A Curse of Blood & Stone (Fate & Flame 2)

“No, she lived off Quarter Pounders and street meat, and she would kill for a bite of that right now.”

“I will not pretend to understand what you just said, but you devouring wild boar would certainly stir unwanted questions.”

“But I’m so hungry.” I lean in and inhale.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “If you really want some, I will bring you a piece once we are in the privacy of a tent,” he promises, adding, “though I doubt Princess Romeria’s body will appreciate it later.”

“Yeah, well, she better learn to adjust because I’m tired of living her life.”

“And yet Zander is right. She is the best cover for you right now, given recent revelations. Unless you’d like Abarrane to test her dagger on your skin again.”

My focus veers to where the commander stands at the river’s edge, her back to it, her head swiveling between the camp and her tent. A sentry on guard, ready to spring at any second, despite a still-oozing wound. There is one other person in this camp she might trust less than me, and that’s Queen Neilina’s elemental caster.

As if sensing my attention, her sharp eyes dart to me and narrow, assessing.

Whatever ground I gained with her that day of the royal hunt is lost, leaving us at odds again. I doubt she’ll be willing to train me to fight, something I’m in desperate need of learning if I’m to survive in this world.

I need to remind her of that day we fought together against the nethertaur. She needs to remember that I’m not the enemy, that I can be a powerful ally. How powerful, she has no idea, but neither do I. I need to—

The surge of adrenaline floods my body a second before a wave rises from the river’s surface and sweeps over Abarrane, drenching her from head to toe.

“Oh hell.” My gold ring is warm against my skin, my stomach twisting in knots.

Warriors shout and draw their weapons, moving into a defensive stance, searching the trees for the unseen enemy.

“You did not,” Elisaf chides.

“I didn’t mean to!” Why did I just do that? It’s not going to help my cause.

A look of cold shock stalls Abarrane for one … two … three seconds before her hate-filled gaze swings to me. She marches toward us, her dagger suddenly in hand. Even with her heavy limp, she’s menacing.

Elisaf curses, scrambling to his feet, drawing his sword.

“I didn’t mean to!” I echo myself, though I doubt she hears me. I doubt she cares. But if she harms so much as a single skin cell on Elisaf …

“Abarrane!” Zander’s deep voice cuts into my panic, pulling the camp’s attention from the coming massacre to the tent. He fills the doorway, his hand pulling the flap open. “Come. Now.”

I can practically hear her teeth gnashing as she reluctantly pivots toward the tent, water dripping from her clothes and braids.

I sag against the tree trunk.

Zander searches the camp, quickly finding me. His chest lifts with a deep breath, the seriousness of his expression only stirring more anxiety. What has Gesine told him?

He jerks his head, beckoning us to come, before vanishing inside.

I pull myself to my feet, longing for a hot bath, clean clothes, and some of Wendeline’s salve for my chafed thighs. All things I suspect I am a long way from ever seeing again.

“While I am sure we will one day laugh at that, perhaps you can refrain from doing it again.” A hint of annoyance laces Elisaf’s tone, his sword still in hand as we head for the tent.

My nerves churn. Plenty of hostile eyes are on me, but the ones I feel most acutely are soot colored and paired with a smirk. What amused Jarek, I can’t guess—was it dousing Abarrane, or that I’ve managed to make her hate me more?

I do my best to ignore the warrior as I duck into the tent.

Inside is absent of luxuries. No couches to lounge on or rugs to tread upon like those from tents at the king’s hunt. There’s nothing but a single skin off to one side. But I guess that’s to be expected. This is the tent of a military commander who ran from battle with nothing but the weapons on her body. She doesn’t seem the type to demand comforts.

But, for as vacant as it is, the way Zander paces around the space, his hands clasped at his back, his face stony, it doesn’t feel sparse or empty at all. The moment his eyes touch mine and I see the indifference that hides the man I’ve come to know behind the shield of a king, it’s clear something monumental has shifted.

Hovering near him is Gesine, unharmed by all appearances.