Beneath the Surface Page 8

  All she could concentrate on was breathing as he swam, not toward the lights—they were pulling away too quickly—but toward the dark shoreline. Trees loomed along the banks, thick evergreen branches outlined with snow. Of course they’d picked this fight out in the middle of nowhere without a town in sight. There would be no hotels or even farmsteads where they could recover. Tremors coursed through Evrial’s body. If the poison on that dart didn’t kill her, the cold might.

  No, she told herself, don’t think like that. She wasn’t going to die on some wild forsaken shore.

  “Lo—oo—ve ap—ples?” she stuttered, trying to distract herself.

  “Sure. They’re terribly important. A man’s most prized possessions, you know.”

  Water continued to stream past as they drew nearer to those towering trees. Finally Maldynado shifted position—his feet must have found the bottom. He released her armpit, and terror flowed into Evrial, a fear that she’d slip away and float—or sink—into the darkness again. But Maldynado was only changing his grip. One arm slipped beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. He lifted her from the water and carried her to the bank.

  The snow made the night seem brighter than usual, but Evrial still couldn’t make out Maldynado’s face, just his dark form above her. It shouldn’t matter, but she wished she could see his face. Somehow it felt important. He’d just saved her life.

  “It’s darned inconvenient that we lost Akstyr,” Maldynado said, teeth chattering as he climbed away from the water. “He does know how to make fire with his mind. I can’t say that I thought to bring matches to a dinner show. Not that they would have survived a dip in the river anyway.” He paused to look around. “No chance of catching the steamboat, I don’t think. They’ve already disappeared around that bend up there. Though sprinting to catch up might keep us warm.” He gazed down at her. “But you don’t look like you’re up to that.”

  “Bastards shot me,” Evrial said, though it came out muffled, and she didn’t know if he could understand.

  “With one of those crossbows? The poisoned ones?”

  Evrial nodded.

  Maldynado growled and looked around again. “If those shrubs come ashore on this side of the river, I’m going to pound them into the ground like a jackhammer.”

  He laid her down, and a grunt of protest escaped Evrial’s lips. Being pressed against his chest had been the closest thing to warmth out there. At least she found—by inadvertently dropping her hand onto the cold snow—that she could move her arms now.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” Maldynado said. “I’m going to try and find a cave or nook or something where we can huddle until you get the feeling back in your limbs. You should probably, uhm, take your clothes off.”

  Having been born in the country, and seen any number of people caught out in the area’s harsh winter elements, Evrial knew the dangers of hypothermia well enough and was already trying to pry open her trouser button, but she did manage a moment of wry amusement over the way he fumbled the statement. Funny to think that a man who had doubtlessly told dozens—maybe hundreds—of women to disrobe would find it awkward to do so now.

  “I don’t think it’s much below freezing,” Maldynado said, “and the snow will be insulating, but that water was cold enough to shrivel up, well, you know.”

  “Love apples?”

  “Precisely so.” Maldynado jogged into the forest. “Be right back!”

  It took Evrial five or six hours—or so it seemed—to remove her soggy boots, socks, and trousers. The shirt and jacket came last. Shivers wracked her body, but she knew that was better than if she stopped shivering. She would have liked to leap to her feet and run to warm herself, and maybe catch that steamboat, but her limbs were still heavy and slow to respond. Fortunately, the trees sheltered her from some of the frosty northern wind that had been gusting downriver, battering the boat with horizontal flakes.

  The snow crusting her bare, numb backside convinced her to see if she could stand. Even using a tree for support, her leaden legs barely held her weight. After a moment of standing on the snow, she chanced sticking her bare feet back into her boots. She draped her clothing on branches to dry, though more likely they’d freeze into stiff sheets of ice. With luck, morning would bring thawing temperatures. She just had to survive the night.

  “Now there’s a unique fashion style.” Maldynado jogged out of the forest and waved toward her boots, or perhaps he was noting the lack of anything except boots.

  “Fashion,” Evrial said, irritated by her chattering teeth, “has never been a pri—priority for me.” She tried a haughty sniff, but her nose was running, and it sounded more like she was trying to tame wild phlegm. “If you don’t like my outfit—”

  “Oh, no. I approve.” Though the darkness hid his face, he winked. She was sure of it. “Come, my lady.” Maldynado extended an arm. “Time to get cozy for a spell.”

  “I suppose there’ll b—be touching.” Evrial couldn’t manage her usual grumble for that word, not with frostbite threatening. She stumbled into Maldynado’s proffered arm and was fortunate that he caught her. She wanted to protest when he swept her off her feet and against his chest again, but it seemed like too much work. Besides, her trembling body betrayed her by snuggling closer.

  “Only in a medically approved manner,” Maldynado said solemnly. “Unless you decide you require vigorous exercise to warm your blood.”

  “What I require is a big furry blanket.”

  “If you wanted furry, you should have been stranded with Books.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that I’m perplexed as to why he’s always accusing me of being the one with simian ancestry.” Maldynado stopped before a sheltered nook between two huge gnarled roots protruding from the base of an ancient cedar. He set her down and waved to a pile of boughs stacked in the hollow. “These will be almost as nice as blankets. Cozy branches with the snow shaken free.”

  “Cozy, huh?” Evrial wrapped her arms around her torso and squatted, gingerly resting her rump on the pile. Meanwhile Maldynado shucked his wet clothing. There wasn’t much to see in the dark, and she found herself regretting that, though she made a show of settling herself in on the branches. She certainly didn’t want him to think she was watching.

  “Comfortable?” Maldynado tugged his boots off.

  “The water dripping from my hair down my back is like icicles licking my skin, my shoulder feels like feral cats are biting their way out from the inside, and there are frozen pine needles stabbing my nether regions.” And she wished he’d hurry up and join her. If she got any colder, she’d turn into an icicle herself.

  “So, that’s a no?”

  Evrial snorted.

  “Just checking. You’re tough; you might appreciate those sorts of hardships.”

  Maldynado slid into the nook, distracting Evrial from whatever retort she might have come up with. He lifted an arm, hesitated, started to put it around her, then ended up propping his hand on the ground behind her. His arm barely touched her back.

  “What’s that supposed to do to keep us warm?” Evrial asked.

  Too cold to worry about modesty, she flung her legs over his, crawled into his lap, wrapped her arms around his torso, and buried her face in his shoulder. She hoped he’d get the idea and return the embrace, because the shivers coursing through her were threatening to shake her teeth out of her jaw.

  Maldynado hesitated again, but finally encircled her with his arms. “Sorry, I’m damp.”

  “Isn’t the woman supposed to say that?” Evrial asked before she could think better of uttering the silly line.

  Several heartbeats thumped past—she and Maldynado were pressed close enough that she could feel them—before he said, “Uhhh. Normally I’d say yes, and that there shouldn’t be an apology with the statement, but... was that a joke?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I haven’t heard you make one before. You’re almost as humorle—
, er, taciturn as Sicarius.”

  Evrial didn’t have a response for that. Being compared to a cold-hearted assassin stung, but could she blame him? She knew it was partially true, that she was on the blunt side, but...

  Evrial thought of Amaranthe’s suggestion that she lower her defenses, and that maybe Maldynado would lower his in turn. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m not always so... grouchy. It’s just that when I first met you people, you were clearly The Enemy.”

  “Me?” Maldynado sounded so innocent she almost laughed.

  “I thought I was done with you all until, months later, Lokdon showed up on my family’s doorstep with her assassin. That got me in trouble with my family, and my brother reported the visit to my commander, so I’m not sure if I’ll have a job when I get back. For all I know, there’ll be a wanted poster hanging in headquarters, right alongside of Sicarius’s. I went down to Forkingrust against my better judgment, largely because I felt compelled to help the emperor, though I clearly saw Lokdon manipulating me into that situation. Part of it, too, was that I guess I hoped that by helping him, I’d end up with another recommendation or commendation that would erase suspicion back home. But as it turns out, he’s not the emperor, and now I’m running around with outlaws with no hope of having those suspicions cleared, and I fear I’ll dig myself into deeper trouble by being with you. I don’t particularly want to see this Ravido of yours on the throne, but I’m not convinced we have any right to pick who does take the throne.” Evrial sank deeper against Maldynado’s chest, worn down by the long ramble. She hadn’t meant to say—to reveal—so much. Especially not to someone who was as likely to make a joke out of it all as anything.

  “All right,” Maldynado said, “I can see some reasons for grumpiness in there, but... are you not having any fun at all? That train fight was exhilarating. Especially the part where we survived it.”

  Evrial may have cringed at the idea of a joke, but somehow his actual words lightened her heart, and, her face once again buried in his shoulder, she laughed. Curse Amaranthe, maybe she’d been right about that as well. Maybe she did need more humor in her life.

  “I won’t try to tell you what to do,” Maldynado said, “but I’d be terribly put out if you wandered off and left us, leaving me with only Books to trade barbs with. He’s been too busy for it of late anyway, what with his political scheming. Oh, you should ask him about it, if you can stand a lecture. That might help you make up your mind about whether you want to back our efforts or not. Knowing Books, he wants to do something noble, democratic, and tormented-dead-ancestors boring.”

  Evrial lifted her face from Maldynado’s shoulder. That actually... wasn’t a bad idea. If she knew what Amaranthe and the others wanted to replace Ravido with, she might know if this should be her fight or not.

  Though night hadn’t relinquished its grasp, her eyes had long since adjusted to the dim lighting, and she could tell Maldynado was watching her. However offhandedly he’d said it, that he didn’t want her to leave... it meant something. She didn’t know exactly what yet, nor did she want to examine the feeling too closely, but she lifted her hand to his hair, letting her fingers trace the contours of his muscular back on the way. She probably should have chosen a moment when his wavy brown locks weren’t crunchy with ice to touch them, but one had to act when inspired. And, though she’d never admit it to him, sitting on the lap of someone who, despite his comrades’ teasing to the contrary, did have a physique that would be very flattering if immortalized in statue forum, was quite... inspiring.

  “You’re wiser than you let on, Maldynado,” Evrial said.

  “Mmhmm, remember those kind thoughts when you’re sitting through hour three of Books’s explanation.” Though he said the words casually, his body had grown very still; he scarcely seemed to be breathing. Surely Lord Cocky and Confident wasn’t having doubts about what to do next? “How’s your shoulder?” he asked.

  “It wasn’t that big of a quarrel, and I pulled it out right away.”

  “Does that mean the feral cats have quieted down, or you’re just too tough to be bothered by them?”

  It meant she wanted him to stop talking and kiss her. She couldn’t quite bring herself to blurt that out though. Even though she was ninety-nine percent certain he wouldn’t reject her, she still feared he’d lose interest after he achieved that goal he’d been pursuing. That would hurt. A lot. But he’d saved her life tonight. She owed him something for that.

  Oh, please, Evi, she thought. He was gorgeous, adorable, and who wouldn’t be curious to know if all that supposed experience of his equated to masterful bed play? Besides, those frozen pine needles had been the most interesting things to poke her nether regions in she didn’t know how long.

  “My shoulder is better,” Evrial said. “How are... your love apples?”

  The strangled noise that came from Maldynado’s throat might have been a laugh or an exclamation of surprise. Both, perhaps. “They’re better now too. They’ve been nice and warm since you climbed into my lap.”

  “It’s good to know that they’ve recovered.” Evrial trailed her fingers from his hair to his shoulder, tracing the rounded swell of his muscles, and breathing in the mingling scents of cedar boughs and his warm, clean skin. She watched him watching her, expecting him to kiss her at any moment, but he hadn’t moved yet. He was still holding utterly still. Almost as if he’d developed a shy streak. No, he was probably afraid she’d snap at him if he touched her. If so, she had only herself to blame for that.

  “Maldynado?” she asked.

  “Yes?”

  Evrial smiled at the hint of squeakiness in his voice. She didn’t imagine that he usually hesitated with women, and thought maybe, just maybe, he cared more about the outcome here. “I’m trying to seduce you,” she said.

  “Oh, good. That’s what I thought, but I was afraid you’d give me a huffy, ‘no touching,’ order if my fingers went exploring.”

  “Tempting, but I think it’d be more fun if we both engaged in touching. Just this—”

  The last word disappeared beneath a pair of warm, eager lips. With her permission given, his hands found all sorts of places to touch, the sword calluses on his palms stirring delicious sensations as they slid over her flesh. Any thoughts of associating him with the word shy disappeared. Instead, the image a long-restrained panther came to mind, the powerful predator suddenly unleashed and leaping for its prey. After that, she was too distracted to manage coherent thoughts.

  * * * * *

  Amaranthe was not, she told herself, hiding from Sicarius and his proclivity for filling downtime with training. She was simply checking in on Books. And waiting impatiently for Maldynado and the others to return with information.

  “Stop,” Books said without looking up from the stack of papers on the desk in front of him. Three pens and an old-fashioned quill and inkwell surrounded his work, dribbling stains onto the pages.

  Amaranthe realized she’d been tidying the papers on the bunk and clasped her hands behind her back. “Sorry.”

  “I’m still brainstorming. I’m not ready to organize.”

  “Where do you sleep?”

  The papers were sprawled across both bunks, not to mention much of the floor.

  “Right here,” Books said.

  “Where does Maldynado sleep?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Amaranthe watched Books’s pen fly. They’d been on board a few nights now. Was he truly that oblivious? “When are you going to share the highlights of this masterpiece with the rest of us?”

  “Soon. I’m sure you’ll want to contribute and suggest amendments.”

  “Me? I lack experience and education in the area of politics.” She’d planned to suggest Sespian sit in on the meeting and offer most of the ideas. He might be young, but he would have studied civil history and political science from birth.

  “It’s not that much different from business,” Books said, “just less efficient. Besides, you’re the one spearhea
ding the revolt. You’ll want to be firmly behind the new ideas we propose.”

  Amaranthe let her hands droop to her sides. Spearheading the revolt? Her? She was simply trying to stop Forge and Ravido. They were the ones revolting, not her.

  A soft knock sounded. Amaranthe feared Sicarius had come to collect her for another round of training, but he didn’t usually bother knocking. Or being constrained by door locks.

  “Come in,” Books said without lifting his head.

  Amaranthe strode to the door, a hand on her knife. Though security hadn’t run a full-boat search yet, she didn’t know if that would last.

  The door eased open. Basilard slipped inside with Akstyr trailing after him.

  “It’s not my fault,” Akstyr whispered with emphasis that made Amaranthe suspect he was repeating the statement.

  She shut the door behind them. “What’s the problem?”

  “Watch where you step,” Books warned, his head still bent over his work.

  Basilard picked his way between pages without touching anything and stopped in a foot-wide bare spot in the corner.

  “There’s junk all over the floor,” Akstyr said. “Where am I supposed to stand?”

  “It is not junk.” This new threat finally bestirred Books to rise. He stomped about gathering the pages, placing them in a particular order as he stacked them. He halted before Akstyr and pointed at the floor. “I’ll thank you to remove your grimy boot from the corner of that page.”

  Akstyr lifted his leg and held it there, knee bent, the sneer on his lips suggesting he’d like to plant his “grimy boot” between Books’s hind cheeks. He noticed Amaranthe watching him, though, and lowered his leg. “Maldynado and Yara are missing.”

  “What happened?” Amaranthe asked.

  “We got separated. I sensed a Made artifact—lots of them—and went to try and find the source. I thought the others were right behind me.” Akstyr paused to glower at Basilard.