Page 77 of The Half King
Kian spread his arms wide. “Do you see our guide here? Because I don’t. I think he’s still in his tent, like everyone else.”
“Maybe he opened the spring from a distance,” Cerise said, but even as the words left her lips, she knew that Nero wasn’t powerful enough to cast his energy remotely like Father Padron could.
Kian seemed to share her thoughts. “It wasn’t Nero, and I don’t think it was Father Padron.” He thumbed at himself. “And it certainly wasn’t me. It’s notmyClaiming Day.”
Cerise blinked at him. “Are you implying that instead of the Sight, the goddess gifted me with”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“magic?”
“You glowed,” Kian reminded her, and then an impish grin played on his lips. “And not just because of my superior lovemaking skills.”
She didn’t return his smile, because unlike Kian, she knew the danger of what he had suggested. Even if he was right and the magic had come from her, for a woman to possess the same gift as priests was unheard of. The Order would consider it sorcery.
Oh, goddess, the Order. Was this why they had tried so hard to keep her a maiden? Not because the act of love was forbidden by scrolls but because of what it might awaken? Had this happened to any other ladies of the temple? She had no way of knowing. There were no oracles around to ask, and even if there were, she didn’t know if she could trust any of them with the truth.
One thing was certain: she would never be safe again.
“It’s all right,” Kian said. He drew her into his embrace, and she nestled her cheek in the hollow where his shoulder met his chest. His touch held an unspoken promise of protection…for as long as his dominion over the priests would last. “There’s only one way to know for certain if the magic came from you,” he murmured into her hair. “Can you do it again?”
She peered blankly up at him. She didn’t know how—or if—she had done it in the first place. “Not here. Not now. Someone will come looking for us.”
“Very well,” he told her. “Until we know more, we should probably keep this between the two of us.”
“And Daerick,” she said. “I trust him.”
“And Daerick,” he agreed. “But if anyone else asks what happened here, we’ll tell them you came to the rock to pray for protection, and the goddess gave you a sign.”
“A miracle,” Cerise muttered.
“No one would question it—not after what they witnessed at the shrine.”
She dipped her chin in agreement, but she hoped no one would notice the spring or the lavender blossoms. She didn’t want to lie. She wasn’t very good at it.
Kian cupped her cheek and lifted her gaze to his. “I won’t let any harm come to you. Not as long as I’m alive. I swear it.”
“I believe you,” she told him.
“Then try not to worry,” he said. “At least not in this moment.” He brushed a thumb over her skin. “Give this moment to me. One last time before we go back to the others, let the world exist for only the two of us.”
He didn’t need to say another word. She was already rising onto her toes and circling her arms around his neck. She gave Kian what he wanted—a kiss with her whole heart behind it. She might have little understanding of the ways of the world, but if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was love him.
20
Cerise didn’t have to worry about anyone questioning where she and Kian had been. When they returned to camp, each tent was still tightly closed, their occupants too exhausted to wake with the dawn. Not even Blue padded outside to meet her.
“It’s still early,” Kian whispered, glancing at the sun, which was barely aglow behind the mountain range. “Let them sleep.”
They divided the morning tasks between them, and while Kian dressed, stoked a fire, and set a kettle to boil, Cerise fed the horses. She had just dispensed the last of the day’s feed when Kian pressed a warm mug of tea into her palm. But it wasn’t her usual blend. The liquid was several shades too dark, and it smelled less fragrant and more earthy than she liked.
“What is this?” she asked.
“It’s medicinal,” he told her.
Cerise sniffed at the tea. She didn’t care for the scent, but she took a sip anyway. A horrible flavor crossed her tongue, a taste more bitter than unripe berries.
“Oh, that’s awful,” she said, making a face.
“Yes, it is utterly vile,” Kian agreed. “But trust me, you need this. I’m afraid you have to finish all of it.”
She didn’t want to drink any more of his terrible tea, but she had tasted far worse. So she tipped back the mug and forced down every last gulp.
