Chapter 13: Twenty-One Days Early

I woke on the folded tarps with Joran's arm across my waist and the storm gone.

Gray light came through the gaps in the boards.

The silver thread still glowed faintly between our wrists.

He was awake.

He had been watching me sleep, and he did not look away when I caught him.

"Morning," he said.

"Don't look so pleased."

"Thirty days, you told me." His mouth pulled at one corner. "Twenty-one early, by my count."

"I never said you were allowed to count."

"You made the rules, Queen. I'm only reminding you which one you broke first."

I grabbed a fistful of sawdust and threw it in his face.

He laughed, a rough, rusty sound, and I realized I had not heard it once in six years.

Then I kissed him, because I wanted to, and the thread flared warm against my wrist.

His hand slid into my hair.

"The wood still needs splitting," I said against his mouth.

"Yes, ma'am."

"The rest of the rules stand. No orders, no rank. You still call the scouts sir."

"I'd call them anything you like."

Boots hit the step outside, fast and uneven.

The shed door banged open.

Fenn stood there with a split lip and a torn jacket and mud to his knees.

He looked at the two of us, at the tarps, at my torn shirt on the floor.

"I'm so happy for you both," he said. "I really am. Get dressed."

I pulled Joran's coat around me.

"What happened to your face?"

"Two rogues stopped my truck on the quarry road." He wiped blood off his chin. "I drove through one of them."

"Fenn."

"Osric didn't run, Ilse. He walked straight to the old quarry, and the rogues were waiting for him."

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