Breaker of Rings

Chapter 13

Between their healing sessions and the debate over what to do with the golden skull, the Four Horsewomen had lost much of the day. When darkness started to fall, the nearest village was still a few hours away, and all four women were too tired to keep riding. "And I still didn't have a bath," Bex lamented when they made their camp along the first river, the one where Sasha had left her message for Bayley and Charlotte.

Stifling a yawn, Sasha pointed to the river. "Without the sun to warm it, there's only so much I can do if I don't want to expend too much energy. I can ask it to watch over you, though."

"That's good enough," Bex assured her. "If it was too comfortable, I might fall asleep." She knew she should just go to sleep with the others until it was her turn to take watch, but suddenly every speck of dust and drop of sweat seemed to grate at her skin. Glancing over at their campfire, she saw that Charlotte was already stretched out and resting. "Bayley, are you taking first watch?" she called out.

"Yeah," Bayley replied. "I need to wind down a bit. Go ahead. I'll holler if I see or hear anything."

"Thanks. I'll take second watch." Then Bex followed Sasha to the river, taking along a large blanket to use for drying off. Her hair would be a mess in the morning, but it usually was anyway, and she could always have another bath.

Sasha knelt at the river's edge and crooned to it, first thanking it for its earlier healing and giving her message to Charlotte and Bayley. "This silly one wants a late night bath," she murmured, tugging Bex down beside her. "Watch over her in my stead, please. Let no harm come to her." Bex couldn't tell if the burbling of the river was a reply or simply the current, but Sasha seemed satisfied when she stood. "Don't take too long." She glanced back at the camp and waved at Bayley. The camp was still visible now, but when the darkness thickened, the only thing that would guide Bex back to her sisters would be the fire.

"I won't." Bex spread her drying blanket on the bank and undressed, leaving all her things on the wool. When she dipped a toe into the water to test the temperature, she selfishly wished she had asked Sasha to use a bit of magic, but she could make do. Her main goal was to rinse the day from her skin: the water from the skull, the dirt from digging, the tears of frustration and the ever-present sweat of a warrior's life. "Thank you," she whispered to the water, skimming a hand over its surface. She knew she had promised not to linger, but the solitude was welcome and so she swam back and forth for a while, making sure to keep the camp's fire in sight.

"Why haven't you warmed it?" The words came as a shock, but the voice was even more of a surprise: male, quiet, almost hesitant. Ducking down to her shoulders in the water, Bex didn't expect to be able to see anyone in the gloom, but Seth seemed to have a subtle glow on the opposite shore. "Or is that your downfall? You can't use fire to warm yourself, can you?"

Bex didn't open her mouth to scream. She could barely move at all, riveted by the sight of the man—the monster, in Sasha's terms—who had sat down on the bank across from her, with embers and empathy in his eyes. Something glittered at his wrist and she reared back, ready to go for the dagger in her pile of clothes.

"It's just a bracelet," Seth said softly, holding his wrist out to show her. "It can't hurt you. Only me." Before Bex could comment, he lowered his hand to the water. "Let me warm it for you." When she reared back again, he winced, gaze sliding away. "Not . . . like that, I promise. Just warm."

Bex still scrambled for her side of the bank, reliving the memory of the boiling water and Sasha's agonized screams, but this water only warmed steadily, stopping when it held just an edge of true heat. "What are you doing?" she squeaked out. Her brain was desperate for her to scream for help, to get out of the water and ready herself for a fight, naked as she was. But those sparks in his eyes reminded her of the flames in the skull, the sense that he had left something of himself behind.