The mask was gone. The stone-cold, emotionless warrior who had been her shadow in the palace of Ackwood was gone. So was the furious Fae male who had bruised her wrists. What remained were eyes, deep like the sea of time, full of its sorrow, too. And a yearning that so far she only knew from the high priests and priestesses when they plead to Vala for forgiveness for the sword-fighters’ missions.
It was enough to let her shut her eyes so she would not tumble into the hidden world behind the blue mystery. The gods knew she wanted it. Wanted to lean into his palm, let the burden on her shoulders ease, if only for a moment—
As if he’d read her mind, Nehelon adjusted his hand so he cupped her face, thumb brushing away the moisture under her lashes. “You will learn over time, Gandrett, that who you believe me to be and who I am are not exactly the same.” He paused, now running his other hand over her forehead, down her temple on the other side of her face. She didn’t open her eyes, not yet, the callouses of his broad hands caressing her skin triggering a sensation she had never experienced. “And I am not sure that’s a good thing,” he added.
For a long time, the warmth of her skin in his palms was all he knew, his words losing all meaning. Her tears had ebbed, leaving her lashes in the shape of half a star, but regardless, her eyes remained closed as if she was seeking sanctuary in his touch. He leaned closer until his face was mere inches from hers, and her features, now relaxed and calm between his hands, dissolved before his vision, leaving him with the sensation of her breath on his lips.
Something stirred inside of him. A long-forgotten emotion that had led only to loss and pain in the past. And before she could blink her eyes open, he drew back enough to escape the draw of her quiet beauty.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nehelon stood watch while Gandrett washed up in the nearby stream then dressed in the fresh, midnight-blue riding gown Mckenzie had packed for her. It was more revealing than the green one and definitely not meant for practicability as much as to impress Armand Denderlain.
She stepped into her boots, fastened the broad golden belt around her waist, and braided her hair back. Then she slipped both necklaces on, hiding the pendants between her breasts under the gold-woven fabric.
“Who rides in a dress like this?” she demanded as she emerged from the bushes that separated Nehelon and the carriage from the stream.
“You, apparently,” Nehelon joked. He actually joked, lips relaxed despite the caution that had snuck back into his eyes.
She tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about the words he’d spoken in the carriage either. You will learn over time, Gandrett, that who you believe me to be and who I am are not exactly the same.
She shook her head and folded the dirty green gown on her way back to the carriage where Farlon was waiting with a pack and two bedrolls.
“I’m sorry I can’t take you further.” He looked sorry, too.
Nehelon patted the man’s shoulder—a gesture that was as natural from a human as it was shocking from the contained male. “Thanks for bringing us this far,” he actually thanked the man before he dove into the carriage to pull out a bundle of clanking metal. “We have all we need.”
Farlon inclined his head and climbed back onto the carriage seats, picking up the reins from the leather bench. The horses stomped, eager to get out of the trees.
Gandrett waved as Farlon maneuvered the carriage to turn around in the narrow space and found the man smiling at her as he steered the horses back onto the path and away. “Good luck,” he called over his shoulder. Gandrett couldn’t tell if he had spoken to her or Nehelon.
As she placed her bedroll on the ground and slumped—as far as the tight bodice of her dress allowed it—Nehelon had laid out an assortment of weapons on his own bedroll and was kneeling before them on the mossy forest ground.
“For me?” she asked, assessing the variety of blades and the beautifully carved bow sitting in the dimming evening light filtered by the thickening crowns of trees above them.
Nehelon picked up a short dagger. “This should fit under your dress on your thigh,” he explained, focusing on the shiny blade as he weighed it in his broad hands.
Gandrett glanced down at her skirts and wondered if—even if there was the dire need for a blade—she would ever manage her way through the fabric in time. It would be hard if she had to retrieve it herself, too.
“And this,” Nehelon laid down the dagger and chose a small, curved knife instead, “Will fit into the bodice. He glanced at the spot between her breasts where the two pendants were already hidden and buried his lips.
Gandrett placed a hand on her chest as if she could deflect his gaze. “It might stab me while riding,” she pointed out, focusing on the practical details as she ran her hand down to her navel.
“Not if you do it right.” With unsettling force, Nehelon jumped up and was beside her with two strides of his long legs. He reached out a hand, evading her doubtful gaze—“Allow me.”—and as she didn’t object, he grabbed the seam of her neckline right above her breasts with two gentle fingers and pulled.
Gandrett didn’t breathe.
Much to her surprise, his calloused knuckles didn’t brush her skin as he slipped the blade into a hidden compartment that seemed to run from right under her nose down to where she had placed her hand on her stomach.
“Mckenzie had this installed for you so you can slit Denderlain’s throat if he ever gets too close.” He pulled back his hand but remained kneeling before her, eyes now lingering on her face.
The hard shape of the blade winding along her chest and stomach made her sit up straight, raising her face closer to his. “When you see her, tell her I said thanks.”
Nehelon smiled a crooked smile that made Gandrett wonder if that blade was poking through her skin as he said, “The compartment was Mckenzie’s idea, but the blade is mine.” He turned to the side to pick up a pack and opened it while getting to his feet.
“Thank—” Gandrett halted. Never thank a Fae or you’ll be eternally in their debt. A debt they will make you pay over and over again. Gandrett remembered the words from her childhood. The legends of the heartless creatures of Ulfray. “Thank the gods you brought weapons,” she corrected, her heart not nearly back to normal speed.
And she was sure he could hear it.
Lim and Alvi were grazing, side by side, by the nearest tree where the sun had allowed a small patch of grass to grow, their chewing a slow beat to the fading bird voices and awakening forest nightlife.
“You should eat.” Nehelon handed her a piece of fruit cake then scanned the trees around them. “Tomorrow morning, you’re going hunting.”
Gandrett shuddered as he rubbed his fingers, cake crumbs falling to the ground, then flexed his fingers and rotated his wrist in a slow circle.
She felt it before she saw it. Twigs and leaves were growing like a natural wall around them, enclosing them the way the earthen circle had in the desert.
“We don’t want that wolf to find you early,” he explained, but there was no smile on his lips now. Just the cautious expression that he had been wearing in the carriage before.
With those words, he rolled up the bundle of weapons and shoved it under his pillow then laid down, eyes on the patches of sky visible through the canopy of leaves.