“I’m sure there are people who are worried about you,” she finally offered. “And who are waiting for your return.”
Slay let out a tired breath. “Mags, maybe. I don’t know where I stand with Dom and Pru. Since I was sneaking around, trying to dig up dirt on Talfayen just before the attack, I wonder if they think I’m a collaborator.”
“Dom would be…Dominic? The leader of Ash Valley. You were his second, as I recall.” Her voice was too soft and low for anyone else to overhear, even in close quarters, but that meant Slay moved into her space so he could catch every word.
She…didn’t hate it. The floor was cold, and her body hurt. His warmth unexpectedly provided some solace. Attachments were dangerous in the undercity; she couldn’t afford to rely on anyone else, but maybe she didn’t have a choice. Not when the task that awaited them was so monumental. Foment a rebellion, lay a despot low? No problem.
“I was, yeah. And Pru was my lover. Until I sent her to the seer’s retreat, where Dom was holed up, grieving for years after his first mate died.”
“But the situation changed when Pru joined him? You must’ve been so lonely.” Possibly that was the wrong word, but she could imagine the hurt.
Slay had lost his lover and his friend in the same stroke, then he ended up here. Rowena didn’t frame the thought lightly, but his shitty luck might be comparable to hers. Not lifelong like hers, but currently? Yeah, right on target.
“I was,” he said in a wondering tone. “I mean, I am. There was nobody I could talk to about it. And it didn’t help that I was an asshole to Pru. I didn’t communicate or treat her well, so it’s at least halfway my fault that we ended up like this. With a failed relationship. I’m not saying I belong in a dungeon over it, and my crap has nothing to do with you, so I’m not including you in that ‘we’.”
A quiet laugh escaped her. “No, I understand what you mean. For what it’s worth, it sounds like you’re sorry and you regret what you did wrong. That’s more than many can manage. You’d be surprised at how many people never feel remorse, never accept fault.”
“Guess you’re talking about the tyrant now?”
“Him and his entire cohort.” Rowena shivered, wishing she had blankets.
Even when the Exiles had bivouacked, the stint seemed downright luxurious because she’d had a tent, a bedroll, a chemical heater, and various other amenities. Sure, she’d shared space with a bunch of grunts who farted and snored, but it had been warm, if stinky as hell, and Dedrick partnered with Graff to keep anyone from bothering her.
Never thought I’d be nostalgic for the days when we marched from Ash Valley to defend Hallowell. We were so cold and hungry that we ate those caribou raw, but I’d be grateful for them now.
It wasn’t likely she’d see meat again anytime soon, unless it was part of some terrible game of Tycho’s. Rowena understood that most of her mother’s people didn’t eat meat, but shifting demanded it, and she’d made peace with the Golgoth side of her nature.
“You’re cold,” he said softly.
There was no point in denying it. “Aren’t you?”
“Animari run hot. If you don’t think I’m perving on you, I’ll share the wealth.”
Rowena hesitated. She’d just met Slay, though it seemed much longer thanks to their mutual confinement. But he didn’t seem like the type to try anything with so many witnesses around, and judging from the slant of their conversation, his heart still belonged to Pru anyway.
It’ll be a test. If I don’t panic, that means I pass. Or he does.
Finally she said, “Sure, if it’s no bother. I’ll try not to kick you. Graff said I’m a mule when someone creeps too close.”
“Graff?”
“A friend and fellow soldier in Prince Alastor’s service.”
“Someone important to you?”
“He was, yes.” My closest friend, in fact. She didn’t know if Graff was alive or dead. The same held true for Dedrick and Prince Alastor, her closest companions otherwise, but they’d always seemed to be…above her. She tried not to dwell on the potential for loss because that was a way of life for her, the pain of always being left behind. The prince had always chided her for wearing her hair loose, refusing the braids that reflected her status as his first lieutenant, next in command after Dedrick.
“I’m sorry,” Slay said, though she was unclear on why he was apologizing. “But anyway, even if you kick me, it doesn’t matter. Bruises heal in an hour or so. Even broken bones only take a day or two, depending on severity. There’s no hurt you can inflict on me that I haven’t already healed.”
Slay cursed himself for making that impulsive offer.
Further, he couldn’t imagine why he was being so careful, coaxing her like snuggling was something he wanted. Or even needed.
Maybe it was this fucking place. He was tired of being alone, weary of dealing with the endless despair, and any warm body would feel good right about now. Doubtless, Arran would say it was an affirmation of life or some psychological bullshit.
All he knew was that he experienced palpable relief when Rowena scooted over enough for him to pull her close. She settled against him, feeling slight in his arms, and he flashed on the moment when she’d fallen into them earlier. The heat exchange started. He hadn’t lied about running hot and he could feel her body warming with proximity. Damn, she was a little bundle of shivers.
“How’s that?” he whispered.
There was no answer, and after long moments in silence, he realized she was asleep. Already. He didn’t know how he felt about that, like she’d decided he was safe as a heated blanket. But he felt her body go lax and he let out a silent laugh.
I never really held Pru like this.
He’d always been in a hurry to disengage, afraid of bonding to her, needing her, before he had his mother’s blessing. In trying to walk the middle path, he’d ended up wounding everyone, himself included. Because his mother had certainly noticed his distance and resentment, the way he avoided her company and dodged her nagging. And in the end, she died without ever seeing the grandchild she wanted so desperately.
Dammit, I wish I could sleep as easily as Rowena.
Probably her conscience was clear. That might have something to do with it. Slay constantly looped on all the shit he’d done wrong, the way it piled up until everything broke wide open, like a trash bag bulging with his unresolved issues. Hindsight gave him a lot to reflect on, but it changed nothing.
I’m still here. No escape from this predicament or my own brain.
To his astonishment, Rowen kicked him in the shin, hard. Then she did it again, fighting in her sleep, or maybe running. Given what she’d confided about her history with that bastard, he didn’t want to imagine what she was dreaming.
“Shhh,” he murmured against her hair. “I’ve got you. Nobody’s getting by me, so you can settle down.”
Against the odds, she seemed to hear and believe him, even in her sleep. His chest tightened because he hadn’t expected a simple reassurance to have any effect on her lasting trauma. But Rowena quieted, her breath coming soft and steady. And that success fed a hunger that he hadn’t even known he was nursing. The feeling flared to life like a river swollen with weeks of rain.