Page 34 of The Sorcerer's Alpha

Her expression reflected the same wariness he had felt in her thoughts. “I’ve been searching for a well site for nearly a month. You found one in minutes.”

Sycamore wasn’t sure what to say. The water was close, and that helped; the farther something was, the more time it took to locate. And everything went more quickly when the earth was willing to cooperate with him. But this was Chimeg’s native land, and the earth should know and trust her. He had no skills that she lacked.

“Who are you?” she asked when he didn’t reply. “You’re no wayward traveler.”

He didn’t know what was safe to say. He had already been too honest. He was cunning enough at navigating the intricacies of the Chedoy court, but there he knew who his enemies were and understood the potential pitfalls. What he knew of Sarnoy culture came from Temur and books, and he was afraid that what hedidn’tknow could lead him into danger if he revealed the wrong information.

“You’re a sorcerer, aren’t you?” she said. “I’ve heard the tales about what you can do.”

Sycamore placed his hand in his lap. “What tales?”

“They say you can ripen a fruit tree with one glance, and send a flooded river back into its banks. You can summon a mountain before a charging army and halt them in their tracks.” She replaced the panel and drew the rug back over it. “We trade with the mountain people, and they tell us what they’ve heard. I know how rumors are, but I also know there’s usually some truth to them. And now I’ve seen for myself that you use magic as easily as drawing air into your lungs.”

“The mountain people say much,” Sycamore said. His heart beat uncomfortably fast. He didn’t want trouble. He should have taken more time with his searching, pretended to struggle some. Chimeg’s suspicion was all too familiar.

“They say much, and you say little.” Chimeg’s mouth tightened. Then she blew out a breath and shrugged her shoulders. “If you wanted trouble, you would have descended upon us with more than two men.”

“We only want to go home,” Sycamore said. “I know you read me, before. Did you see trouble?”

“No. That’s true. I sensed no malice in you.” She regarded him somberly for another moment before her eyes creased with sudden humor. “Well. I’ll have to set you some additional tasks. It seems Tsetseg made a poorer bargain than she thought.”

* * *

Chimeg kepthim busy for the rest of the day, blessing tents and carts and the stone wall of the sheepfold, until he was depleted and had to sit with the earth for a while to replenish himself. That night he slept in one of the beds in Chimeg’s tent, warm and comfortable, but he woke in the darkness and lay there for a while missing the sound of Marut’s breathing. He was warm when he slept with Marut. He would rather be with Marut now, on a saddle pad on the hard ground in their tent, than here on a soft mattress indoors.

Marut hadn’t been pleased to be parted from him. At first, he had outright refused, but wouldn’t say more about his reasoning than, “I don’t like it,” and once, “Why didn’t you tell her we’re married?” which led to an awkward silence as they both avoided making eye contact.

“All right, noted,” Sycamore had said, after failing to extract any concrete objections. “I would enjoy clean clothing. And perhaps a bath. What harm do you think is going to come to me here?”

“You’re my,” Marut began, and then swallowed and said, “My responsibility. To keep you safe. I don’t know these Sarnoy.” Or trust them, said his arms stubbornly folded across his chest.

A curl of guilty pleasure uncoiled in Sycamore’s gut. He didn’t think of himself as weak or helpless, but he couldn’t deny that he was entirely content to be under Marut’s protection.

His face must have revealed something of his thoughts, because Marut stared at the ground the way he did when he was ill at ease. Sycamore said, “If you truly believe we’re in danger, I’ll defer to you. But if you’re merely suspicious, I think we should stay.”

Marut hitched his blankets higher on his shoulders. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Sycamore had said as firmly as he could, but he was sorry for it now, listening to Chimeg turn over in her bed and wondering whose tent Marut was sleeping in.

In the morning, Chimeg fed him and then sent him out to finish with the wall. Marut found him there, kneeling on the brown grass with his fingertips tucked into the crumbling mortar, binding it back together.

“What are you doing?” Marut asked, standing above him.

Sycamore didn’t look up, too deep in the stone to interrupt his work. “My final task. I’ll be done soon.”

“All right.” Marut crouched down and leaned back against the wall to wait. The day was mild and sunny, with one of the moons visible high above the plains to the south. Sycamore found the weak spots where the mortar was giving way and shored them up, not distracted by Marut’s presence as he might have thought but instead comforted. Marut didn’t try to speak to him, only sat in silence until Sycamore was finished.

Sycamore sat back at last, sighing and flexing his ice-cold fingers. He pulled on his gloves and said, “As you see, I managed not to die.”

Marut’s smile was sudden and blinding. “I see that. Good work.”

Sycamore turned his head aside. A few children were playing nearby, running around with a shaggy black and brown dog. The sound of their laughter rang in the cold air. High above, a raptor circled, broad wings spread.

“Sycamore,” Marut said.

Sycamore could tell himself there was no harm in it, but that was a lie. He liked Marut too much—far more than he should. If his next heat came on without warning, if they were alone on the steppe when it happened, he would need to be detached and businesslike. Only their bodies could be involved. Marut wasn’t his to care for or keep.

“I have something to tell you,” he said, and waited for Marut to meet his gaze. “Tsetseg told me that my childhood tutor is still alive.”