Dead of Winter (The Arcana Chronicles #3)(29)

“His story to tell.”

“That’s all you’ll give me?”

His damp hair flopped over his forehead, and he shoved it back. He needed a haircut. “The Army grinds on, a windmill spins.” He’d told me this often in the past.

The Azey had once marched on Haven because the farm had been equipped with ready sources of water: windmill water pumps. In his own way, Matthew had been warning me of the Lovers’ approach.

Yet then I frowned, remembering what Vincent had told me. “The Milovnícis never cared about Haven’s water. They came only for me.”

“True.”

“So why did you mention windmills?”

“They spin to the scent of roses.”

Stifling my irritation, I sat on a trunk to pull on my boots. “Do you want to tell me about my history with the twins?” I’d once feared that much of Death’s ruthlessness had been shaped by past versions of me. I’d shaped the Lovers as well?

“I gave you the history. Up to you now.”

“To access those memories? You can’t just tell me? They said they practiced torture—for me.”

He stared at his hand. Subject closed.

“Okay, then, what about the Priestess? Can we get her into our alliance?”

“Snow falls on graves.” He wrapped his arms around himself.

“What graves, sweetheart? Are you cold?” Though the fire was crackling along, I looked around for another log. Didn’t see one.

Of course not. The resources here were limited. How much precious wood had Jack spent on this fire, to warm me alone while he was gone?

Matthew said, “Tredici nears.”

“What is Tredici?” It was too early in the morning, or the afternoon, or whenever, for this kind of confusion. “Will you explain?”

He blinked, as if I’d asked him a ridiculous question.

Inhaling for patience, I said, “So. Today’s a big day for me. Do you have any advice that won’t make my head hurt worse?”

“Everything from me makes you hurt. Power is your burden. Knowledge is mine. But I gave you everything before I lose my head.”

“What are you talking about?” I crossed to him, pressing the backs of my fingers against one of his sallow cheeks. No fever. “Can you try to rest now?”

“Too much to do.”

He’d said that before. “Like what? Do you want me to help you with any—”

He stood, turned toward the exit, then left me.

“Good talk, buddy,” I said to myself. Grabbing my bug-out bag, I went searching for a place to get cleaned up.

In a communal bathroom facility, I washed with cold water, brushed my teeth, and changed into clean clothes—jeans, halter, hoodie. I felt better, but I couldn’t shake that nagging headache.

I checked on Tess, who was taking a nap—reactoring, I suppose. About a third of the fruit I’d made for her was gone, and she steadily gained weight. Someone had left a baseball cap to cover her patchy hair.

As I headed back to the tent, chafing my hands against the chill, the gates creaked open.

Jack.

He rode into the courtyard astride a striking gray horse. I stood off in the shadows, not drawing attention to myself, just watching him.

His face was less swollen. The bandage on his chest peeked up from the collar of his flannel shirt and camo jacket. His crossbow was strapped over his other shoulder.

Joules rode in, Gabriel landing nearby. All the people in the fort cheered for the returning heroes.

When a wagon loaded with supplies rolled in, Jack called orders to soldiers. A few offloaded pallets of cans. Another group went around to lift a large gun off the back.

Jack dismounted, moving stiffly. He unstrapped a bulky camo duffel bag from his saddle, hauling it over his body. Men gathered around him, asking questions. Despite his younger age, they hung on his every word.

His unforgiving life had honed him, giving him hard-earned skills, but he’d never had a chance to utilize them to this degree.

It’d taken an apocalypse for Jack to come into his own as a leader.

He paused midsentence, then turned in my direction, as if he sensed me there.

I stepped from the shadows, and our eyes met, his so vivid and gray. His gaze roamed over my face and figure the way it had on our first day of school together, like he hadn’t seen a girl in years.

Never taking his focus off me, he said something that made the other men nod and set off; then he crossed the distance between us.

Without a word, he clasped my hand, leading me to his tent. How would I approach this talk? I needed to tell him about Aric, but now wasn’t the right time.

The tent seemed so much smaller with him in it, because Jack was larger than life. He pulled off that duffel bag, setting aside his bow.

We stood staring at each other in silence. At length, he moved to stand before me. “Didn’t think you could get prettier.” Curling his finger under my chin, he leaned down to kiss me.

I was stunned, motionless. I’d pictured our reunion, but I’d never imagined him just walking up and kissing me. A thrill cascaded through me.

God, I’d missed the feel of his lips. I gasped with pleasure.

But right when my hands decided to reach for him, my feet stepped me back. “Um, how are you feeling?”

He was clearly disappointed by my reaction. What else had he expected? The problems between us hadn’t magically fixed themselves. “You know me: tête dure.” Hard head. “I was more worried about you.”