Followed by Fros(52)

“I . . .” I couldn’t think of an excuse. Scarlet sunlight far to the west cast a red glow over Lo, making his uniform look violet and his earrings orange. “Do you want to come inside? Do you have long?”

He narrowed his eyes but followed me inside and waited silently as I built up the fire.

“I bought some coffee today. I . . . Qisam thought you might like this kind,” I said, going to the small table where my purchase sat. I could smell its richness before I even reached the bag. “If you’d like, I—”

“Misa,” he said, dropping the s from my name, “why did you go into the city?”

I glanced at him, subconsciously working the muscles of my frozen hands. “Is that not all right? I was only there for a few minutes. And thank you, for speaking to Imad. It means—”

“Only a few minutes. I know; I saw the cloud. Why?”

I didn’t answer. I used to be such a good liar. Where had those skills gone?

I fumbled an answer. “I was worried. About Aamina.”

He frowned. “If that’s true, then tell me where Aamina lives.”

I hesitated too long.

He stepped toward me. Perhaps it was a trick of the firelight, but he seemed very, very tall. “Who was in here, that day I heard you shouting?”

I glanced down at the carpets, then forced myself to meet his eyes. “That was two months ago, Lo.”

He stared at me so intensely I thought I could feel a hole drilling right into my forehead.

He dropped his hands to his hips. “If you do not trust me—”

“No,” I interrupted. “No, I . . . trust you.” My pulse throbbed from breast to chin. Could he hear it?

“You said I would not believe you if you told me,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting in it. “I am listening.”

I bit my lower lip and shivered, chills running laps between my toes and ears. I ran through every possible excuse, anything I could think of that might convince him to drop the topic, perhaps even play the “trust” tactic myself. My heart feared what Sadriel might do if I were to tell anyone about his visits. There was the chance he wouldn’t care. But there was the possibility he would be angry with me, and the last time he had gotten angry . . .

Yet something inside me rioted from the idea of lying to Lo. I did trust him. Truly, I did.

So I told him about Sadriel. I told him everything.

The words flew from my mouth and crashed into the cavern around me. I told him about Mordan and my harsh rejection of him. I told him about the curse, Euwan, Bennion Hutches, and the first time I had seen Death. I told him how I left home and my conversations with Sadriel. I described him in such detail that, even with the skewed stare Lo gave me, I knew he had to believe me.

Once I started, I could not stop. I told Lo about the dogs and the hunters from the coast, even about that weak, awful moment when I almost gave in to Sadriel, and once more I was grateful my frigid skin forbade me from flushing.

I told him about the mountains and the villages and crossing the northern border, and how terrified I was when he and Imad and the others chased me down . . . and how very afraid I was that they were more hunters come to kill me. I told him why I had been shouting that day he broke the lock on my door, why I had the bruise, and why I had feared telling him the truth. Why I still feared telling it to him. And I told him Sadriel’s threat about hurting someone within Mac’Hliah.

“And I realized I had no sway over him, so I came back,” I said, filling a cup with trembling hands and wetting my throat until the water froze.

Rather than respond right away, Lo stared past the cavern walls, taking his time to think, as he always did. I rolled my lips together, massaged my hands, and offered him water—a gesture that went unnoticed. His silence went on for so long that I went to my bookshelf and selected my book of Hraric plays to keep me occupied. My hands shook as I turned the pages but not from the cold. I read three of them before he finally spoke.

“Aluhra.”

I lifted my eyes.

“That is his name . . . in Hraric,” he explained slowly, dark gaze shifting to me. “Aluhra.”

I closed the book in my lap. “You believe me?”

“Should I not?”

I shook my head and blinked quickly to chase away tears. “Thank you. I haven’t told anyone. I don’t know . . . what he’ll do if he finds out. With any luck, he won’t.”

Clasping his hands, Lo leaned forward in his chair. “Will he come tonight?”

Again I shook my head. “I don’t know. I can’t depend on anything with him.”

Shivering, I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Without thinking of it, I touched my cheek where Death had struck me, but Lo noticed.

“You are afraid.” It wasn’t a question.

I didn’t want to be, but I nodded. “But he won’t come, not now. He stays away from the living. The uncursed living.”

Lo considered this for a moment before standing and rolling his neck, the bones popping several times. “How much oil do you have left for the fire?”

I watched him. “Enough for a few days. Why?”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Blood rushed to my cheeks even without the heat.

He motioned to the front of the cave with a jerk of his head. “Over there,” he clarified. “If you are afraid, I will stay.”