13. My Little Mystery

Chapter 13

My Little Mystery

M ariel finished wringing Erran’s clothes after a wash in the river, draping them over a line they’d fashioned from the old netting. He grinned at her from the side as he mimicked her actions, having just cleaned her clothing. If you’re going to wash mine, it’s only fair, he’d said, and not only could she not argue, she found it incredibly sexy.

It didn’t hurt that he was naked. And obnoxiously stunning.

Over the past week, the barricade between them had been dismantling. They’d fallen into a smooth rhythm, dividing some chores and doing others together, adhering to a schedule that helped establish needed structure. With her ankle on the mend, she could do more every day. She taught him how to craft a bow from branches and boar guts, and he taught her how to repair his fish traps. Her skill with tanning hides into leather proved useful, and he showed her exactly how he’d carved the spears. Even when they’d parceled their tasks between them, they followed each other, never apart for long.

They truly could be anyone they wanted there, and she knew who she wanted to be... who she wanted him to be.

“Your first time washing clothes, I ken?” Mariel teased, jumping sideways just in time to avoid him swatting her bare ass.

He gingerly draped her blouse over the line and turned toward her. Mariel conjured what little remained of her self-control not to look down. “At home, of course not. At sea, we had a sailor whose secondary job was to take care of the washing for all the men.”

Mariel made a gagging face. “You all must have hated him, sending him to manhandle all your filthy skivvies.”

Erran chuckled. “Believe me, there are worse jobs on a ship.” His tongue parted his lips, and he swept his gaze over her. “Ready to test my soap?”

Mariel was certainly looking forward to cavorting with him in the river after an afternoon of chores, but she had serious doubts about the semi-hard goop he had in his satchel. She’d made soap herself when gold was scarce, but they’d had the tools to do so. Erran had fashioned his from the boar’s fat, boiling down half-burned wood ashes from the fire pit to make lye and adding the cursed dandelions in a hopeful but ultimately failed attempt to mask the crude scent of the tallow.

A twinkle in his eyes gave him away. He kissed her and bolted for the river, calling back, “Last one in gets to try it first!”

“I don’t feckin’ think so, you cheater!” she shrieked and raced after him, overtaking him just as they reached the bank. Her feet collected the first splash, and she was so occupied with whooping and hollering her victory, she didn’t notice him come up from behind, lacing his arms under her into a sweeping scoop. She squealed as her feet kicked up and he dipped her head toward the river.

“Say that again?” he said, dangling her over the water.

“Let me down, or?—”

“Or what , you’ll make me work for it like the other night? Go on then, Mariel, because I love the challenge.”

Mariel squirmed, lifting her head just enough to see the river beneath her. Once, years ago, she’d found herself bound and upside down in a barn after a particularly spicy heist, and there’d been no one but herself to get her out of the precarious situation. When the others had asked her later how she’d done it, she’d said, What kind of brigand would I be if I wasn’t also an aerialist?

With Erran, she was in no danger of anything except getting ravaged, which was exactly the danger she craved. So she swung herself as hard as she could, catching him off guard enough to secure her release. She’d planned for an elegant landing and a theatrical bow, but what she actually executed was a flat-bellied splash that stung from head to toe.

Erran was doubled over in laughter when she pulled herself to her feet. “You... You cannot have meant to do that.”

“Shows how little you know me, princeling, because it was exactly what I intended.” Mariel pushed her matted hair from her face, blowing to catch the wet strays. “Don’t be jealous. If you’re nice, I can teach you.”

Erran moseyed over. He slid his hands down her arms and locked them around her back, snapping her close. “Oh, I know you well. And I have endless days and nights to learn everything you don’t want me to.”

Mariel lifted to kiss him. “Who says I don’t want you to?”

She squeaked a startled gasp when he hoisted her into his arms. “I know you prefer to be a mystery.” He locked his mouth to hers in a drawn kiss, and it sang through her veins. “My little mystery.”

One reason Mariel hadn’t seriously allowed herself to dream of love was because she refused to be a man’s property. But every single time Erran used such claiming language— my, mine —her body, mind, and heart came into perfect unison. “Solve me then,” she said in challenge and let him sweep her farther into the river, into the web of safety and imagination they’d spun together.

Erran had one hand wrapped in a root at the river’s edge, the other looped around Mariel to keep her in place. Her head was nestled to the crook of his neck, and the feeling was so... so unexpectedly right that he was reluctant to leave the moment behind. He’d happily grow old and pruned there with her, watching the years pass with peace in his heart.

A fortnight ago, it seemed inconceivable that he could ever see the island as home, see Mariel as his partner. How it had all changed so fast was something he didn’t question though. Doing so would let the darkness in and the light a chance to escape.

“Our clothing is likely dry by now,” she said wistfully.

He smiled at the regret in her voice. But the day was waning, dusk soon to follow. They couldn’t take the risk of being so exposed when darkness fell. “I ken it could use a few more minutes.”

Mariel snuggled tighter against him and nodded.

Erran closed his eyes and let his breath flow smoothly in... out. His heart was as still as it had been since they’d washed up on Feck-All Island. But on occasion, one thought slipped in, a hint of the darkness awaiting them if they were ever rescued. “I need to say something.”

Her breathing slowed. “All right.”

“I know why you did what you did. I can’t blame you. I even commend you.” He let his words land, so she would better understand and accept the next ones. “But if my father ever found out, he would kill you.”

Mariel snorted. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The touch of her old animosity for him was a dagger to the heart. He fastened his mouth to her forehead and fought back the swell of sadness rising in him. “No, Mariel. I would be devastated.”

She broke away and looked up, presumably trying to discern whether he was being truthful or mocking, whether to stay or run. “It’s as I said before. Obsidian Sky is likely over.”

“Likely isn’t good enough.” He gripped her face in his, deciding to hold back nothing. “I will give you all the gold you could ever want or need, to do whatever you want with it. More than you could ever steal. Whatever... whatever you want. Just please, please don’t challenge him. He’s a fair man about most matters, but he wouldn’t be about this. The barons look to him to solve a problem that has affected them all, and he’s been under so much pressure... If I have to beg you, I will.”

“Erran...” Her face crumpled. “I’ll stop, all right?”

“Promise.” His voice was split with fear.

“I promise,” she breathed. Her hand reached to cup his face. “I promise.”

Erran kissed her in grateful relief, flipping her and pinning her against the bank with the temperate force she always went wild for. He couldn’t let such a wonderful day end on a somber note. “Now, about this soap...”

“Guardians, are you trying to kill us both with infections?”

He traced his hands down her cheeks. “Would you not die happy?”

Mariel laughed, an utterly magical sound he wished he could summon whenever his heart was heavy. Her eyes had softened, glossing over. “I would.” She pulled her expression into a mischievous scowl. “Unless the infection was painful and ghastly, in which case you better hope I die last because I would be one vengeful ghost.”

“That is now the second time you’ve threatened to haunt me.”

“How many times must I repeat the threat before you believe it?”

Erran tilted her chin and kissed her. “You’re not worried I’d haunt you ?”

“I don’t ken you would be a worrisome specter.” She frowned, her eyes fluttering upward in thought. “A little too nice, maybe, to scare anyone.”

“If this is a ploy to challenge my masculinity so I’ll despoil you to prove you’re wrong...” He pressed his hard-on against her, relieved to have the words behind him, her response exactly what he’d been going for. “It’s working.”

Mariel cinched her arms tighter around him and dragged her lip through her teeth. “It better be, princeling.”

Erran was in the middle square of Whitecliffe. The crowd was so thick, he couldn’t see through it, but he knew it was the middle square, and not the east or west, by the scaffold in the center towering over all of them.

He couldn’t remember getting there. The morning was lost to him, as were the preceding days, but the dread settling in his chest meant some part of him understood why he was standing and waiting to watch an execution.

Hamish came up beside him with a heavy, resolved gait. He hung his head, shaking it. “Ye donnae need to watch this, mate, aye? Some things are jus’ more than a man can handle.”

Erran started to ask Hamish why he was there, since his friend seemed to know more than he did, but the same trepidation stayed his words.

“We did all we could,” Samuel said, appearing from thin air. “All we could, Erran. And we all tried, even Khallum. Even your mother stepped in.”

“Let us take this from ye,” Hamish said. “As yer best mates.”

The sinking feeling intensified as the crowd’s chattering lowered to a din. Someone called out an announcement for the king, and Erran was overcome with a relief that was just as confusing and elusive as the dread. If the king was visiting, then his father was probably making an example of some seditionist who had plotted against the crown, which had nothing to do with him.

A pulsing sound rippled through the air, but no one else seemed to take notice. Erran looked up at the sky, shot with green and gold, like it sometimes did when a cyclone was imminent, but the air was still.

The sound persisted, and he soon realized it was his pulse, so loud the entire world should have been able to hear it, but the other hundreds gathered were focused on the king’s impending appearance.

He realized Mariel wasn’t with him. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there or the last time he’d spoken with her. There were other women there. His last fully fleshed memory was from the island, the day they’d washed their clothes in the river and she’d sworn to stop her brigandry. How relieved he’d been then, but it was all gone now, washed away in the creeping uncertainty of a moment that felt like a turning point, but he could not quite put his finger on why.

King Khain stepped onto the podium, and a full hush blanketed the crowd. “We are here because there are some laws that transcend Reach. Our system of lords and stewards is sacrosanct, and predates even the crown. I traveled here to set an example for all others who would be tempted to follow the example of the defunct Obsidian Sky. If you remove the head, the body will fall.”

Mariel was dragged onto the platform, her entire body wrapped in chains.

“No!” Erran shouted, and everyone turned to look at him.

The king’s eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“She promised to stop! Your Grace, she promised to stop. You can’t ? —”

Hamish and Samuel each took an arm, but Erran wrenched away and shoved his way through the crowd. No one moved, and he couldn’t move them. He felt like he was crashing into boulders.

“Have you any final words, brigand? Or shall we call you the Flame?”

“Call me whatever pleases you,” Mariel cried. “For I am who I am and without regret!”

“Mariel!” Erran screamed, shoving and clawing to get to her, but with every step, he seemed to move farther away. “Mariel, tell them you ? —”

Hamish hooked an arm around his neck. “Do ye want them to kill ye too?”

“If they kill her, they’ve already killed me,” Erran hissed and squirmed out of his grasp, only to look up and see the noose being placed over Mariel’s neck. “Mariel, this is a mistake. Tell them what you promised me!”

But she couldn’t hear him. The king had forgotten him. The crowd was chanting for her neck, their bloodlust becoming louder and louder.

Mariel lifted her head high, closed her eyes, and started to speak again, but the trapdoor was opened and she crashed through, squirming as the rope stole her life away. They hadn’t even had the decency to hood her, and Erran could only watch, in utter horror, as the whites of her eyes filled with blood. Panic and regret splashed across her reddened face. Her legs kicked, swinging her aimlessly around. She would die the hard way because they’d left her rope too short on purpose. Of course it was on purpose. They wanted her to suffer, and she was.

The crowd suddenly opened up, all of them looking his way as they made a path for him. Erran’s entire chest was on fire. Tears blinded his eyes. It seemed the day had robbed the air from his very lungs. But as he neared her, her struggling stopped. She met his gaze with what he could only describe as a soul-deep apology.

By the time he reached her, she was gone.

He used his sword to cut the rope, and she landed in his arms, limp and already turning blue. His hands were wracked with tremors, the pain ? —

Erran shuddered awake, drenched in sweat. He stared at his arms in a panic, remembering how she’d felt, her indelible warmth slowly draining into the ether.

But his arms were empty. And Mariel was fast asleep on the cot beside him.

He tilted his head back for air, filling himself with reality to shed the horrible dream. Except it had been so real. Most of his dreams were an amalgamation of experiences and observations, nonsensical vignettes, but not this one. This one had felt prophetic, like he was seeing exactly what would happen if he failed to protect her.

Erran breathed out and nestled back onto the cot, wrapping around her from behind. Mariel. The past two weeks had been dreamlike as well, but that dream he had no interest in waking from. It startled him to realize he no longer even wanted to be rescued. He could see himself perfectly content with the simple life they were making together.

He buried his face in her hair and inhaled, tethering himself to her scent, which reminded him of sandalwood. Of warm nights and comfort. Real. This is what’s real. She is what’s real.

Your nightmares can be just as real, a voice reminded him. It won’t be enough for you to protect her from the world.

First, you’ll have to protect her from herself.