Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(49)

“I’ll see what I can recover,” Amyu said. “But let’s get you to the cave first. You can get a fire going. We will be warm, at the very least.”

The cave was where she remembered it and thankfully empty with no signs that any animal was living there.

The scorch marks were still there, though.

She left Joden with a pile of tinder and kindling and a few long, dry sticks. It would take a long time to build a fire that way, but if she didn’t find the pack…

Amyu didn’t want to think about that.

Sometime later, she wasn’t really any happier. She’d found the blankets, her pack, and the waterskin. The stopper had come lose, the water was gone. But it was whole; she could find more water in the morning.

The pack was torn, its contents scattered beyond finding. Only a glint of metal in the setting sun had given away the old battered metal lantern.

With the last rays of the sun, she headed back to the cave, to find light and warmth spilling out the entrance.

Joden sat by the fire, a smug look on his face and a pile of wood he had gathered by his side. She showed him her finds, and he reached for the blankets, spreading them out by the fire.

“We’ll be hungry,” she sighed. “But we will sleep warm.” She grimaced. “Sore and stiff come the morning, though.”

He nodded and shrugged. “B-b-b—” he struggled. “B-b-b-”

She waited.

He grimaced, sucked in air, and tried again. “B-b-better t-t-than d-d-dead.”

“Truth,” Amyu said. She went back outside and set up the driest sticks at the mouth of the cave, to give warning. She placed her sword on her side of the bedding and made Joden take the dagger. Better they each have a weapon.

They both stripped, checking their scraped raw skin and bruises. Nothing openly bleeding, for which Amyu was grateful. They did not need the scent of blood in the air.

Joden fed the fire, and they settled in together under the blanket, close for warmth. They both lay on their sides, facing one another.

Joden pointed at the scorch marks on the ceiling. “S-s-story?”

“Are you sure?” Amyu asked. “I am no Singer.”

“B-b-b,” he took a breath. “B-b-better than wo-wo-worrying.”

“Well, then,” Amyu said. “I had scattered sticks—”

She told him everything, her fear, the terror, the golden light and how it exploded in fury. Joden listened, his eyes half-closed as she went through the tale, his head pillowed on his arm. When she reached the end, she smiled, and in jest gave the ritual ending. “May the people remember.”

“We will remember,” Joden whispered back without effort, and then his eyes widened.

Amyu held her breath.

“R-r-r,” Joden scowled at the stutter’s return, slapping his thigh in frustration.

“Relaxed,” Amyu whispered, sharing his disappointment. “It’s when you are relaxed that the words come, or so it seems.”

Joden shook his head, his sorrow clear to her.

“Give it time,” she whispered, then hesitated again. Did she dare? She took a breath.

“The theas’s old pain remedy,” she offered tentatively. “If you would share?”

Joden looked at her, really looked at her. He was older, wiser, a warrior of many campaigns. He wouldn’t want—

“Please,” Joden whispered back

Heat coiled within her. Still, she felt awkward and foolish. But for the first time in a long time she wanted this, wanted to share bodies with another.

With Joden.

Amyu leaned closer and kissed him.

His lips were warm and dry. Perfect to her way of thinking. He tasted of smoke and dust and something uniquely himself.

He let her control the pace, and she kept it slow, just lips at first. But then she could not resist, and she reached out to stroke her palm over his arm, long slow caresses.

He reached out for her and did the same, following her lead. Her palms tingled as she ran them over his bruised and battered body. She opened her eyes, to see if maybe the tingle had something to do with the golden sparkles, but it was just her and him under the warmth of the blanket, to her relief. Somehow, it meant more that way.

Her aches melted under his touch, and her bruises seemed to fade, Amyu knew well enough that when they woke, they’d hurt. But for now, there was rich slow pleasure between the two of them.

Joden’s hands felt as warm as hers, and far more skilled. She arched her back against them as he teased her breasts with his breath, and her nipples with tongue and teeth.

Her hands were not idle. She reached for him, stroking his length with her palm.

His own fingers dipped lower, and when he felt her heat, he pulled her on top as he rolled to his back. The blanket fell back, exposing her heated back to the cooler air.

Those wonderful hands cupped her buttocks, spreading her out. But then he paused, hesitating.

Amyu looked down into his worried eyes. “Joden,” she pleaded.

“F-f-foalsbane,” he managed. “I-I-I haven’t—”

She laughed, but it was more a groan of pure frustration. “I have never borne, Joden.

Never once conceived.”

Still he held her, poised above—

She took matters into her own hands, then arched down to demand her own pleasure.