Page 19

19

Body Heat

Anya

T he wind was howling, rain spitting, when we made camp the next night. We’d found a semi-protected cluster of birch trees near a wide bend in the Wend and set up under their skeletal canopy. While I wrestled with the fire—the tender flame fickle in the wild weather—Idris strung a rope between two strong trees, flung a large sheet of waxed linen over the line, and anchored the corners, creating a tent. Then he disappeared in the direction of the river, a small net in hand.

I was still struggling to keep the fire lit when he returned with a fish, and I felt all the more useless when he crouched by my paltry flame, stuffed papery birch bark into the shelter of the larger logs, breathed life into the fire until it caught heartily, and cooked us the fish.

I wasn’t much in the mood for talking, especially since our evening conversations continued to be rather one-sided—even when I steered clear of the topic of his Oath. When Idris deigned to converse with me, I found his dry wit and heartfelt interjections enjoyable. But over the past couple days, he’d seemed determined not to befriend me.

Not that I wanted to be his friend, either. All I truly wanted was to clear my name and return home.

The weather was poor, and the contrast between tonight’s howling wind and last night’s hearthside slumber was painfully apparent. Travel was wearing on me, and I was beginning to understand Idris’s gruffness; if I lived like this day in and day out, year after year, I’d be gruff, too. I was gruff already.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Idris noted after dinner, holding his hands to the fire. His wound was no more than burgundy a freckle now, the black webbing entirely gone.

I was clutching a mug of rose hip tea, which Idris had poured this time. He’d added chamomile, which was a favorite of Hattie’s. Inevitably, the thought of her made me think of Wicker and the Possum and town, which led me to remember my Fate, which reminded me of why I was out here in the wilderness instead of Waldron. It was a vicious cycle of worry and heartache, but at least the tea was warm.

“You must be relieved,” I told Idris, still staring into my mug.

The wind gusted through the trees, leaves and small twigs falling with the spitting rain.

“It’s rather disconcerting, actually.”

I eyed him. The dark waves of his shoulder-length hair were ruffled, tan cheeks flushed from the cold. He looked…wind-swept and wild.

“I expected you to be more tough,” he went on, “but it seems the discomforts of the road have dulled your edge.”

His words angered me, my inner fire flaring, even as our campfire waned in the wet weather. “It’s not the discomforts of the road, but the tiresomeness of the company,” I snapped. “Not to mention the ominousness of our mission. I am a prisoner of the realm, after all.”

I expected Idris to balk or protest at my tart reply. Instead, he huffed a soft laugh. “There’s that edge.”

“You’re goading me,” I realized.

“I’m making conversation.”

“Badly.”

“I’d beg to differ,” he said. “I’m quite enjoying this.”

I growled and sipped my tea, hating how effective he was at taking my mind off the awfulness of our trip. “No flute tonight?” I asked tightly.

“Thought I’d listen to the music of the rain, instead.”

I found I shared his sentiment; it was something I myself might’ve said.

Fondness sprouted in me like a seed; I didn’t care for it. To think fondly of him was to like him, and that was dangerous. He might’ve been kind to me now, but could I really trust his kindness to last? Fates aside, everyone knew that a knight was loyal to his Oath above all else.

I sipped my tea. The rain was light enough that we could linger out in the open by the fire. As we listened to its music—as Idris had called it—I couldn’t help but rouse my magic, amplifying the patter of droplets on the surrounding leaves. Here beneath the mostly bare branches of the birches, the tough, evergreen foliage of the underbrush plinked with the melody of water. Joining the percussive rainfall, the trickle of the Wend provided a sweet harmony.

Idris’s eyes widened as I plucked at the threads of sound. I wasn’t the symphony, but its conductor, uplifting the natural elements around me. I rarely wielded my magic so freely, but it felt good to enjoy the bad weather for a few moments. To relish its beauty, even as its damp chill seeped into my tired bones.

“That’s…” Idris cleared his throat, not finishing his thought.

But his observation of my play snuffed its spark. My magic dissipated, until all that remained was the rain, back to its normal pitter-patter.

“Why’d you stop?” Idris asked.

“That was indulgent of me,” I said, embarrassed.

“Why not allow yourself a little indulgence?” Idris asked, echoing what I’d told him in Ida’s pub. “It’s a beautiful skill, Anya.”

The compliment warmed me more than my tea had. I downed the rest and abruptly stood. “I’m going to check on Briar,” I said, and left the firelight.

We’d tied Briar to one of the birches anchoring the tent. He seemed content under its meager canopy, head hung, butt to the wind. His ears perked when I approached, and he nickered softly. I handed him a hard oat cookie from my pocket—a gift from Ida’s son, who’d grown attached to Briar during our brief visit.

Briar chewed, then nosed me for more. “That’s all I’ve got,” I lied, because I wanted to save the remaining treats for the coming days. “You’re a good boy.” I patted his muscular neck, wet with rain, and leaned closer to his ear. “I want you to know: I don’t fault you for my tumble into the river. We all get frightened sometimes.”

He pressed his huge head against my torso, which I took to mean that he understood, even though the more likely explanation was that he was trying to wipe the rainwater from his eyes.

I chuckled at myself. Just like Idris, I was enjoying a conversation with the horse. Briar seemed to be a good listener, and suddenly I understood Idris’s urge to praise him. I, myself, felt compelled to do the same—in addition to telling Briar all my secrets.

But the wind was picking up. Briar braced against the gusts, calmer now than he’d been yesterday. Perhaps the cover of the trees comforted him. I scratched the downy fur underneath his forelock, then gave his velvety nose one last stroke. He lipped at my fingers, checking for treats, then hung his head as the rain surged.

I lifted the hood of my cloak and returned to camp, hunching in the increasing downpour. The fire was extinguished with no hope of relighting. Idris was tucking our packs inside the tent and checking the stakes that secured the corners.

It was then that I fully grasped that we’d be sharing the tent. The tiny tent.

The rain slanted through the tree branches, icy and biting. As much as I wanted to protest the intimacy of sleeping together under narrow cover, it was clearly our only option. I might’ve been foolish, but I wasn’t completely dense.

When Idris spotted me, he straightened. The right corner of his lips slanted downward in a knowing, apologetic frown. Something about the self-deprecating expression—his comprehension that I did not relish such close proximity, nor did he—removed the worst of my hesitation.

I ducked inside, out of the deluge. He’d laid our bedrolls side by side, folding the blankets lengthwise in half, like two books resting spine to spine, a fabric buffer between us. Our packs rested along the edges, presumably to insulate us from the cold. His thoughtfulness in this setup further eased my feelings of awkwardness. While he waited outside, I quickly removed my boots and my outermost layers and tucked myself under the blankets. Then Idris crawled in, repeating my movements until he rested on his back beside me.

Wordlessly, we listened to the weather raging outside. I felt bad for Briar, barn-less and exposed to the elements. But he’d seemed in good spirits—and plenty warm—when I’d checked on him.

“Have a nice talk with Briar?” Idris asked, seeming to sense the direction of my thoughts.

“You heard me over the rain?”

“Not your words, just your voice,” he said. “I thought I was the only one who enjoyed talking to him.”

I humphed . The faint tremor of my muscles caused my shoulder to brush against Idris’s through our blankets. It really was tight in here. I could tell he was trying not to rub up against me too much, but that was a losing battle.

Idris cleared his throat. “I want you to know that I take no”—another cough—“pleasure in this. The tent is pure necessity.”

“It’s quite clear you take no pleasure in my company, Idris, so you don’t have to defend your gentlemanly intentions.”

“Do you really think that?”

“Think what? That you’d rather travel alone? Absolutely.”

He shifted under his blankets, relaxing his big shoulders somewhat; his arm came in firmer contact with mine, but I resisted moving away. There wasn’t much away to move to, and besides, I didn’t want him to think that I was repulsed by him. On the contrary, I found his solidness…not unwelcome. It was the Mirror’s vision that tainted our closeness.

“My solitary existence is not by free will,” he said, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I am required—” He broke off abruptly and didn’t continue.

I turned my head, regarding him in the dark. I couldn’t see much more than his silhouette against the light backdrop of our linen cover, but that was enough to spot the bob of his throat.

On the morning our quest began, he’d mentioned reports he needed to deliver to the capital, his duty to protect the realm . What else was he required to do—or not do? While many knightly Orders were well-known and respected, the Oaths knights took were highly secret. And seeing as I’d never heard even a frightened whisper about the monsters Idris fought—not even a hint of such abominations from the farthest-flung guests who passed through the Possum—it seemed logical to assume his Oath was somehow tied to their existence. Warped Fate .

We were skirting too close to his Oath again. While I wouldn’t hesitate to ask personal questions, an Oath went deeper than personal secrets.

I looked at the trembling rope that held up our ceiling. “You don’t have to explain yourself,” I said. “But beware, I can’t promise my own gentlemanliness; I’m a natural snuggler, and my nightmares persist. Apologies in advance for how that combination will manifest.”

His tone was warm with humor when he said, “Thanks for the warning.”

Indeed, as the night aged, I found myself inching closer to Idris—for warmth and security. Cold leeched up through my blankets from the hard ground, chilling me. Grim dreams sent my heart racing. I’d nod off, only to find myself pressing into his side, desperate to steal his heat and safety; I’d readjust with more space between us, but it was no use against my instincts in slumber. It felt like my first nightmare all over again—I could still recall the hardness of his chest beneath my clutching fingers.

Meanwhile, Idris remained stone-still beside me, his hands folded on his stomach beneath his blanket—either asleep, or politely ignoring my delirious invasion of his personal space. Eventually, I turned my back toward him. But as the night wore on, the cold worsened, and I began to shiver, teeth chattering. I tried to magically keep the sound low, so as not to disturb him, but when fitful sleep weakened my hold on my magic, the clacking of my teeth and the hiss of my quick breaths returned to their normal volume.

Late in the night, Idris sighed long and low, roused by my shivers. I poked my nose up out of my cocoon, about to apologize for keeping him up, but I was cut off when he peeled back my blanket, exposing my body—still clad in my travel clothes, sans tunic—to the cold air.

“Fucking Fates,” I swore.

But Idris wasn’t being cruel; he was rearranging our blankets: flattening mine against the ground and using his to cover us both—our barrier gone. He added Briar’s saddle blanket on top, its thick woven material insulating us further.

Idris resettled on his side behind me, tucking my shivering body against him. It was reminiscent of sharing a saddle, only without the breastplate between us. He curled against me, his chest enveloping my back, hips fitting firmly against my ass. His warmth was…delicious. Compared to my chilled skin, he was an inferno. I was too cold to be embarrassed by the contact; I nestled against him gratefully.

“Is this alright?” he murmured, his breath heating the tender skin of my neck.

“ Warm ,” I muttered appreciatively.

He let out that breathy laugh of his, another hot gust across my flesh. He reached for the edge of the blanket and lifted it higher, until only the top of my head was uncovered. He continued to breathe down into the blanket, and so did I, our exhales gradually banishing some of the chill. Meanwhile, he rubbed my upper arm, bringing heat into my skin through the thin linen of my underclothes. The rough pressure of his touch rocked me against him, but I was too frigid to feel self-conscious about the rhythm.

I relished not just his warmth, but his care. Back in Waldron, I was always helping others—fixing fences, lending an understanding ear, validating and assisting. Even with Remy, I had always been the one to provide free drinks and a free stay. After how thoroughly Waldron had welcomed me, it felt like the least I could do, and while I drew immense joy from being useful, occasionally I did feel a little… used .

Nowadays, it was a rare thing, for me to be cared for.

So as Idris looked after me, I felt not just my muscles melt, but also my resolve.

Long after my shivering subsided, he kept on rubbing my arm, his movements slowing the drowsier I got, until eventually, I fell asleep in his embrace.