Gandrett was still taking turns staring at the wall and at Nehelon, who had reopened his eyes and looked slightly smug as he prowled past her to stroke the horses’ necks.
That—she gaped at the power of his magic, at what he had just produced from flat, barren ground—was the reason why it was wise to fear him. That power. If he could easily create a crater the size of the pond at the priory…
She didn’t even want to consider what else he was capable of. And she had the slight impression she might find out for herself if she so much as brought it up. But as she crawled back to her feet, having dropped to her hands and knees on the rattling ground from fear it would crack open right beneath her and swallow her, she found Nehelon watching her with moon-lit eyes, half-annoyed, judging by the thin-pressed curve of his lips.
“You should have seen yourself,” he said and raked his fingers through the mane of his horse, “like a beetle on the ground.” With efficient steps, he crossed under the neck of the mare to get to the side of the gelding where he started unbuckling bridle and saddle. “Almost as if you believed something in the wide, flat land could fall on your pretty head.” He smirked at her over the horse’s back, teeth catching the moonlight.
Gandrett felt her fear subsiding as anger at the impossible Fae male threw itself above it in layers woven of shame and annoyance. “You think I’m pretty,” she bit at him before she could stop herself, an attempt to hide any emotion.
But Nehelon’s face went blank at her words, and he shook his head as if he was trying to shake off a spider in his hair. “That’s beside the point,” he threw at her, crossed the space between them, and dropped the horse’s gear on top of the mare’s which was right beside Gandrett’s foot. “I think you’re pathetic.”
Gandrett had expected many things including torture and death at his hands, but what she hadn’t been prepared for was this: cold insults. And even less, that they would hit her right in the heart. He knew nothing about her, and just because he may have bought her from the order for a bag of coins, he didn’t have the right—
She turned slightly and assessed the protective walls he had created without even touching the soil and debated scowling, but she was too exhausted, her legs still sore and her bones aching from riding in the wind and cold all day long. Without another word, she stalked to the point farthest away from him and laid down on the ground, ready to ignore him.
Nehelon chuckled at the other side where he was laying out the horses’ gear to dry off from the mounts’ sweat. Then he lifted a pack from the ground and chucked it toward her.
It landed half a foot from Gandrett’s head, making her cringe back toward the reassuringly-solid wall, her hand reaching for the empty spot on her belt where her sword had been hanging this morning—the one which was now dangling from Nehelon’s hip like a toy copy of his jeweled blade. “Why don’t you just knock me over the head with it?” she barked, “At least then I’ll sleep.”
Nehelon roared with laughter—not the happy kind—and prowled to her side to pick up the pack and open it. “Here.” He extracted a blanket and dropped it on the ground before her, followed by digging deeper to pull out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. “You think I’d spend a fortune to get you out of there just to let you freeze and starve the first chance I get?”
His gaze made clear he didn’t expect an answer as he tossed her the bundle, one eyebrow rising in obvious surprise as she caught it with one shaky hand.
Close, he was too close. And the power, that brute strength, it enveloped him like a brewing storm. Gandrett sat back on her heel, praying that her fear wasn’t written plain on her face… Even if it wasn’t, the relentless thrumming of her heart was enough for his Fae ears to pick up on her rising panic as her eyes searched the earthen wall for a way out.
Not that running made any sense with someone like him. He’d have her in his grasp before she even reached an exit. Now Gandrett scowled. Not at him but at herself. She had been trained better than to flinch at the sight of a seemingly insurmountable obstacle. She wasn’t the best warrior in the priory for nothing.
Gandrett felt his gaze on her as she opened the bundle and pulled out a piece of dried meat, but she didn’t look up to give him the satisfaction of seeing her wonder if this was even edible for humans—or if it might even be human meat. Instead, she made her hand lead one chunky slice to her mouth and took a bite.
Nehelon chuckled again and leaned closer, lowering his head enough to look into her eyes. “I told you, poisoning you now would be a waste of money.”
For some reason, his words were not reassuring.
Chapter Nine
She looked pale in the morning sun, nestled into the rough blanket he’d offered her the night before, strands of chestnut hair that had slipped from her braid tangled around her head. Pale. The hard lines of fear and frustration had left her features the second exhaustion had swept her into a restless sleep. He had watched her all night, his Fae senses—even over the constant wind—allowing him to tell when her heartbeat had slowed enough to consider sleep himself, and he had turned his eyes on her the second she drifted off.
Gandrett. How little she was like he’d imagined her. Nothing like it. He had expected a raw diamond, and what he’d found was a bitter lump of coal. Intriguing in its own, dark way, but nothing like the bright crystal he had imagined. He had seen it in her face—pretty as it may be—as she had tried to hide her scowl from him. With all her skill and all her training, there was one thing she lacked: heart.
And now, for hours he had been studying her, spying on her while she’d been resting, not taking a minute to rest himself as he guarded the horses and his most treasured belonging—not his. That of Tyrem Brenheran. Something in his chest stirred, unfamiliar and unwelcome. He smothered it and decided it might be for the best. If fear, obedience, and discipline were the only things she knew—had known for a decade—trust might not be what he’d need to get her to work with him.
And yet, something was there on her features in her sleep that told him not to trust what she was letting on. She had been trained by the best, by the Meister himself—a training very few received. Even with his Fae senses, he couldn’t look inside her mind or inside her heart. While her thoughts he might be able to draw from her through torture, what was inside her heart she’d have to give willingly.
He got to his feet, pulled off his blanket, and flapped it over her shivering body instead. Then, with a last look at her, he strolled over to the horses, where he stretched out on the cool ground and closed his eyes, sensing the sounds of the desert night retreating before the climbing sun.
Nehelon was sitting on the ground, cross-legged, chewing absently, when Gandrett opened her eyes to find herself not half as freezing as when she had fallen asleep and was curled up under more weight than she remembered. Behind him, the horses were saddled, their noses in a heap of hay of a size that made it difficult to believe it had been transported in one of the packs.
With a groan, Gandrett sat up, her legs still sore and her back aching from lying on the hard ground. She couldn’t remember when she had fallen asleep, only that her dreams had been full of collapsing houses and men carrying leather pouches stuffed with coins. With a slow hand, she reached for her pounding head. Water, she needed water—