Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Cerin 

They were almost out of the desert. He guessed that by the morning they would reach the edge of Dalgerstane. His one big problem, how to convince her that he was on her side. She clearly hated him, and definitely didn’t trust him. She snarled and growled at him nearly every time they spoke. And when he didn’t speak when prompted, she huffed and grumbled under her breath. A few times he heard vulgar names, he assumed were directed at him. Not to mention she attacked him at every opportunity. He was getting really tired of it too. But, honestly, he couldn’t blame her. After all, he was her enemy, dragging her to a less than pleasant end. At least as far as she knew. 

But she had calmed down the during their journey across the desert. She still snapped at him, but not constantly. He couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He watched her, sleeping curled up against her horse. The setting sun left red streams of light streaking through their cave, shifting on her hair and turning it to living gold and fire. 

She was prettier now than when he had saved her the first time. Then again it had been five years, and she had been only 12 or 13 then. Pretty was the wrong word if he was honest with himself. She was gorgeous. And she seemed to endlessly radiate light. Her attitude, however, made up for her beauty. She made it very easy to dislike her. 

But he also knew it wasn’t all real. He had seen the terror and surrender in her eyes, both when they first met and again during her panic attack a couple nights ago. He had a feeling that all her bluster was a protective mechanism and it saddened him. But who was he to judge, when he too kept people at a distance. 

Her panic attack and the moments following flashed through his mind. He’d been careless, to let her see his face. But he had been so concerned about her that he hadn’t even thought about it. Worse was that he had let his guard down afterward, allowing her to flip his hood off and see his face again. He had been stupidly distracted by his thoughts concerning her panic attack and the tender look she had given him when she initially came out of her stupor. She had been a different person, more like the child he had saved years past than the hardass that she was most of the time. 

Ever since, he had been careful not to let her see his face again, despite all her prodding and coaxing. She had calmed greatly since her panic attack; fewer attacks on him, less biting remarks, less interrogation. Despite her shift in behavior, he didn’t dare let himself relax. She was still dangerous and feral. She reminded him of the wild cats of the plains.

He blinked, his eyes refocusing on her small form. Her presence was so large, even in sleep. It was a wonder she hadn’t been discovered before now. He studied her for a moment before he realized that her eyes were open and staring straight into his, the last of the sunset’s light smoldering in her irises. He held perfectly still, unable to move, paralyzed by her gaze. Those eyes weren’t human, they frightened him and fascinated him all at once. She blinked as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, her eyes returning to hazel once more.

“You know, you should give up all this kingsman crap and take up a career in being a statue. I swear, it’s creepy how unnaturally still you can be,” she said as she sat up and yawned. Her horse huffed behind her and she smirked, “Ranhita, agrees.” She chuckled softly and he cautiously let the tension release from his body. He watched as she stood stretching, reminding him again of a wildcat. 

Her back was turned to him and he suddenly had the urge to test her reflexes. Smoothly and with little sound he threw a sack of jerky at the back of her head. She turned just before it would have hit the back of her head, smacking instead into her face. He couldn't hold his laughter. She caught the bag as it fell from her livid face, making him laugh harder. She hurled the bag back and he caught it deftly, causing her rage to skyrocket. He could have sworn steam was coming out of her ears. He let his laughter subside as he opened the bag and popped a piece of jerky into his mouth.

“What the hell was that for!” She gritted out.

“Just wanted to test your clearly lacking reflexes,” he said after swallowing his jerky.

“Oh, I swear...”

“Swear what? That you're going to kill me? Fellay me? Roast me alive? Yeah I know, you’ve been very explicit in all the ways you are going to end my miserable life,” He cut her off. 

For a moment she studied him, her eyes narrowed. They weren’t filled with hatred they way he was expecting. Rather, they were curious. 

“And here I thought you were deaf,” she finally said, stretching out her hand towards him. 

He snorted, “I wish,” he muttered tossing the bag back to her. This time she did catch it and quite skillfully too.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked offendedly.

“Oh nothing, your royal chattiness,” he replied sarcastically. She kicked sand at him, which he blocked with his cloak. When he looked back at her she was staring at his waist. He swiftly brought his cloak back, covering the sight that had caught her interest. Slowly she lifted her eyes to his. 

“What. Is. That?” She enunciated each word carefully. He didn’t answer. How could he? He had decided not to lie to her after all and he couldn't tell her the truth. Because the charm tied to his sword had been her mothers. A gift, she had called it. A trinket blessed with protection. Clearly an heirloom, he had refused to take it. But she had insisted and he had caved. He couldn’t say no to her stern motherly eyes, filled with love, determination, and even hope despite her position as a prisoner of the king scheduled for execution.

“What is that?!” She repeated louder, more force and a hint of panic lacing her voice, pointing at his side.

He stood and began readying to leave, his back to her, determined to ignore her. The crunch of sand and the rush of air warned him of her impending attack. He grabbed her wrist just before she caught his cloak. Unfortunately, in doing so, he gave her full view of the intricately crafted gold sun pendant dangling from the hilt of his sword. She froze, staring at the object as it swung lazily back and forth.

“Where did you get that?” She whispered as if scared to speak aloud in the presence of the object. He dropped her hand, letting his cloak envelop him once more.

Despite the truth lying on his tongue, he kept his jaw clenched and turned back to his horse. He began adjusting the saddle and bags, to keep his hands busy. He couldn't tell her. It wasn’t time. Not yet. She didn’t trust him yet. 

“You done?” He asked swinging back around.

“Done?” She whispered, dazed, still looking at where the medallion hung hidden. “Done?!” Her eyes cleared, fire licking over them, even in the dimming light of dusk. “Where did you get that?!” She screeched.

“Get ready, we’re leaving,” he said coolly, avoiding her question. 

“No! You tell me or...” 

SLAP! Echoed across the dunes and he blinked. His hand poised across his body, palm stinging slightly through his gloves, her check turning red. S**t, he hadn’t meant to do that. But he couldn’t talk about this with her now. They had to get moving. He steeled his heart and narrowed his gaze down at her. She was clutching her cheek staring at his cloak again, the fire gone from her eyes. 

“Get on you horse,” he forced through clenched teeth. “We’re leaving. Now.”