Page 56 of Lana Pecherczyk

“You miss him.”

The statement hung between them. Her continuing silence confirmed what drove splinters beneath his skin.

They continued for a while. The horse’s hooves squelched against sodden earth, occasionally striking buried ancient bitumen with sharp clacks.

Like her previous life.

So her husband’s name was Jeff.

Jeff-ff.

What kind of dumb name was that?

River shouldn’t get annoyed at the distant third member of their unwanted, forced relationship.

At the time of their world freezing, the other Well-blessed women remained in this same location where Elphyne grew. As far as River knew, Blake was the only woman from a distant land. What had she called it? Oz?

More clip-clopping and squelching.

More silence and grave ash on his tongue.

Jeff-ff-f.

The Well wanted what it wanted, and by dragging Blake across thousands of miles to be here, with him, meant it needed something important from both of them … they must be perfect for each other. His body already agreed.

“Fucking Leaf,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Did you say something?”

“Just swatting a leaf out of my face.” He scowled at his flimsy excuse.

They continued at an unhurried pace. The murder’s roost was about two turns of the hourglass away. They could have walked, he supposed. But then they wouldn’t be sharing this horse. He caught himself leaning closer, inhaling the scent of her hair. Yep. Girly floral shit and sunshine. Perfect.

“Why did you return Aspen’s coins?” she asked. “I’m guessing you won that bet fair and square. What was the bet, by the way?”

“He boasted he could avoid my flying dagger. I proved him wrong.”

“You stabbed him?”

“His cursed father took the hit,” he bit out. “Coddling the kid during a war will not protect him.”

A pause. “War, huh?”

“Until Nero is dealt with, we’re at war.”

“Aspen’s not really a kid anymore, though, is he?” she pointed out. “He’s almost at his peak.”

“Oh, you noticed, did you?”

“It was hard not to.” A snort. “I don’t know what’s in your Well’s drinking water, but all the men here are buff spunkrats.”

What the fuck did that mean? River shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe I didn’t want the coin.”

“Right.” Her laugh held unexpected warmth that curled around his spine. “Face it, you’re not nearly as much of a bastard as you pretend to be.”

If she only knew. Lightning seared across his memory—pain, burning feathers, the scent of his charred flesh. His knuckles whitened on the reins.

“I used to know some grumpy cunts,” she continued, plucking a leaf from a passing tree and tucking it into her plant’s soil. “Old mate who worked at the hardware store was so?—”