Phoenix Unbound
Page 20

“I’m sure he won’t mind, and it would be best if your man went with you. We’re not far off the traveler road, and it’s mostly safe, but not all those who travel it are.”
To argue would undoubtedly raise suspicion. Gilene let it go and occupied the remainder of the time Asil worked on her hair in idle chat with her and Halani. When Azarion came to fetch her, her hair was combed smooth, and she wore the tunic Halani gave her. Someone had brushed her shoes free of dust and even mended a hole in the side where her small toe had rubbed through the worn leather. Outside, the temperature carried the snap of an early spring chill, and she shivered in anticipation of an unforgiving bath in an icy stream.
Still, she breathed in the fresh air gratefully. The wagon bed was far more comfortable than the hard portico floor of a broken temple in a haunted city, but her muscles craved movement and her lungs the green scent of the forest around them. Brightly painted wagons formed a circle under an oak grove’s newly leafed canopy, and through the spaces between the tree trunks and the wagons she caught sight of the ribbon of dusty road that marked the caravan path.
Curious members of Halani’s trader band came up to introduce themselves, some to offer her good health, others to do no more than stare for a moment or nod and move on to whatever task called their attention. Hamod, the man Halani called uncle and Asil called brother, was one of the ones whose gray gaze bore holes into her before he gave a cursory tilt of his head and walked away. He reminded Gilene of Azarion in a way.
When the gladiator arrived, he eyed her up and down before finally speaking. “You’re feeling better, wife.” The term spilled easily off his lips. He bowed briefly to Halani and Asil. “You’re in fine hands with these two.” Asil giggled and blushed while Halani gave a small bow before tugging her mother away from them.
“You can keep the soap cake if there’s any left, Gilene,” she called back over her shoulder.
Gilene hugged her laundered clothes and gift of soap to her chest and returned Azarion’s stare with a bland one of her own. “As much and as easily as you lie, how do you remember what the truth is?” She shouldn’t goad him. He hadn’t yet used violence against her physically, only threatened to hurt others if she didn’t cooperate, and that was bad enough. Still, he was more than capable of killing her with no more effort than it took to kill a chicken. She didn’t want to die. She couldn’t die. Not yet at least.
Her insult rolled off him. “I remember because I must. There’s always a grain of truth embedded in a lie.” He gestured for her to walk beside him as he headed toward the stream Halani mentioned.
“I am not, never have been, and never will be your wife,” she snapped as she fell in step beside him.
His exasperated snort sent a vapor cloud streaming out of his nostrils to dissipate in the cold air. “To these people you are. Thus, a truth.” His green gaze flickered to her. “How are your burns?”
His unexpected inquiry almost made her stumble. Had that truly been a question of concern or one of self-interest? He was so unpredictable. Threatening and cold one moment, solicitous the next. “Healing,” she said, wary of this conversation. She noted the way he walked, the concentrated rhythm of his breathing. “Your ribs?”
He gave another one of those annoying, indifferent shrugs. “Hurting but I’ll live. I’ve dealt with worse.”
Of that, she had no doubt, though something in his tone made her glance at him twice, a jagged splinter of emotion that spoke of more than just physical pain.
He snagged her hand in his and held on, even as she tried to pull free. He tightened his hold. “Half the caravan is watching us. Act as if you at least like me.”
“But I don’t like you, and I’m not the gifted liar you seem to be.”
“Is that so? Tell that to the Empire, Flower of Spring.”
His mouth twitched at one corner at her wordless growl, even as she allowed her fingers to relax in his palm and cursed his name under her breath.
They reached the stream without further argument, and Azarion let go when Gilene yanked her hand out of his clasp hard enough to nearly lose her balance and fall into the water. She refused the steadying hand he offered and hugged her folded clothing even closer. Water rilled over the tops of her shoes, soaking through the leather to chill her feet. Getting clean trumped the desire to stay warm, but this would be unpleasant bathing at best.
She scowled at Azarion, who eased down on a flat swath of stone at the stream’s edge. Unlike her, he looked clean and refreshed, his hair thick and soft where it grazed his shoulders. A burnished glow sheened the brown skin of his face and arms. Even the places where bruises and healing cuts mottled his flesh didn’t detract from his looks. Unbothered by the damp stream spray, he turned his face up to the sun, eyes slitted nearly closed against the golden light spilling through the clouds.
If she didn’t despise him so much, she might appreciate his beauty.
He slanted her a look. “Are you going to bathe or just stand there all day staring at me?”
If she didn’t need the soap, she’d throw it at him. “Turn your back. I’ll not have you watching me bathe.”
“You possess nothing I haven’t already seen a hundred times,” he said. “And you may need my help.”
“I need you to free me so I can return to Beroe.”
He stood again and approached. “So you’ve said. Often.” He tapped his left shoulder. “Lean on me. I’ll help you remove your tunic.”
As much as she hated to admit it, she did need his help. After three days in a bed, her legs were unsteady, and she tired quickly. The short walk to the stream had drained what energy she still had from earlier, and the clothes she held felt more like an armful of rocks than skirts and a tunic. Azarion relieved her of her burden, letting her keep the soap, and put her clean garb on the rock he’d abandoned.
“Raise your arms,” he instructed. “I’ll ease the tunic over your head.” She followed his command, her back protesting the movement, the place where her magic had marked stretching tight the higher she lifted her arms. But there was no pain, just the stretching. Halani’s poultices had worked a magic of their own.
She put aside her crumbling modesty upon noting Azarion’s lack of interest in her naked body. Instead, his gaze locked with hers. “You may be healing,” he said. “And I may be injured, but I can still run you to ground and bring you back if you try to escape. And I will tie you to me if necessary.”
Cold and nakedness forgotten, Gilene worked up a froth of saliva and prepared to spit in her opponent’s face.
“Do it, and I’ll just spit back,” he warned.
“So much for fooling others into thinking I like you,” she snarled. “What will they think seeing me tethered to you?”
“That you’re a faithless shrew deserving of a beating once I toss aside my pride and admit I caught you trying to return to your lover.” He grabbed her hand and dropped the soap into her palm. “Take your soap and get to washing. We can’t be here all day. Keep your shoes on. There might be sharp rocks in the water.”
The temptation to reach down, grab a handful of those rocks, and pelt him with them was almost more than she could resist. Instead, she clambered through the calf-high water to sit partially submerged in the icy stream. Her teeth chattered hard enough to make her head hurt as she soaped her body and then her hair, giving both a thorough scrubbing. By the time she finished, her toes and hands were numb, and her breasts ached. There was nothing left of the soap.