Page 21

21

Trapped by His Side

T he spot we find to camp is hours from where we were attacked, but it looks exactly the same. Cursed jungle. I try to pretend it’s different enough that we’re somewhere new entirely, that we won’t encounter any more monsters.

It’s not really working. Especially when Storm shrieks and stomps at a slithering emerald body as thick as Daenn’s thigh and as long as one of the towering tree trunks as it disappears into the brush, quickly hidden by the huge green fronds rimming the small clearing.

I shudder and try to focus on setting up the charms Elium gave us and starting a fire.

Daenn tends to Storm. I expect the gryphon to disappear to hunt as he has previous nights, but he must be on edge from the earlier attack too, because he doesn’t stray more than a little way into the jungle.

I prepare a simple dinner from the supplies the monks gave us, setting the wrapped leaves on a stone along the fire’s edge to warm. When it has sizzled long enough, I tug it off gingerly. I hiss at the sharp heat in my fingertips and drop it on the waiting plate more abruptly than intended .

A soft huff of laughter draws my attention to Daenn. He drops to a crouch beside me, reaching his gloved fingers out and snagging the second bundle of food with ease.

“You’re cheating,” I mutter. “I don’t have gloves on like you.”

His mouth ticks up on one side. My heart squeezes at the sight, so familiar from before . I feel like more and more of him is slipping into the Daenn I knew before. I don’t know if being out here is softening him somehow, sanding away the wall he’s erected around himself… or if it’s all my own wishful thinking, my desire making me see what I want to see.

I pull my gaze away from his face, from that teasing smirk that makes me want to lean closer—and my eyes snag on his arm. He’s taken off his armor, and there’s a long tear in his brown tunic. Red rims the ragged edges.

I scramble toward him. “Daenn, you’re hurt!” I grab his arm and examine the wound. It’s a narrow jagged burn, red and blistering, that stretches over his forearm at an angle. I’ve never seen anything like it.

He’s stiff under my arm, and a thread of panic from him reaches me over our bond. His muscles are taut under my touch.

He tugs away before I can release him. “It’s not bad. I barely even feel it.”

I want to grab him again, but instead I turn to my pack and start rummaging. “You can’t leave it untreated. What if it’s poisoned or something?”

“Emi, it’s fine. I’ll tend to it after dinner.”

Maybe he thinks using my old nickname will dissuade me from my course of action, but he is sorely wrong. It only makes me want to take care of his wound more. I pull out the healing kit and flip it open. “We tend to it now. ”

“Please…” He trails off at my quelling look. “You can’t touch me.”

I pause at that, frustration surging. It’s one thing to insist on that when we’re talking, but this—taking care of his injury should supersede that. He’s being paranoid; his magic can’t hurt me. But he’s pale and no doubt in pain. I won’t force the issue now.

“I’ll put on my riding gloves,” I decide aloud. It will make this slightly more difficult, but if this is what I must do to convince him to let me care for him, then I’ll do it. “Now sit down before I make you.”

That smirk ghosts across his face again, probably because the Daenn he’s grown into is one I couldn’t possibly force to do a single thing, but he obediently sits in the dirt right in front of me.

I tug on my gloves and pull out the salve. I hesitate before dipping my fingers in it; will it ruin my gloves? Or worse, what if the leather ruins the salve so it’s useless for him?

“I’ll apply that,” he offers after a moment. “You can do the rest.”

I consider, then agree. I tilt the salve jar toward his free hand. He efficiently strips off his glove and dips his fingers in the salve.

“I’ve been thinking…” I trail off as I watch him smear the salve over his wound. He gives no visible reaction to the touch of salve, but his tension is palpable over the bond. I have to resist the urge to wince despite feeling no pain myself.

I clear my throat and start over. “I was thinking—what if we don’t need to get rid of the magic?”

Daenn’s hand stills for half a moment. His jaw ripples. “No.”

“No, listen. The problem before has always been that it would strike wildly, yes? You couldn’t control it, couldn’t wield it. But I did. I used it during our fight with those riders. I’ve never been able to wield my magic before this bond either, so perhaps you can now too. Maybe you just need to learn to control it so it doesn’t lash out without you willing it to.”

He finishes applying the salve and silently offers me his arm. I pass him a rag for his fingers before setting about carefully rolling his sleeve up without brushing it against the wound or the salve. Once it’s out of the way, I begin wrapping his arm in bandages.

The silence stretches. His gloved hand rests on my shoulder to keep his arm in the right position to wrap, and I find myself resisting the urge to lean into it. His lack of response is a growing thing in the air, making me want to squirm. I focus instead on my task, on the way his muscles ripple under his skin with every slight shift, on the rich light olive tone to his skin.

It’s certainly not a hardship to help him.

I am nearly finished wrapping his arm when he finally speaks.

“If this is a way you can defend yourself while we travel, I encourage you to do so. But it carries too much risk as a permanent solution.” He glances sideways at me. “And if we don’t dissolve the magic, you will have to stay in your current role. You can’t be rid of me while our magics are tangled together. The bracers solve all our problems. They allow me to be free of my magic, and you to be free of me. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Of course,” I say automatically. “Of course I do.” I tuck the end of the bandage under itself and lean back. “You’re done.”

He nods like it’s settled, but there’s a twinge of hurt over the bond. He speaks before I can summon my courage to ask after it. “Thank you. Get some rest; I’ll keep watch. We have a full day of travel tomorrow.”

I bid him goodnight and prepare for bed, a nagging tightness in my chest all the while. I successfully dismiss it until I’m lying on my bedroll, buried under a blanket to keep off the mosquitos and too warm. Then there’s nothing to distract me, and the feeling refuses to be ignored any longer.

Why am I looking for ways to prolong this misery? Neither of us want this bond. I never asked for this. I should keep my mouth shut and leave him to his fate. Whether he survives the bracers with his mind intact is of no concern to me. I will be free of him once the bracers do their job, and that’s all I care about. I don’t want to stay trapped by his side forever. I don’t want to be his wife forever. I want my freedom. I want to be left alone.

…Don’t I?