Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(27)

“We’ve got to use the small lead to our advantage. Gain some distance.”

“You don’t know the captain. I’ve never met a more devoted criminal hunter. If anything, you surely lit a fire under Captain Omar.”

“I know the captain just fine,” he says with a heavy sigh, which tells me he agrees with my last comment.

We travel in the darkness, falling into silence, leaving time for me to think about his admission of wanting something nicer for me.

After a stretch, Cohen pulls a cap from his pack and hands it to me. “I should’ve given this to you a couple days ago when you changed tunics. It worked well enough when you were traveling with Omar.”

I hold the cap in my hands.

Cohen twists even more in the saddle until his face is a hand’s distance from mine. Silvery moonbeams caress his strong jaw and straight nose. Mesmerized by the colorless shadows and highlights on his face, I don’t notice his hand until he brushes a hair from my cheek. His touch sends a jolt of surprise through me.

“Your hair shines too much,” he whispers. “It reflects the moon. Right now you’re a moving torch for anyone to see.” His hand wraps over my hand holding the cap. “You should wear it.”

A tingle spreads beneath my skin until my entire body feels more alive than it’s ever been. No compliment’s been spoken, and yet here I am soaking in his words like a steamed bath. I swallow a smile, place the cap on my head, and shove my shining hair into hiding.





Chapter

13


WE STOP A FEW HOURS BEFORE DAWN.

Cohen offers to take the first watch. He dismounts and then reaches up to help me off. I let him because exhaustion hit me hours ago and his strong hands around my waist are comforting.

“We should both sleep, since neither one of us has rested much in days,” I tell him. Leif and Tomas were unconscious when we left. Even if they tracked us, night has fallen, hiding any prints we made before we took to the stream.

“I’m not going to take any chances. I’ll keep watch while you rest.”

It’s clear from the determination in his tone there’s no arguing with him. Cohen has never been one to let his mistakes go. He’ll do what he must to make things right.

A yawn splits my lips open. “Suit yourself. Wake me in a couple hours.”

As I move to make a bed of the pillowy ferns at the base of the trees, Cohen rifles through the satchel of food and pulls out a lone sweet roll, the last of Molly’s treats.

“Want to share this?” He drops down in front of me, sitting with his back to a tree trunk. We’re close enough that the starlight shows the definition of his features but leaves most of his face in shadows.

“It’s yours.” I do want a piece, but I feel the need to maintain some distance. The last couple days have almost made me forget why Cohen isn’t good for me.

It’s difficult to see his expression, but I think he’s studying my shadowed face. “We used to share everything.”

He tears the roll in two and offers me half. I’m thinking of what he just said . . . how we used to be. I wonder if he thinks about how we used to be as much as I do. But if he did, why didn’t he come back to me?

“You’re welcome,” he says, his fingers brushing mine as he hands me the offering.

I bring the roll to my lips to hide how my smile spreads, even though he likely cannot see my reaction. After we polish off the remaining nuts and fruit, I lie down comfortably on my back for the first time since the whipping.



Someone grips my shoulder, and my eyes snap open to the sight of bloodshot hazel eyes. In the midst of the gray morning, Cohen looks a push away from collapsing. I don’t know when the last time was that he had a good night’s rest.

“It’s been a couple hours.” His voice is rough, gravelly. “The sun will rise in another hour.”

Stretching, I let out a yawn as big as the Malam Mountains. I’m startled to find Cohen watching me with a strange pull on his face.

I start to question him, but he turns away and focuses on the dirt at his feet. “We should get going.”

“What about you? You need to sleep.” He looks back the way we came, into Shaerdan’s strange vine-strangled forest. Indecision plays across his furrowed brow, undoubtedly related to the captain and the guards. “I won’t be able to hold your boulder of a body up if you pass out while we’re riding.”

His brow quirks. “Boulder of a—?”

“A figure of speech.” I flick my hand in the air, dismissing the comment. “Lie down, Cohen. I can keep watch for a couple hours,” I assure him, promising to wake him if I see or hear anything. His exhaustion will render him useless if he doesn’t get some sleep.

Of course he argues. Fortunately, I’m equally stubborn, convincing him to rest an hour.

I’ve scarcely settled myself against a log when his breathing slows.

The early sunrays pierce the blue-black shadows and the dew glistens, painting the landscape in vibrant green. Though we’ve been in Shaerdan a few days, this morning is the first time it truly seems as though I’ve stepped into a foreign world.

The land is quiet except for the birds. They sing perky soprano notes, intermittently broken with clucks and clicks, unlike the caws heard in the Evers. The trees here are different too. They’re similar to the spruce trees in Malam, but these are thicker and grow closer together, like soldiers huddled before a fight. Moss dresses the bark where an ivy-like plant doesn’t cling. Plumes of ferns make green clouds across the forest floor.