Page 214 of Burn Her They Said
Drusilla drops her head to Fray’s shoulder, and he spares her a disdainful look before settling in and staring down at his open sketchbook.
“This way you can feel comfortable cuddled up next to Varic without worrying about her spying on you,” Cirrin says, and I squeeze his arm in thanks, to which he offers me a small smile in return.
Without needing to ask, Varic winds his hand around my hip and pulls me into his side, digging his fingers into my flesh to remind me who truly possesses me. Then he reaches across my lap with his opposite hand to grab hold of the blanket folded on the bench.
“Here.” He drapes the fabric over my shoulders until I resemble an elder witch out for a stroll on the beach.
Voices carry from several Guards calling out orders while Varic resumes the hold he had on me, conforming his hand to the dip of my waist. A thrill rolls down my body when his fingers flex, then tingles spark as they arc down each of my limbs, and the newly welcome heat rises from the center of my chest as Varic’s eyes linger on me in assessment.
“It would have been nice to know you have the ability to manipulate the Emperor’s magic,” I tease him. “As well as how you can apparently siphon his energy.”
His expression shifts to one of bewilderment. “I don’t know what that was, or how I did it. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
“Well, now he knows you can shield against him without detection.”
“Except for when it failed?—”
Cirrin clears his throat as he pulls his blue storybook out from his leathers and proceeds to chew on the plush center of his lower lip. “This can all be discussed later. We have had quite enough excitement for one night. Wouldn’t you agree?” His kind brown eyes pan up to us from the open pages of his book, and we each nod enough to please him.
“I guess that answers my question as to when we will talk about exactly what happened out there.” Fray’s smirk deepens the longer he stares, playfully holding his pencil over the page without seeming to care if we catch him sketching our position.
I settle into Varic’s side and relax into his presence as it helps to smooth my jagged edges. A sensation which should feel wrong, since the way we are behaving is unequivocally forbidden, especially when Drusilla could wake to find us entwined as we take the risk to comfort each other. I allow myself this moment of peace and drop my head to rest on Varic’s shoulder. My eyes fall closed as I reach behind his back to grip his side, holding him the same way he holds me tight.
Knuckles rap on the roof, and the carriage starts forward. Something in its ambling motion releases the exhaustion buried deep in my bones.
I begin to drift off without the need for Cirrin’s help. A reminder of many years before this, when Varic held me as close as he is now, and I’d fall asleep with more peace than I’d ever known possible.
“Sleep well, mei meida,” Varic whispers, and I smile into his shoulder, remembering?—
Varic carefully pulls his arm from under my neck, while I force my eyes to stay shut and pace my breathing. The bed frame groans, then the mattress expands in his absence.
My heart hammers with the urge to open my eyes and greet him as I have every other morning. But I can’t. I cannot bring myself to form a visual memory of the way his eyes looked the last time I witnessed him leave this tent. I cannot tolerate the way he must appear in his Sergeant’s uniform, now that he has healed enough to resume his role. Because the last thing I need to torment myself with is a visual reminder of Varic no longer needing me, or my service.
Yet my mind’s eye cannot help but envision each action he takes in dressing himself, as the sound of each garment he pulls onto his body paints a picture of his progress. Every button. Every snap and buckle.
My heart pounds heavier with the swishing and rasping of each loop as he ties the laces of his combat boots.
Combat. Varic—my Varic—will once again be forced to risk his life for the good of the Empire. All from His Majesty’s need to increase our power. Because the threats to our safety are all for his need to hoard as many accomplishments as he can during his reign.
Varic’s steps grow closer, and my heart gallops so heavily it’s a miracle he can’t tell from where he stands, mere inches from me as his knees press against the edge of the bed. Part of me screams with the need to open my eyes, to part my lips—to do anything—say anything, to have him know a fraction of what he means to me. Yet I freeze and continue to feign that I am sleeping.
Heat from his gaze scorches my skin, feeling more intense with a deep amber haze unfurling in my chest—as if Varic is imbuing me—a sensation which is as comforting as it is alarming. The swirl of emotions feels similar to the safety he brings me, mixed with the fear of being discovered doing something bearing consequences beyond one’s control.
I don’t know what to name this feeling. While its dark amber speaks to its source, I am not the one siphoning it from him, and he wouldn’t be using this form of unsanctioned magic, even if he could.
The mattress dips beneath his weight, and I hold in a shudder when his fingertips trace a line across my temple to curve down and under the sensitive skin behind my ear.
Then the shiver running through me is impossible to subdue when he tucks an errant strand of hair in with the rest, from where it must have fallen over the nape of my neck.
My throat constricts, and tears spring forth while his fingertips dance along my skin, tracing a line across my forehead and back again. He twirls one of my curls around his finger, where he holds it for a moment before letting it bounce back as a heavy sigh rends from him.
My palms tingle with the need to reach out. To open my mouth and tell him every word bubbling up from the depths—those which have even been hidden from me until this moment.
I startle when his hand curves to fit over my own, where he squeezes four pulses—a transference of energy. A message of sorts, conveying what he needs me to receive without having to speak it.
He lingers while I focus on my breathing, refusing to pretend all of that time only to be found out now, as I maintain a rhythm I hope is believable.
The creaking of the bedframe jars my nerves as he shifts to rise from the mattress.
