Page 139 of The Shrouded Queen
“Say what?”
“My name. I like how you say it.”
I felt like I had a fever, too, skin far too warm. “Keir.”
He rumbled a hum of approval that made my skin tighten. His lids began to droop once more, and I hesitantly resettled my hand on his forehead. He tilted his face up so that his nose brushed against the sensitive skin of my wrist, nostrils flaring as he drew a deep breath. Then he slumped back into sleep, lips curved up.
I stared at him. My neck and chest tingled faintly, and I felt out of breath. I knew Keir was just lost to the cloud of his fever, but what he’d said echoed through my skull. I rested my free hand over the scar on my chest, but for the first time since I’d received it, I felt no compulsion to trace it.
Keir’s fever broke around dawn and he slept most of the day, only waking up a couple of minutes at a time. Long enough to take a sip of water and then pass out again. Each time, he appeared a bit more lucid.
At one point, he caught me studying him and frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
My cheeks burned and I mumbled some excuse. He didn’t seem aware of anything he’d done or said the night before. For some reason, it felt like my secret. I didn’t want to voice it for him to somehow taint with his annoyance or anger. I cradled it within my heart and told him nothing.
During one of those brief intervals of wakefulness, I mentioned my concerns over Ashorah, but neither of us had a better option. We’d find what awaited us when we got there.
My stomach growled in hunger, and no matter how hard I clenched it, the growling wouldn’t stop. If I was hungry, I imagined the man bear beside me had to be absolutely famished. I needed to find something to eat or we’d both die.
So I dug. Sifted through the sand inch by inch, the sun beating into the top of my head, burning through the fabric of my dress, roasting me.
I wasn’t sure how long it was before I found a centipede. It was a quick little thing, but my desperation made me quicker. I dove for it. Pinched it between my index finger and thumb, its tiny legs pinwheeled, tickling.
If there was one, there were more, and I’d need a place to hold them. I tore the skirt of my dress until just above my knees and then dropped the centipede onto the fabric, quickly twisting it closed and tying a tight knot on top. Then I went back to digging.
By the time the sun had set, I’d found five more centipedes, a scorpion, and a handful of small spiders. Though I hadn’t been a scullery maid, I’d seen Chef Nena work enough to know I shouldn’t risk eating any of these raw. Which meant I’d need to make a fire.
I grabbed two rocks, but my heart sank when I realized there was no kindling. Not even puffs of dry grass to use.
Keir moaned as he woke. Just like every time, he tried to rise, and this time he managed to sit up fully. He shoved his long braid off his shoulder with a relieved breath, then frowned at my dress and the makeshift knapsack. “What are you doing?”
I locked my eyes on his braid. “I need your hair.”
“Excuse me?”
I held up the sack. “To cook. I don’t have enough hair or I’d do it myself.”
“Sorry, why do you needhairfor that?”
“Do you see any other way to start a fire around here?”
Keir’s eyes scanned our surroundings, and when he looked backat me, they were wide with panic. “You can’t cut my hair. Use my shirt.”
“You’ll burn faster that way and increase your risk of heatstroke. It’s too dangerous.” At his horrified look, I added, “It’s only hair.”
“No.”
I blew out a frustrated breath through my nose. “You won’t shift to get us there faster, and you won’t cut a few inches off yourfeetof hair so we can eat. What sort of guard are you?”
“The sort that saved your life from an enormous killer bird.”
“I saved your life from that bird, too,” I shot back. I wouldn’t let his vanity get in the way of our survival. I reached for his braid.
He smacked my hand away, and I hissed as pain rocketed up my arm.
Keir sat up straighter. “You’re hurt.”
I held my palm against my chest before he could see the burn. “I’m fine.”
