Page 42 of A Hunt Bound in Blood
“Better?”
I straightened, and the lack of pressure sagging on my spine made me feel a million times lighter. “Much. Thank you.” But again that nagging voice made me say, “You don’t have to do that. I’m more than capable of—”
“Stop. Maybe the bond is jerking me around, but considering you almost died tonight, I think you can give it a pass this once.” He grimaced. “What do you have in here? That boulder I lifted at the mine? I can’t believe you’ve lugged this around for the past five days. You must be stronger than I am.” He kicked his head towards the road. “Come on. I have a place in mind for us to get a restful sleep for a change. After all the progress we’ve made so far, I don’t think your king can begrudge us a bit of a break.”
I wasn’t sure about that but didn’t have the energy to argue with him. Exhausted as I was, we continued in silence, Cammon’s presence a comforting bolster against the memories our conversation had evoked.
Gradually, I noticed signs of civilization. A farmstead to the left, with grazing cattle peppering the open fields, and cornrows taller than me to my right.
More farms appeared as we went along, giving way to tidy cottages with laundry hanging outside to dry. A river gurgled nearby, and a woman carting a bucket of water trudged towards a small cabin.
Finally the cottages were replaced by houses. A church steeple rose from the centre of the village, the symbol of Jer, goddess of rivers, emblazoned over the front doors. Cammon passed by all of it and stopped in front of a two-storey, thatch-roofed building with a wooden sign flapping by the door. An inn.
My jaw dropped. “Is this for real?”
Cammon chuckled and nudged my shoulder. “Come on, mage. Let’s get you a bath.”
When I woke, it was obvious we’d lost the better part of the day. Sunlight streamed through the small window over my head, and I felt as though I could sleep the rest of the afternoon and all through the night.
The suite Cammon had claimed for us was simple but homey. The bed in the single bedroom boasted a beautiful green-and-white quilt over laundered sheets on a somewhat lumpy mattress that had felt like clouds when I’d fallen onto it. Which I’d done after scrubbing down with some warmish water, the possibility of a full bath not a service offered here in the small hours of the morning.
Cammon had slept on the sofa in the suite’s sitting room, and it had been a comfort to know he was nearby. After the pain and uncertainty of last night, his solidness had been a reminder that I’d pulled through.
Thanks to him.
But he hadn’t saved me out of altruism. We had a mission to conclude, and that meant dragging myself out of this bed and getting on with what was left of the day. With a groan, I rolled off the mattress and slid my feet into my boots. My camisole and stockings from yesterday had been disposed of, and today I wore one of my remaining identical sets.
I stepped into a freshly laundered skirt, the brown fabric stiff and sturdy as I tugged it over my hips and buttoned it up in the back. A fresh white shirt and the waistcoat that matched the skirt finished the ensemble. In as quick a time as I could manage, I stared at my reflection to put up my hair, giving up on keeping my bun neat. At least the long tresses would be out of my face.
Bruises highlighted my cheekbones, and my muscles ached with every small movement, but my wounds had sealed and I was on my feet. A miracle, really.
Dressed, I grabbed my pack and headed downstairs to the inn’s common room, where I found Cammon sitting at a table in the corner, with a book laid out on the surface in front of him.
He looked up when I came in, his gaze finding me immediately around the few people seated at the other tables.
“Sleep well, Buttons?” he asked once I reached him.
The sight of him reading unfurled something inside me, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to refurl. I had to wonder if this was part of the bond or if I would have reacted this way to any handsome man with a book.
I narrowed my eyes at said book. “Are those my notes on Tersey’s journal?”
The notebook was full of copied passages, a mishmash of my personal thoughts on the mage’s musings, and iterations of translation attempts. I was amazed Cammon could make heads or tails of any of it.
He used his thumb to mark his page and closed the book to check the cover. “It ended up in my pack last night in our rush to leave, so I figured I’d get to know the man who’s sending us on this absurd hunt. I don’t know what to make of him. Sometimes he comes off as brilliant, then on the next page he’s talking about cooking his cat with sage and butter.”
I laughed. “Ham. Not cat. My handwriting gets awful when I write too quickly. You can read the full translation on a later page.”
Cammon flipped through the pages to find my updated notes. “Huh. That makes a lot more sense. Still doesn’t explain why he squeezed in a recipe in the middle of his stream of consciousness about alchemy, but at least I’m not worried about his pets.”
“Oh, he sacrificed those as well,” I said. “Let’s not put him on a pedestal or anything.”
Cammon wrinkled his nose and stuffed the notebook into his bag. “What made you study this guy, anyway?”
I shrugged and pulled the straps of my pack over my shoulders, moving carefully to avoid setting off any aches and pains. “I came across his name in a history book about undoing curses. At the time, I was willing to consider anything that helped me get rid of my… issue, even the possibility that it was some kind of blood curse. If I could reverse it, not only would I not have to hide so much about myself, but maybe my magic could do something other than sparkle on my fingertips when I needed it.” Why wasn’t my pack sitting well? I adjusted everything again, but still something lodged in my spine. “I followed mentions of him from book to book until I stumbled on his journal—something believed to have been lost decades ago. It was a huge find. Since then, I’ve accepted he can’t help solve my problem, but I’m too fascinated to stop. Turns out to have been serendipitous, because when Princess Brynna fell ill, I had something to bring to His Majesty.” The problem was one of the books. I shoved it aside through the fabric of the pack. “So there you have it. My career is tied up with a dead man who wanted to cook his cat with sage and butter.”
There. Finally. Comfort.
I looked up at Cammon and found him staring at me, black swirling through his crimson eyes, his attention focused on my face.