Magnus used his other hand to stroke her opposite arm. “I think it wise to do as little bleeding on the battlefield as possible.”
Nadine snorted. “You fight from the backs of your gegatu. Nothing ever happens to you from the sky. I, on the other hand, have more than enough marks on my flesh. And I didn’t waste any of my own time putting them there.”
Magnus quirked his lips in a considerate expression before dropping his hand to wade in a slow circle until he stood at her back. He gathered up her wet curls and scooped them over one of her shoulders so that her flesh was bare to him, then lifted two fingers to trace the patterns of her tattoos that ran parallel down the column of her spine. His hand dipped beneath the water to follow their path to the swell of her rear. Nadine bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a shiver.
“I can’t imagine these marks are a quick task,” he rasped.
She turned her head back and caught his intense expression out of the corner of her eye. He continued tracing the patterns of her tattoos in long, languid strokes until Nadine had to focus on keeping her breath even. She needed to look away. If he saw the flush of her cheeks, he’d get the wrong idea, as there was no mistaking the sensuality of this moment. She hadn’t been as prepared for it as she’d thought.
The water had darkened his hair, and beads of it hung off the tips of his closely trimmed beard. She smiled at the thought of him offering to cut his hair. Although she would have shorn it herself if only to make a point, it would have been misery for the both of them. He’d have looked ridiculous without it. Like a shaved lion. Thank Yudvir, his idea to bring her here had been a sound one.
The feel of his chest beneath her hands had put her in mind of the moment she’d first touched Yrsa. Of course, touching him felt nothing like touching the gegatu. But the wonder of it was similar. He was unlike any man she’d ever touched. Nothing, no one, could have compared.
A light brushing of curly brown hair covered his chest. His raised and rough scars chafed beneath her palms. Though they were foreign and wild, their order gave them a wondrous beauty and, despite what she’d said, she couldn’t help but appreciate what they represented. This man was dangerous. Strong. He’d killed horrors most men had only ever met in nightmares. And he’d do so many more times, up until the day he died.
Magnus’s hand hesitated at the ribs on her right side. “Tell me of your deeds, kandiri. Where did you get this scar?”
Nadine brought her hand to where he was touching and ran her own fingers over the edges of a slashing scar. Her mouth pulled into a half smile. She answered him without turning.
“My second battle. I was abroad in the western jungles. Samar and I fell captive to a raiding party before the jemadar’s reinforcements showed up. We fought our way through, but a Himbayak fighter nicked me with a bolas full of broken sea shells.” She was quiet for a moment, then started laughing. “Yudvir, so stupid. Shells. I drank myself into oblivion while Samar stitched it up. Just to shut out his teasing.”
Magnus walked his fingers across her back, exploring her at his leisure. She stilled as he brushed a space atop her shoulder on the opposite side the scatta had nicked her. “And those?”
Nadine grunted. “Lash marks.”
His hand jerked away as though her skin had suddenly grown searingly hot. “You were whipped?”
She glanced over her shoulder in time to catch the horrified expression on his face. Nadine’s heart thumped in her chest at that look. She would’ve sworn the idea of anyone showing her pity or remorse of any kind was disgusting. Had so much changed? Nadine looked back at the bank of the pool and inwardly slammed the lid shut on the emotions rousing inside her—feelings as foreign to her as the savage at her back. Feelings she’d no sooner give a name than she’d call the savage “husband.”
She forced out an exaggerated scoff.
“Don’t look so shocked, you idiot. Any child sent to the Edging is whipped as often as he bathes.” Sometimes more than that. That she didn’t have more scars was a testament to her royal heritage, a legacy whose consequences had left far deeper injuries. Those were on her soul instead of her flesh.
“Your sister told me about the Edging,” Magnus rumbled. Nadine almost had trouble hearing him over the bubbling of the water around them.
“Yes. You and Lavinia seem the best of friends.”
That her older sister had divulged so much of Nadine’s life to Magnus still reeked of betrayal. At least, thanks to that same disloyalty, there was very little of consequence Lavinia could actually reveal to the barbarian. She’d simply not been there to know or care what had happened to Nadine.
The water rippled, and Nadine stiffened as Magnus came around to face her. He was hunched down low so his shoulders only stood a few inches above the water, putting them nearly at a height with one another. His gaze fixed upon hers. “What was it like?”
Nadine considered him, the curse to send him to hell already on her lips, but something stirred within her. A longing to be known, and not just by anyone. By this man. The one looking at her with hazel eyes that promised whatever came out of her mouth would mean something to him. Might even change him, though in what way she couldn’t imagine. She was speaking before she even realized she’d opened her mouth.
“It was . . . ” She hesitated, then rose in the water until it reached her waist. His gaze fell first on her breasts, but to her satisfaction, they quickly drifted down to where she pointed, above her right hip. She’d inked a sweeping tattoo to cover the mottled skin of a hideous burn the size of her hand. When he raised his eyes back to hers, she lowered herself back into the water. “That one came on the fourth night. While I was asleep.”
If it was possible to do a double take when one was already staring, Magnus did so just then. “How?”
“The boys of my quarter lit a branch on fire and laid it upon me while I slept. When I woke, my hair had caught fire, and it was only because I’d fallen asleep next to an animal trough that I didn’t die.”
Magnus turned his head to the side like he meant to shake his head, but couldn’t quite manage. “Why would they do that?”
Nadine sucked in her lips. “Because I was the Mushar’s niece? Because I’m a woman? Because of my age?” She shrugged. “Take your pick. I’m only glad none of us had clothes yet, else I would have been scarred far worse.”
Magnus’s brows drew together, creasing his forehead. Before he could speak, Nadine lifted her chin and pointed to her throat, where she knew the faintest line still showed from a near strangling. “That one came later. The boys were older. Fewer, but far more imaginative.”
His jaw worked, but he said not a word. To her surprise, she wanted to tell him more.
“No amount of water would have saved me from that one.” Nadine had trained with the other Ebronian children who’d been blessed or cursed enough to be sent to the Edging. For a slave it was a chance at freedom. For a noble like Nadine? Endless chances at death, even before she’d really lived.
A wash of memories flooded back to Nadine in a furious tangle. Jealous, contemptuous glares on the faces of her recruit-mates. Cruel hands plotting against her. Years of struggle just to survive. And then they’d all grown older, and her enemies’ violence had taken on a lustful edge. She swallowed. “But Samar was there. He was always at my back.”