Fearless (Nameless #3)(61)
Raca lowered her hands and looked up into Murtog’s handsome face.
Suddenly Zo regretted letting her presence go unannounced for so long. She lay frozen on the ledge, afraid to move and ashamed for not wanting to leave.
Raca brushed away a tear from her cheek. “I should not cry over him. I … I cannot. For Sani’s sake.”
“Then don’t cry.” Murtog closed the remaining distance between them and slowly raised his arm as an invitation. Raca didn’t hesitate before stepping into his embrace, swallowed up in the safety of Murtog’s massive arms, her cheek pressed against his chest.
“Shout your pain, princess. Let the gods know what they’ve taken from you.”
When Raca didn’t respond, he placed a hand to her ear, filled his chest with air and shouted at the sky with such force, Zo startled and inched backward. Again and again, he filled his chest with air and released it in the most agonizing lament Zo had ever witnessed. On the third yell, Raca joined him, throwing her head back and releasing a heart-wrenching cry of pain.
Afterward, she tightened her hold on Murtog and buried her face into his chest. Shoulders shaking in silent sobs, she practically collapsed into Murtog’s embrace. He swept her legs out from under her and carried her like a child over to a boulder, where he sat and leaned back with her still swallowed up in his arms. Light reflected off the sheen of tears on his face.
Zo didn’t know if they were tears for his lost wife, tears for Sani that Raca wasn’t permitting herself to shed, or tears of something beautiful.
New hope and possibilities.
Perhaps it was all three.
Zo backed away from her spot on the ledge, careful not to make sound. She headed back through the canyon, satisfied with Raca’s healing even though it wasn’t by her own hands.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ten days before Gryphon’s planned meeting with Barnabas, the flap of the Healer’s Tent flew open.
“We need to talk.” Gabe stared down at Gryphon, accusation punctuating every line in his face and every taut muscle in his stance.
Gryphon pushed up to his feet and followed Gabe out past the sea of tents. They didn’t stop until they reached the practice field on the northern edge of camp. He hadn’t planned to come to this field today. His stitches were only two days old and he’d promised Millie that he’d rest for a few days.
Gabe wandered over to a barrel filled with wooden practice swords. He plucked two from the pile and threw one to Gryphon. The long sword was a preferred weapon of the Wolves. A weapon Gryphon despised, favoring the short swords of his people that allowed for closer combat.
Gabe and Gryphon circled one another twice before Gabe finally spoke his mind. “How could you do this to her?” He brought the blade down over Gryphon’s head with more force than Gryphon anticipated, nearly causing him to drop his weapon into the dirt as he blocked.
Redoubling his grip, Gryphon winced at the eerie tug of his stitches. He blocked another strike and said, “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been driving myself mad with guilt over my lie to you both,” Gabe growled. He advanced again, with so much speed Gryphon struggled to keep his feet. “I’ve stepped away. Trusting you to protect and honor her.”
A crowd gathered. A captain of the Wolves fighting the Ram outcast didn’t happen every day.
Gryphon spun, ducking under one of Gabe’s blows to land a solid hit on the man’s back. “I’ve been trying to tell her. It’s been hard the past few days, since the Ram attack.” A lie. The truth of the matter was quite simple: There was a wedge growing between them, a divide he didn’t know how to cross. And with so little time left, he didn’t want to give her another reason to despise him. “I’ll tell her.”
Gabe brought down his weapon over Gryphon’s head. He couldn’t block in time. Couldn’t move away fast enough. He leaned away at the last second and wood connected with his collarbone, splitting the sword in half.
White pain lanced across Gryphon’s shoulders and neck. He straightened, each man panting as they surveyed the other. “You know what your problem is?” said Gabe, the broken practice sword still clutched in his hand. “You think you’re invincible. You’ve escaped your clan twice now. You saved us all from the Gate.” He took a few steadying breaths and dropped the broken sword in the dirt and leaned in to whisper so none of the men around them could hear. “But no man can expect to waltz into a Ram execution and live to see another day. Not even you.”
Gryphon massaged the spot where Gabe had marked him. Already a large welt rose on the tender skin. “I don’t plan to survive.”
“You’re going to break her heart.” Gabe rubbed his cheek and let the hand smear down his face. “And it kills me to say this, but you were the one who put it back together after her parents were killed. Losing you would destroy her all over again.”
She doesn’t trust me. “What are you saying?” said Gryphon.
“I’m saying that you need to either tell Zo your plans or take Zo and leave this place. Take it from me,” he rested his hand on Gryphon’s shoulder, directly over the rising welt, “lies only bring sorrow and regret.”
The next morning, Zo found Gryphon sitting alone with his back to her on the bank of a small stream just outside camp. The water gurgled past, rolling over rocks and pebbles on its way. Sunlight reflected off the shiny silt below the surface, casting a spray of black dots in Zo’s vision. She shielded her eyes and took another silent step forward.