I can’t answer that. Keiran waits, expecting a response. When I don’t offer one, he shakes his head and begins to pick his way carefully down the trail. He doesn’t look back.
I hate the pang of guilt in my chest over keeping this a secret from him. But if I tell him the truth, he’ll tell me to stop, and we’re not safe yet.
Later. I’ll tell him later, once we’re in the North.
With that decided, I nudge my horse forward and follow after him.
Chapter Twenty
Keiran
Lugh has managed the impossible. We’re tucked away in a ramshackle fisherman’s hut on the coast near the crossing from the Mainland to the Northern Realms, resupplied and ready for the last leg of our journey. No one in the village will learn of our presence until the morning, when they find our borrowed horses in the public stables. It was a risky move, but the creatures served us well on the journey and deserved better than being turned out into the winter landscape without any kind of care.
It’s a miracle Lugh didn’t get caught as he settled them in. He wouldn’t let me sneak into the sleeping village to help him. It’s not because he doubts my strength. I’ve long since recovered from the transformation, in large part due to Lugh’s care the days immediately following the incident. No, there’s some other reason he wouldn’t let me tag along, more than his excuse that he could hide behind glamour while I couldn’t. This evasion is the newest in a strange, growing tally of secrets.
He navigated us through the Wylds without hesitation, though all we had was a rough map. An avoidance of certain areas that ended up housing small groups of Goodfellow’s troops, inconsistent stops at odd hours of the day and night to cross thoroughfares, the bizarre randomness of when we could or couldn’t have a fire...none of these seem odd by themselves. But combined with Lugh’s increasing sleeplessness and moments of abstraction, those warning signs have grown to signal fires and I’m standing so close their heat singes my skin.
Something’s wrong. After dinner, I settle into my bedroll on the dusty floor and wait for Lugh to join me. Hours later, his bedroll remains empty. He sits on the windowsill, barely illuminated by the lone candle we dared to light since the only windows face the sea. He stares out through glass at the swirling snow and dark waves. From time to time, his hand flexes on his knee like he’s been startled by something he sees. If he let me stand near him, I’d reach out and take his hand in mine, coax him to tell me what’s bothering him. But that’s an intim
acy I don’t think he’d offer now.
We haven’t touched since the reassuring kiss he gave me before we escaped that first valley with its nearly invisible trails. Even the casual, familiar contact we’ve shared over centuries stopped. I know my anxiety over stepping into Aage’s role has risen as we close the distance to the North and our potential army, but I don’t think I’ve been pulling away. At least, not like Lugh has. I miss him running his fingers through my hair when we curl up together to fall asleep. I miss drawing him into my arms and feeling him press his face against my chest right before his tension slides away. I miss his mouth and the teasing pressure of his kisses, newly discovered and achingly absent now that I’ve finally had a taste. I miss him, miss him more than ever when the scant distance between us in this shack grows every passing minute.
“Lugh,” I call softly when he rubs at his eyes, “come to bed.”
“I’m fine,” he says, without glancing at me. “Go to sleep. I’ll join you in a bit.”
A lie, an obvious one, and I hate how it cuts through me.
Enough. I drag off the blankets and stand, frustrated by his indifference. His shoulders tighten when he hears me stalk toward the window.
“No. You sleep for a while and when you wake, we’ll trade off.” He starts to protest, but I cross my arms over my chest and stand firm. “This isn’t open for debate. You need rest. I swear, I won’t touch you or bother you. But, please, try to sleep for a little while.”
My show of temper must surprise him. For the first time since we settled in here, he looks at me. My throat tightens from the unexpected moment of connection. He’s a portrait done up in shades of shadow. The deepening smudges under his eyes and his tight jaw catch the candle’s flickering light. He’s hurting and I think it’s my fault, and I don’t know how to fix it.
“You don’t bother me,” he says.
“Don’t lie to me again,” I snap, too tired and unwilling to deal with any of his attempts to argue. “You said you loved me. You said it’s always been me. You said you’d never leave me, but you have, Lugh.”
He slides from the windowsill and squares off against me, his chin raised, his eyes flashing, and his teeth bared in a feral snarl. “I am standing right here.”
“In body.” I reach out and rest my fingertips against his chest, right over his heart. His breath stutters and I give a short, sharp press before dropping my hand. “Only in body.”
He stretches his hand toward me. I step out of his reach. He doesn’t get to touch me now, not when every doubt I have is clawing its way out of me. My retreat shocks him to sudden, horrible stillness. He swallows hard before asking, “What do you want from me, Keir?”
Doubt and worthlessness vie for supremacy, leaving me sick from the thought of this ending. It’s strong enough to awaken the belt, which feeds on those emotions and tries to give them back to me with greater and greater strength until I give in and use the magick to escape this conversation. No. Queen Mab won’t decide what happens between Lugh and me. This moment is too important to be tainted by her presence, too painful to risk the temptation of escape. I reach down and unbuckle it, pointedly focusing on not channeling the power when I toss it away. “I want you back. We’ve spent the past week running through the Wylds without talking or touching. You won’t even look at me. If this is goodbye, at least have the courage to say so.”
“I asked you to trust me,” he counters, avoiding my challenge. “I’m not going anywhere—”
“Prove it,” I interrupt. If we get this over with now, we can lick our wounds and be composed enough for an official separation in the North. “What are you hiding from me? You’ve ridden like the gods drew a path only you could see. No visitation could last so long or be so specific. I need to know how you’re doing this. An entire people are in my care now and...” I growl and tug at my beard, hating how difficult it is to find the right words. “This is bigger than us.”
It kills me to say that. To admit Lugh can no longer be my sole concern and to stand by that decision. To ask him to prove he’s not a threat to the people he’s spent so long protecting. It’s a betrayal of the man I trust and love above all others in the world, and of the life we’ve crafted together in the Wylds.
For a long time, we stand in silent opposition. He struggles with an admission I can’t guess at. I wait and pray Lugh chooses me.
“I’ve been asking the shades for help.”
He won’t meet my eyes. There’s more to it than this.