The Kiss of Deception (The Remnant Chronicles, #1)(89)

A wicked smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Good. I’m glad to see you’re paying for your excesses.” She nodded toward the river. “Let’s go get you some chiga weed. It grows along the banks. Dihara said it’s good for pain. This will be my thank-you for getting me the carvachi. It was a kindness.”

I watched her turn, watched the breeze catch her hair and lift it. I watched her walk away. I didn’t hate all royals. I didn’t hate her.

I followed after her and we walked along the banks, first up one side, then crossing on slick rocks and walking back down the other. She showed me the chiga weed and plucked several stalks as we walked, peeling back the outer leaves and breaking off a four-inch piece.

“Chew,” she said, handing it to me.

I looked at it suspiciously.

“It’s not poison,” she promised. “If I were trying to kill you, I’d find a much more painful way to do it.”

I smiled. “Yes, I suppose you would.”





CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN


RAFE



“Are you going to tell us or not?” Jeb gnawed on a bone, savoring every last bit of flavor from the first fresh meat we’d had in days, and then threw it in the fire. “Does she have the gift?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You spent half the summer with her, and you didn’t find out?”

Orrin snorted. “He was too busy putting his tongue down her throat to ask questions.”

They all laughed, but I shot Orrin a glare. I knew it was meant in jest—in their own way, an approval, counting me as a man who had hunted down a girl and bent her to my will. But I knew the truth. It was nothing like that. If anyone had been bent and broken, it was me. I didn’t like them talking about her that way. She would one day be their queen. At least I prayed she would be.

“What’s she like, this girl we’re going to get back?” Tavish asked.

I owed them that much, a few answers, a glimpse of Lia. They were risking their lives, coming along with few questions asked, embarking on the most grueling ride they’d ever endured. These answers they had earned. I was also grateful for the way Tavish said it—get back—never questioning whether we would accomplish our purpose. I needed that now. Even if we were spare in number, Sven had gotten the best of a dozen regiments. They were trained in all the duties and weaponry of a soldier, but each had his special strengths.

Though Orrin played crude, his skill with a bow was refined and unquestioned. His aim, even through wind and distance, was precise, and he could maintain the onslaught of three men. Jeb was skilled at silent attacks. He had an arresting smile and unimposing manner, but that was the last thing any of his victims noticed about him before he snapped their neck. Tavish was soft-spoken and sure. While others bragged, he downplayed his accomplishments, which were many. He wasn’t the strongest or quickest of the ranks, but he was the most calculating. He made every move count toward victory. We had all met and trained together as pledges.

I, too, had my strengths, but their consummate skills were a matter of fact in the field, whereas they had seen mine only in practice. Except for Tavish. We shared a secret between us—the time I killed eight men in the space of ten minutes. I came away from it with a hefty gash in my thigh that Tavish himself had had to stitch because that had to remain a secret as well. Not even Sven was aware of that night, and he knew almost everything about me.

I surveyed the four faces waiting for me to say something. Even Sven, who had thirty years on all of us and usually showed little interest in the idle chat of soldiers around a campfire, seemed to be waiting for some details about Lia.

“She’s nothing like the ladies of court,” I said. “She doesn’t fuss about clothing. Most of the time, if she wasn’t working in the tavern, she wore trousers. Ones with holes in them.”

“Trousers?” Jeb said in disbelief. His mother was master seamstress of the queen’s court, and he enjoyed the delights of fashion himself when he wasn’t in uniform.

Sven sat forward. “She worked in a tavern? A princess?”

I smiled. “Serving tables and washing dishes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Sven asked.

“You never asked.”

Sven grumbled something to himself and sat back.

“I like her,” Tavish said. “Tell us more.”

I told them about our first meeting and how I wanted to hate her, and all of our times together after that. Almost all of our times. I told them she was small, a head shorter than me, but she had a temper and stood as tall as a man when she was angry, and I’d seen her bring a Morrighan soldier to his knees with a few sharp words. I told them how we had gathered blackberries and she flirted with me, and while I had still thought I hated her, all I wanted to do was kiss her, but then later, when we did finally kiss—I paused from my description and let out a long, slow breath.

“It was good?” Jeb prompted, eager for the vicarious details.

“It was good,” I answered simply.

“Why didn’t you tell her then who you were?” Tavish asked.

I supposed they needed to know this too, sooner rather than later—at least before we got her back. “I told you, we didn’t get along so well at first. Then I learned she’s not exactly fond of Dalbreck or anyone from there. She can’t tolerate them, in fact.”