drain and refill his cup time and time again, both the snort of his raucous laughter and his chiding taunts growing more and more obnoxious by the minute as he rolled into her and pushed her more than once into Finn. Finn always caught her with his hands, steadying her as her obnoxious brother regained his composure long enough to sit upright again, at least for a few minutes anyway.
Despite the occasional annoyance, she was actually amused by her brother and somewhat comforted. Nestled warmly between Logren and Finn, the lonely homesickness she felt just hours earlier began to fade and there was a feeling of belonging unlike any she’d ever experienced. She still didn’t know half the names of the people around her, but she was coming to know their faces, their deeds and their hearts. Studying each and every one of their faces as they filled the night with their stories, there was a moment of recognition and comfort during which she understood that they were, for lack of a better word, her people.
All of the people sitting around that fire were like her in some way or another. There were wolves inside them all, and though she’d been trying to deny the existence of the wolf inside her, she could feel it in their company more certainly that she’d ever felt it in her life. It stirred beneath her skin, tried to press itself closer to others like it that longed for freedom. It was liberating and terrifying, and when her brother rolled toward her again, their shoulders touching and his ale sloshing from the side of his cup to spill into the snow between them, she felt a momentary connection to him unlike any she’d ever shared with another being—not even her sister, to whom she’d always felt an unbreakable bond.
That flashing recognition passing between them was so certain that her doubts about trusting him were shattered in that moment. Logren was her blood, her family, and the bond she felt for that instant was so strong it brought tears to her eyes that no one but her brother seemed to notice were there.
He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her against him, the ale cup in his other hand erupting with the movement. “It’s my turn,” he bellowed. Turning into her, he kissed the top of her head, his rough beard bristling along her temple before he drew aside and called out, “My turn now.”
“Bone-Breaker!” someone belted from across the fire. “Tell us the tale of the three trolls!”
It was snowing again. Soft, fat flakes that drifted on the unceasing wind and spiraled beyond their barrier without touching them. Strange magic held the cold at bay, and she swore she could hear the icy pellets of snow falling atop that barrier.
Arm still draped across her shoulder, Logren stretched back into his seat and held his cup out for refilling again. Brendolowyn leaned into him from the other side and poured a tentative, but steady stream until his cup was near overflowing. Lorelei watched the rich, golden droplets splash out over his gloved hand, and then he withdrew his arm.
Even as he withdrew, his long, affectionate gaze lingered on his sister, the honey color of his eyes intensified by the flickering fire. “The story I tell this night is not one I’ve ever told before, save to Hodon on the day he found me, to Bren on the day we shared our blood and became brothers, and my Viina on the night we were wed. I am sure many of you have heard bits and pieces of it told by one busy mouth or another over the years, but this story has never been told in its entirety to any of you from my own lips.”
It was the first time she’d heard him mention that he even had a wife, and Lorelei cast a look over at her brother and tried to imagine the kind of woman he had wed. Was she pretty, she wondered, would she like Lorelei when she met her? She would find out soon enough, she supposed, but despite the strength of the bond she’d felt between them just moments earlier, there was still so much about the man beside her that she didn’t know.
“As many of you know Hodon came to find me in the glen outside Vrinkarn when I was just a boy on the day the lecher king and his men burned our fair city to the ground.” His mouth tightened bitterly beneath his mustache, teeth gnawing thoughtfully on the loose skin of his dry lips while he stared into the fire. “A few of you were even there that day, but much like me many of you do not like to speak about the mysterious events that brought us all to that place. The smoke of our burning villages and the screams of our dying loved ones still clung to all of us as we tried to understand what happened, and there are very few of us who could ever explain that which saved us.”
“Logren.” Bren held a hand out to his friend, but the man swiped it away, staggering a little as if he might lose his balance. “I’m not sure that this is the kind of story to tell when one’s been drinking as much as you’ve drunk this night.”
Every part of him was stiff, his jaw clenched so tight Lorelei could almost hear his teeth grinding together. “That is where you are wrong, brother. It is exactly the kind of story that requires a lot of drinking to tell. For this is the story of the night I was first touched by the Light of Madra.”
A great chill moved through her, but there was little time to focus on it because Bren scrambled to his feet in a dramatic flurry of black robes and shook his head. “Then you are on your own, brother. For I don’t think that is the kind of story that should come from lips loosened with ale, but from the heart.”
“Elves,” Logren sneered. “If they spent less time thinking with their hearts, and more time thinking with their brains they wouldn’t be a race enslaved within the walls of their own city in the north.”
“I will remember that tomorrow when you look to me to help you put the pieces you have shattered on this night b
ack together again.” The last look Brendolowyn cast at her brother spoke volumes without a single word, and then he stalked away from the main fire to leave Logren to his own devices.
“On with the story, Bone-Breaker!”
When Lorelei leaned out to look at her brother, Logren would not meet her eyes. Instead, he braced himself, swallowed several loud drinks and then cleared his throat.
“We were abed when the fires started on the night I lost my mother,” he began. “My father had taken most of the men into the field months before that, and some say they were marching home to Vrinkarn and little more than a few miles south of the city when Aelfric’s men laid waste to our home. It is said they saw the columns of smoke rising in the night, that even the people in Drekne knew our city was burning. Fear drove Rognar and his men quickly home, but if they truly did arrive in Vrinkarn, it was long after the last of us was taken from that place.
“They killed the night guard and crept into the city with barrels of oil, spreading fire quickly to every household and merchant. I woke choking and in a daze to the sound of my mother screaming. ‘My son, my son!’” His lip quivered over those words, which escaped him as little more than a strangled whisper.
“I staggered from my bed, already choking on the darkness as I followed the sound of her voice until I found her trapped within a veil of smoke so thick I could have cut through it with a blade. I crawled through the haze to reach her, but I was too late. By the time I reached her, the beams from the roof were caving in. I caught the edge of her dressing gown just moments before the ceiling fell between us, the flames licking at my skin like the tongues of a thousand angry dragons.
Edgelanders (Serpent of Time) Page 35