Page 23 of The Crown of Moonlight

“Can you do that?”I ask her.“Is it possible?”

Her hand lies stiff within my palm.Then slowly, she turns it, flattening her palm against mine, threading our fingers together, as if she realises how much I need the connection to another person.She probably does understand it.Mortals die.

“How fast can your body heal?”she asks.“If you were human, you wouldn’t survive if I removed half the flesh that’s gone black.”

“Try.Give me a chance.”

Her hand feels cool and soft and alive against mine.

“The blood loss might kill you.Or shock.Fever,” she says.

“It might not.Either way, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

I don’t know her at all, but I can see that my death would weigh on her if she does what I ask.I’m asking her to do something that might kill me, and that’s an unfair burden.She has every right to reject it.Every right to hate me for what I am, and what we’ve done.For what I’m asking.

“I won’t promise anything,” she says, “but I will do what I can.”

Chapter 11

Rowan for Protection

Flora

T

he fire crackles around the last remnants of the Ever’s bloody bandages and clothing, acrid smoke curling into the shadows.I blink away exhaustion as dawn approaches.Chyr teeters beside the bed, one hand white-knuckled on the chair for balance while I lace him into the bodice of Catriona’s dress.The wool stretches over bandaging and bare skin, his fevered heat seeping into my fingers.

Given that I’ve practically carved him apart like a joint of beef and stitched him back together, only his willpower and stubborn strength keep him upright.If I can get him back to the keep alive, let alone pass him off as a believable companion for my mother, it will be a miracle.

On the bright side, being half-dead has made him accept the indignity of the disguise with less argument than I’d expected.

I step back to assess my work.The sheep’s fleece rolled over the bandaging gives him a bosom nearly as large as Catriona’s, and elsewhere, he fills the dress out by being wide and hard where she is softly padded.Overall, the fit isn’t as bad as I feared, apart from being a foot too short.As a final touch, I arrange the shawl low over his forehead in the way pious old women wear to church.

“There.”I tuck the ends of the shawl under the bodice.“Now stay seated, hunched over, and quiet, and you’ll be drab enough to pass as a giant’s spinster aunt.”

He shoots me a look that promises retribution.“If this is subtle revenge for all that Siorai have done to you, your mind is devious.”

“My idea of revenge would be more painful, trust me.This is self-preservation.Dunhaelic has no men left of fighting age.You’d stand out a mile if anyone saw you.”

“Then I’ll hide so no one sees me.”

“There’s nowhere to hide in your condition.Dressed as a lady’s companion, you’ll be invisible in plain sight.No one would imagine a Rider stooping to disguise himself in a dress.”

“Why would they?”the Ever asks.“Wearing a skirt would make it damned difficult to intimidate, much less kill, someone.And that’s literally half my job.”

“You’re welcome to change back into trousers as soon as you’re strong enough to kill again.Or whenever your magic is back and you can do better.”

“A dress won’t fool anyone.Look at me.”

I let myself study him.His stained-glass eyes shift from honey to gold to brown and green as I look deeper.They glitter with fever, and the soft drape of the shawl only highlights the strength of the jaw and the straight, sure nose, the harsh perfection of his features.

Even half-dead and wearing a dress, Chyr is more treacherously male than any warrior I’ve ever met.Every movement hums with coiled, deadly strength, tempered by intelligence and command.He’s a predator, a hunter.Every sensible part of me wants to run.

“What’s wrong?”he asks.

“Nothing.You’ll be fine.Your face is pretty enough.”

“Pretty?”he repeats.Then he smiles—a slow, wide grin made slightly crooked by a thin silver scar at the corner of his mouth.The imperfection only makes the rest of his face more dangerously beautiful.His eyes light with amusement, and a wicked spark hooks low and deep inside me.I turn away with an unfamiliar ache drying out my throat.