“Your father helped him escape—”
“That is a lie,” I cut her off.
“Settle your feathers, girl.” Enat’s gnarled knuckle taps the table. “Millner’s escape shamed the kingdom because he turned a lot of heads. People questioned the new laws, and many fled the country.”
“But if my father helped Millner, why would he then hunt the Archtraitor’s followers?”
“He didn’t. Some he helped escape. He would guide them to Millner. Your father only hunted criminals who deserved to be hauled back to Malam.”
I run my fingers over the table’s ridges while my mind is caught on the bodies that hung beside the river near the border.
“What about the guards who often traveled with Papa?” I ask. Surely they would’ve known Papa was meeting the Archtraitor.
“You do not give your father enough credit.”
She’s right. Papa was crafty. He taught as much to Cohen and me. The trait was a necessity to maintain his position as the king’s bounty hunter.
This room is too small, too tight. I need to leave. I want to shoot arrows until I cannot move my arms. I want to run. I want Papa to come back and explain why he never told me any of this. Why I’m sifting through stacks of secrets when he once claimed we had no secrets between us.
“Millner’s eyes and ears are the shadows of Celize,” Enat says. “The man deals in secrets like you hunt game. The only problem is he’s quite unapproachable.”
“More than you?”
She snorts. “Perhaps not. Though after your father was killed, Millner practically holed up in a cave and hasn’t come out since.” She goes on to explain that we’ll have to contact another man who will then talk to the Archtraitor. If Millner is willing, he’ll then meet us at a specified date and time.
It feels like a step back, before we’ve had a chance to take a step forward.
Or maybe it seems that way because of Papa’s deception. Because the little I had in my life isn’t what I thought it was.
The forest is darker than the ash in Enat’s hearth. A crack of thunder shakes her small home, and the soft patter of rain echoes through the window. She offers for us to stay the night, and we gladly agree.
Enat places two blankets on the table and then hands a bar of soap and a rag to Cohen. “The storm isn’t bad yet, so you should wash up now. Walk past the outhouse a dozen paces and you’ll come to a well. The water’s warm.”
“Warm?” Cohen’s question mirrors my surprise. Another enchantment, perhaps, like the cave tree?
“A hot spring flows beneath this land on the south side. I have two wells. One for warm bathing water, and another, on the north side, for drinking and cooking. Take the lantern beside the door. These woods get awfully dark.”
Cohen thanks her and leaves.
I move to take the blankets from the table and set them on the floor for Cohen and me. We brought in our belongings earlier, so I shift my pack beside one blanket to rest my head on later.
“You need anything else?” Enat asks.
“No,” I tell her, not wanting to take any more than necessary. The blankets and the roof over our heads are more than we expected from her.
She eyes the bedding and then leaves, going through the doorway into her room.
The box of letters remains on the table. When she doesn’t return, I take out a few and read the lines once more. The shock from earlier is gone; a hollow ache has taken its place. Papa was all I had. How did I not know any of this? Why didn’t he tell me? I would’ve never betrayed his secret.
“I bet you’d kill to have one of those wells in Brentyn in the winter.” Cohen’s voice pulls me back. I quickly put the letters away and spin around and—
A drop of water clings to a dark brown lock of hair that frames his scarred cheek—his newly shaven cheek. I haven’t seen him without scruff or a beard since he was fourteen. He does not look fourteen anymore.
“There’s a washtub in here, Britta.” Enat interrupts from the bedroom doorway. For the second time in a few short moments, I wake from a trance. “Storm’s picking up. You’ll be more comfortable cleaning up inside.”
“Really, I’m fine,” I say. “You’ve already offered to let us stay. This is too much. I’m fine going outdoors, and I’ve never shied away from a storm.”
“You got so much dirt and crust on you, it’s gonna take a soaking to get off.” She points at my mud-stained clothing. My protests die when she insists. She has a point. I look better fitted to spend the night in a pigpen, so perhaps a long soak is best.
“Come, I’ll help you draw water to fill your bath.” Enat’s as stubborn as me and also oddly caring. Which I don’t mind.
I follow her to the well. The moon cuts through clouds and forest, dimly lighting our way. The canopy of branches and leaves is thick enough to keep the rain to a trickle.
At the well, we sit on the edge of the rocky circle and draw two buckets of water. Steam wafts up from each bucket. I dip my hand into the first, wanting to test the warmth.
“Is it magic?” I ask, slack-jawed at the temperature.
She chuckles. “Only one of nature’s mysteries. It’s why I put my cottage here. Not many people know about the water.”
I study her for a moment, waiting to feel the touch of truth in her words. And once again, no impression comes.
“What’s that look for?”
“Oh, nothing,” I mutter, cursing inwardly. My face always gives too much away.
She takes the bucket and the lantern and leads the way back toward the cottage. After dumping my bucket in the wash bin, I return to the well, noticing Cohen’s absence beside the fireplace. The low murmur of voices sounds in the darkness. I’m nearly to the well when I see Cohen reaching for the two buckets Enat has pulled up.
He starts toward me. “I thought you could use a hand.”
“Oh?”
“So you can get to washing all that dirt and crust off.” He repeats Enat’s words with a crooked smile. Right.
“You didn’t have to,” I mutter.
He doesn’t respond as he passes, his scent, soap and woods, trailing behind. The strangest desire kicks through me to follow him, to draw in a lungful of air and hold it.
I shake my head clear and consider smacking myself.
Wait until Enat passes me.
Then wait another fifty breaths.
I’m immersed in the steaming hot bath when a knock sounds at the door before it cracks open. “Britta?”
Even though it is only Enat, I jerk my arms protectively over my body and sink lower so only my knobby knees show in the candle’s glow.
“I forgot to leave a drying cloth for you,” she says as she slips inside.
My eyes bug out. Never in all my days has someone walked in on me bathing.
“And these were my daughter’s belongings.” Enat holds up the bundle in her arms, oblivious to my discomfort.
She shuffles to the pile of rags a few feet from the tub and wrinkles her nose. “Yours are filthy and need repair.”
There’s no arguing with that; still—
“Mine are fine,” I protest. “I don’t need anything more.”
“I know you’re likely a girl who doesn’t take things from others, but the dress is no good to me. It would please me if you took it.” Her voice trembles as she shuffles closer to the tub. Enat wrinkles her nose at my trip-worn clothes. “It is a better disguise than the tunic you’ve been wearing. You’ll look like one of the kinswomen. I’d appreciate it if you took it off my hands.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to turn down her offer. She leaves with my stolen sailor clothes in her arms.
I wash the dirt and blood away. The well water seeps into my skin and warms me to the bones. Even in the dim lighting, my fresh-scrubbed skin shines freckled-pink when I step out of the tub.
Hesitantly, I touch the dress’s fine cloth and groan to myself. I cannot walk out wearing this. If the cinched waist weren’t off-puttin
g, the skirts alone pose too much of a tripping threat. It’ll fit strangely, and surely the fabric, all soft and shiny, will irritate. In Malam, only a person of nobility would dress in something so finely stitched.
I scan the room, hoping for another option. Unfortunately, besides the towel, there’s nothing else to wear. The horrible, badly blue, trimmed and trilled dress that’s staring me down like an animal on the hunt is my only option. Resigned, I grab the garment and shove my arms through the sleeves that smell faintly of lilacs. My nose itches. The collar rubs against my skin, and the thin shift beneath the floor-length skirt scratches my legs.
When I finally leave the room, I’m afraid to meet Cohen’s gaze. Afraid he’ll think me silly and laugh at my appearance.
“Ah, I knew it would fit.” Enat stops chopping carrots and smiles. “You’re just about my daughter’s size. You look lovely.”
Cohen turns from where he is sharpening his knife beside the fireplace. His eyes sweep over the length of my damp hair lying across my shoulders and darkening the ocean-blue dress with each drop.
“Dove.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows.
I shift my weight, forcing myself not to tug at the ridiculous dress. My hands go to my waist, where the dress clings to my form, only Cohen’s eyes track the movement, making me cringe inwardly when his attention lingers. I fold my arms, and his gaze jumps to meet mine.
“When did your hair get so long?” His voice is tree-bark rough.
My fingers run through the tangled ends. I’m overcome with the oddest conflicting desires—that he would quit looking at me and that he would never stop.
“I, uh, don’t know . . . I didn’t have a brush and haven’t cut it in a while. It’s so long.” I huff my annoyance when my hand catches in a snag. “I should just cut it. It’d be easier to travel as a boy.”
“No.” His sharp response startles me. I drop my hands, leaving my locks to look wild and untamed.
“We won’t be traveling much longer. And you won’t always be pretending to be a boy. You should keep it long.”
I know, without a mirror, my clean skin is pink, and not just from the scrubbing. The clatter of pots and pans is a reminder that Cohen isn’t the only person in the room. I turn to see Enat tossing cut vegetables into a pot.
“Do you need water for supper?” I ask. “I can run to the well.”
She wipes her hands on a well-worn apron. “If you’re willing to go out in the storm, I won’t stop you.”
I’ve taken a half-dozen steps outside when the door opens behind me.
“I’d ask if you need help, but I know better than that.” The delight in Cohen’s gold and brown earth-toned eyes is barely visible in the thin moonlight that breaks past the storm clouds and treetops. “Mind some company?”
I’m a fool because all I can think about is touching his jaw. Is it as smooth as it looks?
“I suppose I could tolerate it,” I choke out.
Cohen’s mouth lifts on the left side, and my knees weaken. I miss him. I miss how he always made me laugh. I miss how I could be myself when we were together. I miss that crooked smile.
“So, what do you think of Enat?” I ask as we walk. The rain patters gently around us, catching my shoulder, my nose.
He shrugs and pulls the bucket from my hands before taking a seat at the well’s edge. “She knows more than I expected.”
“And?”
“And she’s going to get us in to talk to Millner Barret. That’s more than we had before. In the end, Saul gave his life for the king. I’m . . . well, I’m honored I was able to work with him, learn from him.”
The pride that fills me is followed by warmth from the truth in his words.
“Do you think we can trust Enat?” I push the length of wet hair over my shoulder.
He glances up at me from where he has sat to lower the bucket into the well. A few raindrops hit his cheek before he wipes them away. “We’ve had our fair share of bad luck on this trip, but she’s different. I think we can trust her.”
“You sound so sure.”
“You never trust anyone, Britt. And I understand why. It’s not like you’ve had many opportunities to exercise your trust in others. But I have a gut feeling about Enat.”
I consider asking him what his gut was telling him when we pulled into the inn at Padrin, but decide to keep the question to myself.
“I’m not sure what I think of Enat. There’s something different about her,” I say. Some water sloshes from the bucket as he pulls it to the top of the well, plinking against the depths below.
“Besides her hiding in the woods and shooting arrows at anything headed in her direction?” He huffs out a short laugh.
I roll my eyes.
“Tell me.” He reaches out and grabs my hand. His touch makes any reservations roll belly-up. “What’s different about her?”
“You know how I know when someone’s being honest?”
“Yes.” His hand squeezes. “What happened?”
“I cannot tell if she’s speaking the truth or not. I’ve asked her a few questions, and I didn’t feel anything when she responded.”
I don’t even realize I’ve lowered my gaze until Cohen’s callused fingers guide my chin up so he can scan my face. “You asked her a question and felt nothing at all?”
“Exactly.”
“How is that possible?”
I give him a look. “I don’t know.”
“Was she being vague?” His fingers leave my chin. “For this to work, doesn’t she have to give a specific answer?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“This thing, it’s a little different with everyone.” Mostly you, is what I should say. Everyone else registers about the same. “I noticed it when she was talking about King Aodren. I figured then it was probably me, until I asked her about the well water. When she spoke, I didn’t feel anything. It’s her. She’s different somehow.”
“That’s strange” is all he says, and a line forms on his brow as he stares off. He runs his right hand over his face. Up and down, up and down, stuck on the track of his scar. I’m caught by the mesmerizing motion until lightning flashes, and one, two, three seconds later the thunder answers, a great grizzly bear roaring into the night.
“So, do you still think we can trust her?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“You’re so certain. You’re always so confident.” I wish I had the same conviction. I suppose if Enat wanted to hurt us, she would’ve. I’ve no doubt she’s capable. That’s a testament to her character.
“You trust her enough to meet with Millner?” I ask.
“I do,” he says thoughtfully.
Lightning cracks across the sky again, and in the burst of colorless light I notice how close we’re sitting—the width of the bucket separates us. I lower my gaze from his, but it catches on his lips. Then noticing the slow movement his throat makes as he swallows, I eventually drop my focus to my lap and the space between us.
“Then I suppose I do too,” I whisper, and stand up.
Cohen lowers the bucket of water to the ground before rising and reaching for my arm. “Britta.” His voice is deep. Throaty.
His eyes have darkened to the color of the earth after a rainstorm. “Yes?”
“Don’t go yet.”
“I wasn’t, I—”
“I thought about you,” he says, frowning, then sighing. I would give anything to know what he’s thinking right now.
“You did?”
“When we were apart, you were always there in my mind.”
Every nerve in my body zings with awareness of his truth as well as his proximity, muddling the remaining intact portion of my thoughts. I should remind him he left over fifteen months ago and never contacted me. I should step back. But . . .
I want very much to pursue this moment.
He touches my cheek. Heat dances beneath my skin as his fingers slip around my head. His hold is
gentle and careful and confusing.
His thumb runs lightly across my lower lip. “Britt, tell me this is all right.”
His plea is nearly drowned by the rush of pulse that beats a deafening rhythm in my ears. The rain increases, pelting our skin, and the wind sings around us. Instead of ducking away, I rise up on my toes, scared, and, at the same time, so full of want.
I hear him whisper my name once more before his mouth is on mine. Oh stars. My lips are frozen beneath his as shock and logic wage war—this is everything I shouldn’t want. Still, I don’t care. He kisses me gently at first, and then not so much when my lips respond. His hands clutch me to him; the firm spread of his body presses against mine. I can taste the mint leaf on his lips. His tongue. Flames shoot through my limbs and burn my heart, erasing every single thought in my head except for the sweet awareness of Cohen. Of our needy kiss.
My fingers are possessed, tracing up his neck to twist in his hair. A moan escapes his throat. Oh my. It’s the most alluring sound I’ve ever heard.
All too soon his mouth leaves mine and I gasp in objection.
He lets out a husky breath, and a second later my embarrassing protest dies when his lips wind a trail down my throat and back up, moving along my jaw until his breath fans the hollow behind my ear.
“Britta? Cohen?”
Cohen jerks back, eyeing the blue-black shadows around Enat’s home and then me as if waking from a dream. Disoriented by the sudden disconnection of our kiss, I trip toward Cohen, but he rights me with both hands on my shoulders.
Enat calls our names once more.
“We better go,” he says, squeezing my arms. He turns and moves toward Enat’s voice, but just before he’s out of sight, he looks back and gives me a tipped smile.
I touch my swollen lips as the rain falls. And stand there, drowning in disbelief.
What. Was. That?
Chapter
23
IN THE MORNING, THICK MIST CURLS THROUGH the trees and blankets the forest ground. I watch as Cohen rides away on Siron, wisps of white furling around the black beast’s legs like the clouds are carrying him away.
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