Page 22 of The Sorcerer's Alpha

“I imagine I could convince it to stay still. Or run it up against a hillside so it can’t escape. Isn’t that how one hunts?”

Marut couldn’t suppress a smile. The wizard sounded as if he were discussing a bizarre foreign custom from some distant land beyond the ocean. “That’s one way, yes.”

“I’ve learned many things from my reading, as you see,” Sycamore said, with a greater degree of dry humor than Marut would have expected from a man so recently risen from his sickbed. “Now that I’ve mastered horsemanship, archery is next in my sights. Soon I’ll be an expert hunter in my own right.”

“I’m sure,” Marut said, and cursed himself silently when Sycamore quirked his eyebrows and said nothing further. He was hopeless at conversation and sorrier for it now than he had ever been before in his life. He would be pleased to hear anything else the wizard had to say.

The squirrel was cooked through. Marut tore the hot meat with his fingers and gave half to Sycamore. They ate in silence and like animals, frantic and focused. The meat was lean and dry, but Marut hardly noticed. He had cooked up the last of the lentils, too, and by the time every morsel was gone, he was actually—blessedly—full.

The wizard drank at length from a waterskin, then set it aside and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I wasn’t entirely joking about the antelope. We’ll need more food than this. I can search for any animals nearby, if you think that’s worthwhile.”

“Yes. To set traps, at the very least.” Marut watched him huddled inside his blanket, his bad arm tucked close at his side. He was relieved to have Sycamore’s quick mind brought to bear on their predicament, and grateful not to have to make every decision alone. He hadn’t expected a wizard would be a good partner in a crisis, but Sycamore had proved him wrong.

“All right. I’ll work on that, and on finding the Sarnoy. Tomorrow we can ride out, if that’s agreeable to you.”

“Yes,” Marut said. “If you think you can ride.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Sycamore said, which Marut didn’t find encouraging. He raked his hair out of his eyes and frowned. Marut saw his bad shoulder shift beneath the blanket. “Could you—I’m not sure I can do this on my own.” He put his right hand inside his cloak, then extended it to Marut, holding a short length of cord.

“Do what,” Marut said stupidly.

“My hair.” Sycamore gestured at his head. “It’s irritating me to no end.”

“Oh,” Marut said. He took the cord from Sycamore’s hand and looked at it. “All right.”

Sycamore put back his hood. Marut rose and moved around behind him to kneel on the ground. Tentatively, he combed his fingers through Sycamore’s hair, drawing it back from his face. He had watched Jyoti do this enough times that he knew how the process worked, and yet his fingers felt clumsy and huge, incapable of performing such a delicate task. The wizard’s hair was soft as silk and very thick. Marut could smell him and tried not to.

“Just tie it back, it doesn’t need to look tidy,” Sycamore said.

“All right,” Marut said. He gathered the wizard’s hair in one hand and wrapped the cord around it with the other, being sure to tie it tightly. A few strands were still loose, but he decided to leave them be instead of going through the whole process again.

Sycamore raised his hand behind his head to touch the tail Marut had made. “That’s good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Marut said. The wizard’s scent filled his nose and coated his tongue. He watched as if in a trance as his hand lifted and his fingertips trailed down the bare span of Sycamore’s nape. He couldn’t resist. Sycamore’s skin felt even softer than his hair.

Oh, Sun Above.

Marut rose to his feet. “It’s warmest in the tent. Or I can keep the fire going, if you’d rather sit outside.”

Sycamore was looking up at him, hood still back, hair tied away from his face by Marut’s hands. Marut crouched to poke unnecessarily at the fire and avoided meeting Sycamore’s eyes.

“The tent is fine,” Sycamore said, after a moment. “Thank you.”

CHAPTER9

Sycamore had expended everything he had on mending his shoulder. He had never done any healing before, although he understood the basic principles. The process had been simple enough once he got going. His shattered shoulder knew where all of its part were meant to be, and each fragment repositioned itself with a bit of gentle nudging. The soft tissue gave him more trouble, but he managed to patch it back together. Simple enough, but all of that had still taken more than two days and left him drained and weary, and wrung out with relief. He hadn’t been sure he could fix himself.

He spent the day resting in the tent. The wind blowing across the grasslands smelled of ice and wanted nothing to do with men. Sycamore was happy to stay out of its way. He slept a little and otherwise listened to the earth, his good hand pressed to the frozen ground beneath layers of blankets. The earth here was cold and slow and quiet and most of the way asleep, but it was content to let Sycamore dream along with it. He let his thoughts wander and waited for the day to pass.

Marut came and went and said little to Sycamore other than to ask if he needed anything. Sycamore didn’t try to press him into conversation. He would be feeling Marut’s fingers on the back of his neck for the rest of his life.

The light faded as night approached. The inside of the tent grew darker and darker. Finally, Marut came into the tent, presumably for the last time, and began rustling around. Sycamore turned over onto his side and watched Marut rummaging through his saddlebags, searching for some unknown object.

“There are reindeer not far from here,” Sycamore said after a minute. “In the hills. A small herd of them. Is a group of deer referred to as a herd?”

Marut turned to blink at him. “I—suppose.”

“Well. We need to go west anyway, so we can ride that way tomorrow and see what there is to be found.”