She still looks baffled as her attention darts between me and the shirt. “But . . . ”
“Who is going to tell Lord Rian? The trees? Look, little violet, if you want to spend all night shivering without a stitch on you, be my guest. But it’s only you and me here. I don’t give a shit about honoring Immortal Solene’s ride—the gods have earned none of my favor. Tomorrow, you’ll continue the ride unclothed, as my master has declared. Tonight, in the privacy of our camp, if it brings you peace to cover yourself, then do so. It’s all the same to me.”
In the firelight, her round eyes look especially large. My heightened vision lets me see all the flecks of gold in her blue-green irises, like the sparks rising into the night have found a home in her eyes.
“You don’t honor any of the gods?”
I snort. “People are idiots to hope for their awakening. Yeah, I know the legends are thrilling to read, but in reality, the gods would be the same as any rulers with unchecked power—fucking tyrants. In a year after their return, it would be war and enslavement. We’re fortunate they went to sleep. I hope they never fucking wake.”
Her eyes stretch even wider.
“Why, does that offend you, little violet?” I snap.
She gives a laugh, surprising me. “Not in the slightest.”
Without another word, she shimmies into my oversized shirt, so big it hangs past her hips. Her heartbeat slowly calms as her hands smooth over the rough fabric. Undyed linen stinking of a man’s long day is no prize for a girl surely used to taffeta and silk, but she acts like it’s damask from the far isles.
“Why do you call me that?” she asks.
“Call you what?”
Her eyes skip to the godkiss visible on my bare chest. “Little violet.”
I grunt, not about to tell her a story of how a ruthless hunter once swooned over candied violets on a cake.
Because you smell like them.
“You’re soft,” I snap. “Fragile, like a violet. Now stay there.”
I snatch up my bow and tromp into the woods. It’s a relief to be here, where the space between trees feels like a homecoming. The smell of wild tartberries, the tiny snores of a chipmunk.
Immediately, I spot prints in the dirt and ready my bow.
As I stalk the rabbit’s trail, my mind drifts to my current charge. It’s easy to see why Lord Rian wants her. She’s a beauty by any man’s standards, and her hair might as well be a godkiss in itself. It’s no surprise Rian wanted a bride favored by the Immortals. His family might possess wealth and influence, but not a single one of them is godkissed. It’s the one thing they don’t have, so they’re drawn to it.
Will he be pleased with her? By the Immortals, he’s going to be fucking obsessed. I’ve collected him from enough brothels on the morning after a rager to know the kind of woman he likes, and Sabine will not disappoint. A body built for carnal pleasure with the grace of a lady.
For a moment, my mind drifts to the possibility of taking a bride for myself one day. It isn’t a thought I’ve ever entertained, if I’m being honest. I swore my life to serving the Valveres. My work takes me into the forest for weeks at a time, and there’s always the chance I’ll be finished off by a wild animal, like the stag that speared my shoulder with its antler the summer before last.
Let’s be real—I’m hardly husband material.
Besides, look at the way she flinches around me, like she can see all the blood on my hands. Even her horse shies away from me. The whore who birthed me couldn’t be bothered to keep me, nor whatever bastard got her pregnant by coin or by force, so why would anyone else? There’s something inside me that’s twisted like tree roots, broken like a faulty arrow. The fae gods made a mistake when they blessed me with my abilities. Only Rian saw the damage but dragged me out of the gutter anyway.
I’m anxious to see this ride through and return to more important ways of serving him. I can’t stop thinking about that bear that dragged off the godkissed girl. It was strange; I should have easily scented her corpse but never found it. Never even scented a drop of blood. Likewise, if she survived and was still alive, I’d have smelled her, too.
I should be there, staking out the bear, I think with a growl of frustration. Not babysitting some scrap of a girl.
When I told Lord Rian about the bear’s unusual fur and size, he only laughed. “What are you suggesting, Wolf? That the goldenclaws are back? There hasn’t been one in a thousand years. They went to sleep along with the gods.”
Ahead, in a grassy thicket, a rabbit blinks its black eye, and I draw my bow.
A few minutes later, I drop a brace of rabbits by the campfire. Sabine has rolled up my borrowed shirt sleeves to fit her shorter arms. She braided her hair, too. Not in the fancy fae style, but a simple rope.
At the sight of the dead rabbits, Sabine’s jaw tightens, the scrape of her teeth striking my ear.
“What, friends of yours?” I ask.
She levels an unamused glare at me that, for some reason, makes me smile. Now that she’s clothed, she’s regained some of the bullheaded attitude she started the ride with.
As I clean the rabbits and roast them on a spit over the fire, I feel the heat of her gaze. It’s like candlelight on my skin, flickering over my scars. Has a lord’s daughter seen a bare-chested man before?
I glance up to catch her interest, and she quickly looks away.
After a moment, she says, “I don’t know any other godkissed.” She points the tip of her finger toward my birthmark. “I was the only one in Bremcote.”
There aren’t many of us godkissed, it’s true. One out of every thousand babies is born with the small, sunburst-like birthmark that designates us as blessed by the ancient ones. What particular gift we’re given is impossible to predict—I’ve seen godkissed with the strength of an ox, godkissed who can sculpt a woman’s beauty like clay, godkissed who can call the rain.
“Well, you’ll meet more,” I say, plucking off a hunk of meat to test it. “There are many in Duren.”
The juices drip down my chin as I relish the rabbit haunch. I tear off another piece.
Sabine shifts on the ground, wiggling closer to the roasting meat as her stomach rumbles. “Is it true the Valvere family collects godkissed?”
“Collects?” I snort. “Hell, we aren’t horses. But, yes, they employ many like us. It makes sense given their businesses.”
“Extraordinarily strong fighters bring a larger audience to the arena?”
I concede with a nod. The legal vices comprise all manner of games of chance and spectator competitions—and brothels, of course. I no longer involve myself in those aspects of Lord Rian’s work. Ever since he named me Duren’s official huntsman, it’s my job to keep meat on the table and wild animals from killing villagers. How he runs his vice houses is of no consequence to me anymore.
Sabine’s fingernails suddenly become very interesting, and she clears her throat. I think she’s about to ask for food, but she says, “I can pay you. To let me go, I mean.”
Her heart claps like thunder in her chest—she’s intensely nervous. As well she should be. It’s no small crime to offer a bribe to a Valvere guard. I could punish her for this, and Lord Rian would back me. I could tie her up. Choke her with a fist around her throat until she recants. Until those big eyes look up at me beseechingly, those rosebud lips beg for forgiveness.