“A double entendre, Nora. It was merely a joke.”
“Funny, ha,” she croaked.
“Come on, now.” He tugged at her arm, snaking it around his waist as he pulled her to her feet. She groaned, leaning against him.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she moaned, breath snagging as they made their way forward.
“A storm’s coming.” Diaz gave the sky a long look over his shoulder. Dark clouds piled on top of each other threateningly to the west. “We might reach our destination in time, though. Spend a night or two indoors for a change. How does that sound?”
“Sounds like you’re a tease.”
He lifted an eyebrow in response, but replied nothing. Wise man.
The daylight grayed around them as they trudged on against the whipping wind, gradually inching closer to the trees. Chestnut and oaks sprawled their naked limbs above the wide, grassy slopes the two of them crossed for what seemed like hours, first solitary watchers here and there, then joining forces in small clusters. The stream they had been following now spread to a mudflat covered with snow, the pools of stagnant water frozen to ice. The wind started howling, tearing the words from Nora’s lips.
“Please tell me our destination is an inn,” she yelled.
He shook his head.
“It’s a cabin.” He bent down low toward her, and his lips brushed against her ear. “A hunter’s cabin. I came across it a few years back with Bashan. It was sturdy, stocked with dry wood. And deserted back then. Let us hope it has stayed that way.”
Great. A deserted hunter’s cabin—sounded really promising. Her heart fell.
“You can rest there, and we can talk,” he said.
And her heart skipped a beat. Damn that traitorous thing, but she was quite interested in hearing Diaz speak more of his need. It kept her going.
The wind continued to rail, flinging branches at them as they finally traipsed under the meek shelter of the woods. Flashes of lightning illuminated the way, scorching the sky over the mountains, and the snowburst the clouds had unleashed on them turned into hail. It was all Nora could do to hold on to Diaz, clutching him tightly as he led on through the darkness. She stumbled along, tripping, nearly dragging him down with her time and time again, but he always pulled her to her feet, always found his way, and after an eternity of hellish weather and mounting pain, she saw the cabin.
Or what remained of it.
On one side the roof had caved in, a birch sapling growing out of the hole in the wooden shingles. The birch’s thin twigs lashed at them as they entered the cabin by crawling through the ruin. The door was wedged shut. It took a beating from Diaz, but the frame was too warped to open.
Water dripped in a pool that reached across the floor, nearly all the way to the cold hearthstones. The wind whistled through the cracks, scattering crackling dry leaves across the creaking floorboards, and the hail thundered on the shingles above, but it was dry in a small corner, a large pile of straw and leaves collected there, along with cobwebs. And mouse droppings, probably.
Nora shivered. She knelt on the stones and dropped face-first onto the straw and leaf heap. Diaz cleared his throat.
She turned to him, blurry-eyed, and saw him strike a flame and ignite the tinder. Thank the gods. Fire. Warmth.
“You should undress,” he said.
“Not tonight, darling, I’m too tired.” Well, she meant to say that, but she was too tired, so it came out as a grunt.
“You’ll catch a cold.” He was right, of course.
She grunted again, unmoving. In the corner of her eye, though, she saw him tug off his wet shirt, revealing the hard, lean muscles of his back. Her cheeks flushed hot. Maybe she was coming down with a long overdue fever. Ha! She felt slightly annoyed at her body’s reaction to his bare skin. Too tired and hurting to do anything, but not too tired to feel…horny. Unlucky combination.
But he was already unrolling a spare set of dry clothes from his pack. She had no spare clothes, so off with the wet ones it was. The fabric clung to her skin resentfully, though. After a few fumbling tries with her good hand, she accepted Diaz’s help, along with a long, dry shirt. She shoved the sodden heap away with her foot, keeping her eyes down. A flash of memory held her gaze on his knee on the flagstones, close enough to touch. But she wouldn’t. In her poisoned stupor in Shinar, she had seen Diaz from far above, undressing her, bathing her heaving body. He had handled her nudity before, and he did the same now, wordlessly, ever so graciously. However, she had been unconscious last time. This time she felt his warm, moist breath on her collarbone, heard the noises of sympathy he made when she drew in air audibly as the soaked fabric peeled away from her burned forearm. I need you. He had unrolled his bearskin fur in front of the crackling, spitting fire, and she settled down on it, knees pulled to her chest, one arm wrapped around her legs, covered in goose bumps.
He set up a cooking tripod and threw some food scraps into a small pot with water before sitting down next to her, one long leg stretched out and the other bent, one arm resting on his knee. They were close enough to enjoy the fire’s warmth together, but each had their own space. She felt strangely comfortable. At ease. The pain numbed to a dull ache. When was the last time she had been indoors? Even if this was just a ramshackle hut, it seemed like luxury. The hail prattled on the wooden shingles, clattering against the side of the cabin, some ice balls rolling in by the tree. Nora rested her chin on her knees, inhaled the tantalizing scent of warm food, and stared into the fire, fitfully dozing off every now and then.
* * *
A hand on her shoulder woke her abruptly from a dream in which she was running through a twisting labyrinth of thorns, looking for Owen. Just around the next corner, she was sure he’d be around the next bend. Just one more turn.
“You looked like you were about to fall over.” Diaz took his hand away, his fingers trailing over the fabric of her shirt as though reluctant to let go. “You should sleep.”
Nora scratched her scalp, then shook her head, yawning.
“Where are we going to go from here?”
He kept on staring into the flames as though he hadn’t heard her. She was about to ask again, when he spoke.
“Depends on where you want to go from here.” His black eyes were still fixed on the fire.
Her breath hitched, and she pressed her teeth together tightly so that her mouth didn’t hang open. Was he suggesting what she thought he was suggesting?
“Um…” She rubbed her aching head. “As soon as I can track the Blade’s magic again, I’ll try to catch up with Bashan.”
He nodded.
“But you know he will kill you.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you choose to follow him?” His eyes were guarded.
Nora wanted to tell him that she could feel Owen fading at the back of her mind, and that it was too much to ask of her to lose her brother all over again. She wanted to tell him that not having demented people intrude on her thoughts all the time made her feel isolated, nearly incomplete now that they were gone. Quieted by her lack of access to the magic? Or gone forever? Who knew? She held up her charcoal-black hand. Owen would know. He knew everything. And yeah, maybe she was being slightly blue-eyed about her lost brother. He could be annoying as hell, but not having him close by—that ache was worse than burns could ever be.
He couldn’t be gone. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t have failed him. She had to…deal with it. And the only way she knew was head-on. Even if she didn’t have a plan. Even if she didn’t know how to beat the odds stacked sky-high against her. Bashan had the Blade. She had seen him use it to devastate landscapes, obliterate people. But she had stood against it—paid for it, true. There was something obstinate within her that just wouldn’t stand down. She wanted to tell Diaz all that—but then snapped her mouth shut.
He knew.
He knew her. He knew that she’d eventually wake up, hurt and confused, and as soon as she could, she’d go after Ba
shan again, even if it meant her death by his hand. And still Diaz was right there, by her side. He thought she was contemplating suicide, and he’d stick by her anyway. Her lips quivered with emotion, so she hid it in a grin.
“You know me.” She shrugged. “Stubborn.”
He snorted softly. Yeah, he knew.
“Why are you here, Diaz? Why choose me? Why aren’t you in Gimmstanhol with your father? Or with Bashan, making him release you from Suranna’s curse? The odds would be more in your favor with them.”
He winced at his former lover’s name, but took a deep breath.
“For a long time,” he said slowly, “for longer than you have been alive even, I’ve been trying to undo all the mistakes I made before, retrace the steps I misplaced. I have failed so often.” He broke off and pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. “I thought if only I were more self-disciplined, if only I could attain perfection in just this one other area, if only I could free myself from the queen’s hold, if only, if only, if only. Then I could focus on becoming the master I aspire to be, and finally be happy for it. I had it all laid out. And I was close, so close to reaching my destination, that clean slate. Start over again.”
“And then you met me?” Noraya Smith, destroyer of the best-laid plans.
“Then I met you.” He repeated solemnly.
She couldn’t stop a chuckle.
“That’s not exactly the declaration of love I was hoping for.” Her eyes were soft on him. “I liked it better when you said you needed me.”
He turned his gaze on her, a wry smile on his lips.
“I do need you. Can’t you see? All I was looking at was a bleak and empty future chasing after an illusion. Always trying, never achieving. I too can be stubborn. But you keep reminding me that I mustn’t turn my feet toward the past. Maybe it’s time to run in a new direction. With you.”
Her whole body twitched. She lifted her head from her knees, tongue tangled, her stomach a nervous flutter. Night hid the nuances of his features, only part of his face visible in the glow of the small fire, but she couldn’t read him even in broad daylight. He lifted one shoulder when he noticed her stare. “If you want me, that is.”
“No.” Nora raised a trembling finger.
“You don’t want me?” he asked.
“Diaz,” she warned, “you don’t get to do this. Not with me.”
“Do what?”
“Sacrifice yourself.”
He looked puzzled. And hurt. Oh gods. She swallowed down the fury, but it stuck at the back of her throat.
“I have had it to here with people sacrificing themselves for me. Look, I’m going to ask you just once: is this what you want? To give yourself to me?”
“I thought it’s what you wanted?”
“So it’s not what you wanted? For fuck’s sake, Telen Diaz. Focus! This is damn important.”
“I don’t quite understand—”
“Answer the fucking question!” Her shout bounced off the walls, overpowering the steady fall of hail for a moment, as though the heavenly downpour itself had been startled.
Annoyance flashed over his face. And it excited her more than his awkward profession of need had.
“Is this what I wanted? Weren’t you listening? No, Nora. I did not want this. I never wanted this. I do not want to see you suffer. I do not want to follow you only to watch you die. And I especially never wanted to have my heart torn out and ripped into shreds all over again, and be so…fucking vulnerable. So, no. But if that’s what it takes to get you moving, then may the gods help me, Nora, I’ll do what it takes.”
Her hand found fistfuls of her hair, and she tugged in frustration, torn between the urge to take him by his word and kiss him fiercely, or reject his words and kick him.
“Gods, you’re such a fucking pilgrim master through and through, and you don’t even see it. ‘Do what you can’—isn’t that how your fucking code goes?”
He didn’t answer. His jaw was too tightly clenched. He stood suddenly, hands bunched in fists at his side. She caught his wrist before he could step away completely.
“Can’t you see it?” She rose, clutching his wrist, though he made to snatch it away. His skin was warm to her touch. She stood as close to him as she dared, her heart suddenly overflowing with tenderness, a wave of wholeness washing throughout her body.
“You don’t need me, Diaz. You never did.” It felt so clear to her. She knew if she looked down at their hands now, she would see a soft string of blue light binding the two of them together. Being tied together, they were both still free to be themselves. No, because they had found each other. “You need you. You need to see the fine master you already are, and then you have to be that man as hard as you can.”
“I could tell you the same thing.” His voice was raw, cracking along the edges. “I was trying to.”
“I know.” She nodded. “And now I know what I need you to do for me.”
“Kiss you?” The smile suited him.
She laughed quietly. She’d like to say yes. Her insides tugged and fought with the image that rose before her mind’s eye. The two of them together, his lips on hers, his hands on her skin, whole, complete. Her breath faltered a little.
If only it were that easy.
“I need you to find Bashan for me. Find him, and delay him reaching the capital for as long as you can. Tell him he’ll need men to take control of the city. Tell him to wait for spring and better weather. Hell, I don’t care what you tell him, but you need to give me time to reach Arrun before he does.”
Diaz’s long fingers intertwined with hers, then squeezed. Affirmation.
“What are you planning to do?” His brow knitted together, and she very much wanted to stroke away the knots.
Punish the wicked. Guide the lost. Protect the innocent. That was the pilgrim’s code, too, wasn’t it? She held his gaze.
“You said it yourself. I can protect one person from the Blade.” Nora said. “I’m going to make that one person count.”
* * *
The crunch of dead leaves woke Diaz from his short slumber. He had rested against a beam, arms crossed over his chest, legs stretched out before him. As he raised his head, his pupils widened painfully, allowing him to see in the dimly lit cabin. The embers of the fire barely cast their light into the darkened corners of the room, the thin layer of snow fallen in through the hole in the roof casting a pale moonlight into the room. Red warmth and cold silver warring on the edges, reflecting in Nora’s eyes on him.
He slid his hand to his knife, skin prickling.
She was awake, but maybe she wasn’t Nora. Too often had he woken on their journey to witness the creatures that lay hidden beneath her surface. He held his breath as she shifted into an upright position.
“Nora?” His hand tightened around the hilt.
“Yes.”
He let go.
“Bad dream?”
“I dreamed I talked with Owen.” She winced. “Then I woke and…I’ve lost him all over again. Sucks.”
“I’m sorry.”
He had meant his words as condolences, but he knew she hated his attempts at apologies. She stopped massaging her bandaged forearm.
“I know,” she whispered. “You’re always sorry after. So am I.”
She sucked in air through her clenched teeth.
“My arm. No matter how I lie, one tiny move and the pain is back again.”
Diaz sat up and reached for his satchel. He knew he had no more fresh bandage material, but perhaps he had a salve or an ointment to relieve her a little of her ache. He found what he was looking for and waved her over.
She rose awkwardly, stiffly, and shuffled over to him, the hem of his borrowed shirt reaching to her mid thighs. She knelt next to him on the cloak he had spread underneath himself earlier, leaving her the fur, and held out her burned arm, gritting her teeth for his ministrations. He carefully unwrapped the bloodstained rags, smelling the sickly sweet raw flesh, and looked up at Nora.
Her arm was mending. Granted, it was mending incredibly slow, but new pink skin grew in patches on the rough frayed rim of the wound, covering tightened tendons. Her fingers were curled, her wrist permanently bent since the burn. Her fingernails dug into her ruined flesh. But they were slowly unclenching. He saw the progress clearly since he had last wrapped the arm three days ago.
Their eyes met.
Nora shifted on her knees and then lowered herself onto his outstretched thigh, straddling him. Her warmth was intense, but not feverish. There was still no infection. It was nothing short of a miracle. No. It wasn’t a miracle. It must be the power of the Blade, influencing her from afar, distance making little difference, blood-tied as she was with it. He felt breathless, aware—painfully aware—that underneath the borrowed shirt, she wore nothing.
Nora cocked her head, her parted lips dangerously close to his.
He pulled back, dipped two trembling fingers into the small jar of pungent fat, and began lathering it across her arm, rubbing it gently into the seared flesh, a wash of sensation drawing a strangled gasp from his throat whenever she twitched and squirmed in pain.
He felt her good hand on his hip, slipping underneath his belt, clutching it tight whenever she tensed, her knees squashing his thigh between them.
“Diaz,” she moaned.
He tried to sit very still, focusing on the task instead of staring into her anguished face, at her mouth. His heart thundered in his chest; fire ran down his spine as he wrapped up her glistening arm once more.
He was parched.
“I need to—we need to do something about this,” he whispered hoarsely as her forehead pressed against his. “When the weather clears—there’s a fishing village close by. You need proper healing.”
“I need you.”
He closed his eyes and savored the hitch in her voice when she uttered those words, her lips brushing against his in every hot breath.
“Nora—”
He opened his eyes and she held his gaze.
“Nora?” One hand moved to her nape.
“Are you scared, mortal?” A hungry smile in the corners of her mouth. The chill in her voice caught him unexpectedly.
On the Wheel Page 26