But years of keeping secrets had made trusting anyone difficult. Perhaps he would have embraced her talent. Perhaps not.
There still might be a chance to find out, but it wasn't now.
She had revenge to wreak.
And a grandmother to comfort.
She had put the guards to sleep.
Luc knew that had to be true, because they had not so much as stirred, even as he and Ava had ridden away.
No one in the tents had stirred either, but he didn't know how she could have spelled everyone, so he assumed they'd just been lucky, there.
It was what she had done to him, though, that disturbed him the most.
He had a faint memory of waking to find her bending over him, and then nothing until he'd woken again, arrow out his chest, two wounds stitched.
He touched the arrow wound with hesitant fingers, something he'd done at least five or six times already. There was pain, but not what he'd expected. His side hurt worse, but he knew that the riding motion was contributing to that.
She followed behind him, saying nothing, but he sensed her slow and then stop behind him when they neared the northern edge of the forest, and he stopped himself, turning the beautiful Gaspatian horse she'd chosen for him around.
“I have to continue north. You need to go east. I think it's best we part ways here.” She spoke earnestly, her gaze flicking from his face to his chest, and then she urged her mount closer to him to check it.
He pulled his cloak around him, covering it up, because he had a sense she was using his injury as an excuse, a way to deflect from other things.
“Ava.”
She raised her gaze to his. “I . . . I hope I can find your Wave and join you later, if that would be acceptable to you?”
Acceptable to him?
He nudged his horse closer to hers, and pulled her close for a deep kiss.
“I want you to come with me now.”
“Even with . . ?” She waved her arm back the way they'd come, presumably to indicate the general's camp.
“Even then.” She had spelled them. Had spelled him to heal him, he was now certain. So far, she had never done him harm. Had only helped him. He wasn't such a coward that he was afraid of strength he didn't understand.
He had seen the fear of his own strength in the eyes of the guards at the Chosen camps, and he would not be like them.
Never would he be like them.
“I want to come with you.” She leaned closer to him, kissed the side of his neck before she drew back. “But my grandmother deserves to see me, hear what happened to her daughter. And I have another task I must complete before I find you again.”
“Does this task have something to do with the Herald?” He knew it did. Had seen the look on her face when she'd left her mother's body lying in the dungeon chamber.
And could he blame her?
The Rising Wave was more than just an instrument of revenge for his own mother's death, but wasn't that how it started?
He would not be a hypocrite.
She studied his face, and must have found no disapproval there, because she gave a slow nod.
He was afraid for her, afraid of the danger she would put herself in, but he could see the determination in her expression. “All I would say is that revenge often twists in our hands, and becomes something else. Joining me, helping me, would be fighting against the Herald just as much.”
She lifted her shoulders. “I have a more personal revenge in store for him, but I'll keep your advice in mind.” She trailed fingers down his cloak. “And I will come and find you as fast as I can.”
“I will look for you every day.”
She hesitated, and he could see the gleam of tears in her eyes as the sun rose behind him.
“I will think of you every day. And hope you are safe.” She bent, fiddling with the flap of his saddlebag, and pulled out a handkerchief.
Her hand went to her neckline, and she pulled out a needle she must have woven into it. It was already threaded, and she looked down at the scrap of fabric, bit her lip, and then sewed a few, quick strokes.
It was his name, he realized.
“Will you keep that against your skin?” she asked. “Think of me, and keep it against your skin?”
“You should put your own name on it, too,” he said.
She looked at him, and then shook her head. “Just in case someone finds it, I'd better not.”
She held it out, and he took it. It was made of fine cotton, smooth to the touch.
“Against your skin,” she reminded him. Then she leaned closer and kissed him, her arm coming around to hold him close. “Goodbye. Be safe.”
She let her horse dance back, then turned it north, and rode, and he watched her until he could no longer see her through the trees.
He looked down at the handkerchief and smiled at the sentimentality of her request. He tucked the fabric into the waistband of his pants, so it was against his skin as requested, and then turned his horse east.
With every step he took away from her, he fought the instinct to turn and follow. To help her reach Grimwalt before he joined his own people.
But he didn't have that luxury.
With every passing day, they would worry about whether to send someone after him, or attempt a rescue.
And with the weather changing, they needed to start moving toward Fernwell, to the warmer climes.
And still, his hands itched to pull the reins north.
Chapter 10
Her grandmother's house lay below as she crested the hill.
The dogs, exuberant and sensing the journey's end, ran down to the gate and milled about in front of it as they waited for her.
A man came from around the side of the house, and Ava recognized him as Tomas, her grandmother's estate manager.
He started at the sight of the dogs, then looked up the hill and saw her riding down, and relaxed a little.
“Tomas.” She called his name as she got closer, and he started again.
“Is that . . . Ava?” He took a step back.
She swung down from her horse and signaled the dogs, so they stopped jumping and behaving badly, and sat calmly as she opened the gate.
“Your grandmother would have loved to be here for this moment.”
The way he said it, in the past tense, she knew.
She bowed her head. “When did she find the way to death's embrace?”
“Six months ago.” He cleared his throat and she looked up to see the sudden hardness in his expression. “When she died, it was her deathbed wish that the borders be closed and all supplies to Kassia cut off in protest of your abduction.”
“I heard the borders were closed.” Although she hadn't thought through what that might mean for her trying to get home.
She had seen the guards, men and women in full Grimwalt colors, watching the way in, and preferred to keep her movements out of the official eye.
In the end, she had been forced to work her way up through the mountains and take one of the passes her grandmother had shown her on the maps that covered her study.
It had taken an extra four days.
“The court decided to honor your grandmother’s last wish, but some are making noises about opening the border up again. It is good you’re back, you can tell them your story.” Tomas looked down at the dogs, and then crouched, rubbing a few heads. “Where did you come across these, then?”