Tressa nibbled on his ear. “That never stopped us before.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tressa woke in Bastian’s arms. Nothing but Bastian’s cloak shielded them from the waning night. A faint thumping in the distance grew louder with each passing moment. It sounded like an animal, a big one, coming toward them.
“Bastian!” She smacked his chest.
“More? Aren’t you tired yet?” He groaned, rolling over and out from under the cloak.
Moonlight bounced off of his thighs, exposing every part of him. Not that she hadn’t seen it all before.
“Something’s coming!” She sat up, but pulled the cloak over her chest.
Bastian grabbed his breeches and shimmied into them. Tressa wished they’d had the whole night to themselves. The sun wasn’t even cresting before trouble decided to search for them. She grabbed her dress, pulling it over her head. The linen felt too heavy compared to the lightness she’d experienced in Bastian’s arms. At least this time she knew there would be more later. The last time they’d been together, she’d cried the whole time, knowing she’d never feel him in that way again. Their final goodbye, stolen in the meadow next to the fog where no one would search for them, closed a door neither of them dared open again, even though both left a hand on the latch in their hearts.
A great beast, hooves as solid as a tree, and hair hanging from its neck reared up next to them. Taller than a cow, but unmistakably a horse. The last one they’d had in Hutton’s Bridge died forty years ago. Without a significant pasture to roam, their horses became lame and weak, eventually unable, or unwilling, to reproduce. Granna had told Tressa about their magnificence. One more of Granna’s stories come to life.
A man sat atop the horse’s strong back, his legs grasping tight to the horse’s barrel, reminding Tressa of her own legs wrapped around Bastian a few short hours ago.
A blush spread across her face. It wasn’t shame; it was anticipation for what lie ahead.
Bastian drew his sword, his other arm hovering in front of Tressa.
Tressa eyed the man. He didn’t wear all black like the soldiers who’d taken and killed Connor. His dark hair was cut short. A mustache graced his upper lip and a friendly twinkle sparkled in his eyes. No, he wasn’t here to harm them. A simple passerby, perhaps.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his voice steady and non-threatening.
A shape swooped from above and landed on Tressa’s shoulder. “Nerak!” She reached up and ruffled the owl’s feathers.
The man chuckled and slipped off his horse. Bastian still hadn’t lowered his weapon, his muscles as tense as ever.
Tressa rested a hand on his arm. “If he’s with Nerak, I’m sure he’s okay.”
“You don’t know that,” Bastian said. “She may have led us out of the fog, but she also took us straight toward Stacia’s army.”
A shadow fell across the man’s face. “Stacia is our enemy. She may be the queen,” his eyes were downcast, but filled with fire, “but she’s had us under her thumb for too long. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Nerak dug into Tressa’s shoulder. “You have the wrong people,” she said. “We’ve only recently arrived here. We’re not from this land.”
“I’d know my own daughter anywhere.” He reached out his hand.
Before he could connect with her trembling cheek, Bastian’s arm shot out, blocking him.
“Don’t touch her,” he warned.
The man pulled his hand back, unruffled. “Are the two of you coupled?” The man lowered his eyes to their partially dressed bodies. He’d managed to avoid making their lack of clothes an issue until that moment.
“Yes,” Bastian said, “since she first pulled my ribbon from the basket.”
The man nodded. “Congratulations, Tressa, for finding a man who cares for you. It’s unusual when marriage is left to fate and reproduction.”
Tressa’s mouth hung, slack. He knew her name.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Bastian whispered in her ear. “He could have been sent by Stacia.”
Tressa ignored his breath on her cheek, giving her full attention to the man in front of her. She didn’t remember her father. He’d left when she was only a babe, leaving her to Granna’s care. He knew disappearing into the fog was a death sentence. No one ever returned. No one lived.
She, Bastian, and Connor had proven them wrong. There was life beyond the fog. If they could survive, why couldn’t her father?
Nerak’s talons dug into her again. Truth. Believe.
But if he lived, why didn’t he ever come back for her and Granna? Her heart tugged at the thought. It was the same decision Bastian made. To stay with her. Not to run back the first chance he got.