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She traced where she had sewn his wound together. “When was this?”

“In Fernwell the day we took the city. It was as if the protections you had made for me understood part of my wellbeing was tied to your wellbeing. I knew you were in trouble, and where you were.”

She frowned. “You never told me.”

“Too much happened that day. I didn’t think of it again.” He moved, leaning over her, one hand anchoring in her hair beneath her braid.

“It could have faded. Magic doesn’t last forever.” She quirked her lips. “Thank goodness.”

“Can you make me something like that, though? Something that will tell me when you’re in trouble?”

She pondered it. “I can try. Why not?”

He gave a nod. “Good.” Then he bent down and brushed his lips against hers.

The low smolder of desire she’d felt since he’d pulled his shirt over his head ignited into something hot and needy, and she deepened the kiss, holding his head between her hands.

He undressed her as they kissed, his hands sliding and stroking as he did so, pausing here and there.

She tugged on his trousers and he helped her remove them. When they were skin on skin together, she reveled in every caress, every sound he made as she touched him, every gasp she could not contain when he touched her.

When they lay at last beside each other, panting for breath, he rose up over her again, and tugged at her braid.

“They starved you.”

“In the beginning, I wasn’t able to lift my head, let alone eat, but yes,” she looked down at herself, at the sharp angle of her bones through her skin, “they were not careful with me.”

“I want to kill them.” He pulled her hair tie off and started loosening her hair, sliding it through his fingers.

“Sirna is already dead, and Evelyn . . .” She thought about what she would do. “I think she’s headed for Cattha as fast as she can go.

“They are just the little people.” Luc twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. “I’m talking about this man from Grimwalt who was in charge, and the Speaker, the person who set this in motion.”

She closed her eyes and relaxed into the pallet. “They will need to be dealt with.” She couldn’t go through life looking over her shoulder for them.

“Agreed.” He flopped back down beside her and drew her close, so her head rested on his chest.

She must have fallen asleep, although she didn’t remember doing so, because she was awoken as Luc extracted himself from the circle of her arms, with someone speaking to him in a low voice just outside the tent.

“What is it?” she fought her fatigue, lifting her head as he crouched at her feet, pulling his shirt on.

“One of the Jatan prisoners wants to speak to me. General Carvill.” He leaned over her, and brushed a kiss to her temple. “Try to get back to sleep.”

He left with his boots in his hands, and it was only after he’d gone that she saw his tunic was still in the tent.

He must not have thought it was a serious problem if he hadn’t put it on, but it worried her.

These people had tried to kill him today.

She lay back down, and slowly drew on her own clothes, feeling too vulnerable and cold to lie naked without Luc beside her.

Eventually, aware she wasn’t going to get back to sleep unless she took him the tunic, she sat up, redoing the braid Luc had undone, giving herself protection and stealth.

Like Luc, she carried her boots out of the tent, stepping into them once she was outside.

The night was quiet, almost too quiet if there was a problem with the prisoners.

She knew where they were being kept. The soldiers had spoken about it over dinner this evening, talking about how glad they would be to hand them back to the Jatan tomorrow, after the deal had been signed.