Page 42 of The Flame and the Forsaken

“Hold onto this wall,” she ordered when they reached the shack. She opened the door, then considered there might come a need to deal with the screech from the forest. Her bow was with the horse she’d borrowed. Her daggers had survived the chaos, still strapped inside her sopping boots, and Erran’s sword had somehow stayed with him through all the tumult, but whatever had made that awful sound would require something much bigger.

Mariel pulled one of her daggers anyway and held it aloft as she reached for the handle. The door swung open and slapped the outer wall, then bounced back. She waited, counting to twenty before stepping inside.

It was a single room, two tables in the center. Both tables and floor were stained with blood, though it looked old and worn. Hooks hung from the perimeter of the ceiling, some still holding remnants of animal carcasses. They were so timeworn, they’d turned to leather, and the smell of the place was more old and musty than rotting.

“Let’s get you inside,” she said and helped Erran up the two steps. She settled him on the floor, against a wall. “Stay put. I have blankets and a waterskin and... I’ll be right back.”

Mariel raced back to the beach for the crate and reached it just as the last sliver of sunlight inched below the horizon. She carried their meager supplies back like they held the answer to all their problems, and she dropped them just inside the door with a heavy gasp of relief.

“All right, I’m just going to—” She glanced at Erran and saw him slumped over. “No. No, come on.” His skin was cool and clammy, his lips bluish. He was shivering hard enough to make his boot buckles tinkle. He was going into shock. She needed to get him out of his wet clothes.

Mariel leaped to her feet to rip the blankets and pillows from the crate and quickly spread them out on the cleanest patch of floor. She crawled back to him and unlaced one boot, then another, gritting as she grappled with the leather suctioned to his feet. They came off with athwack,sending her flailing backward.

She started on his trousers next, cursing at him with every grueling tug. It would be quicker to cut them off, but she had nothing else for him to wear, and they had to preserve everything they had, for it wasallthey had.

His sword belt clattered when she shoved his pants aside and worked on his vest and shirt. The blouse had sustained the worst damage, but it was still functional. It would protect him from the unforgiving sun and save him from burns, if he survived the night.

Panting, she surveyed her work, trying to keep her eyes from lingering in any one place for long. He was nearly naked, except for his skivvies. She hadnodesire to see what was underneath, something she hoped he’d believe when he finally came to his senses and realized what she’d done to save him, but she was terrified it would be this one little oversight that killed him, and he was all she had left.

With a sigh, she pulled those off too, averting her eyes. She lifted his arms and wriggled him until he was on top of the pile of blankets, then patted him dry him with another.

Mariel recalled what her mother had done after Angelika’s near drowning. Her little sister had looked an awful lot like Erran: color lost, body wracked with shivers, and unresponsive. Mother had stripped them both to their flesh and twined their bodies together to transfer her warmth. Slowly, Angelika had returned to life, while Mariel and Destin had watched on, through stunned tears.

She stared at a trembling Erran and started peeling off her own wet clothing. When she was done, she climbed in beside him, tugging a blanket tight over them, and curled around him from behind. Her eyes closed, her hand reluctantly sliding over him until it was locked against his muscled belly.

Never in her life had she ever been so close to a man. It might have been the last time she’d be close to anyone.

As the rain hammered the roof, Mariel pressed her face to the space between his shoulders, drew a jittery breath, and finally allowed herself a good, long cry.

Erran hadno explanation for why he and Mariel were wrapped, naked, in each other’s arms, though there was only one that came to mind.

The night returned in sparks. The wreck. Mariel slapping him—repeatedly. The grueling trek up the beach that had seemed to never end.

His entire body ached with its own remembrances.

Fragmented light highlighted the strange cabin, illuminating dust and blood and other peculiarities he decided to save for later.

Mariel was still asleep. He lifted the blanket to see her hand cupped against his torso. Her breasts were pressed against his back, her knees tucked into his.We’re cuddling? he wondered but could only guess what that was like. Yesenia had never been the cuddling type, something he’d always found disappointing, though he’d never told her so.

Though he couldn’t be entirely sure, he didn’tthinkthey’d had sex. He could imagine no scenario in which she’d even allow it—or that he’d want it.

Erran carefully peeled her away and crawled out of the makeshift bedroll. His muscles screamed in protest, but he needed more clarity than his awkward wake-up had provided.

The shelter wasn’t much, but it would keep them shielded from the elements, and that was all it really needed to do.Make shelterwas the first lesson he’d learned in training for emergencies.Find waterwas the second.

Loosely, he remembered his boots being removed with excessive force. His clothes. Sometime in the night, she’d hung them all, hers included, but even the thought of trying to dress himself was overwhelming. He was too tired just yet to do more than wander.

He rifled through the half-spilled crate of necessities she’d pilfered from the ship, relieved to see she’d grabbed the dried meat, what little there was. Three waterskins too, mostly full. It would buy them time to find a place to fill them.

Reminded of his complete nakedness, he reached for one of the two blankets lying over Mariel and wrapped one around himself. She slept on, and he let her. If not for her, he wouldn’t even be alive, and though he hadn’t yet put together every piece of the prior evening, he understood she’d borne the brunt of it.

Erran opened the door and stepped into the glow of the morning sun. He closed his eyes, leaning against the frame for support, and took in the warmth before the full weight of reality set in.

The sun was behind him, opposite the sea. Earth’s compass.

The high tide lapped nearly to the edge of the forest floor. Boards and other detritus floated in and out on the current. Still wedged against a cluster of rocks was Mariel’s ship, its mast split, hull exposed. There’d be no fixing her, not without a lot of help.

And there’d be no help, because no one knew they were there. Samuel only knew he’d gone after Mariel, but neither one of them had known about the ship when they’d parted. Word would soon spread though, about the runaway woman and the steward’s son. It was only a matter of time before everyone assumed them dead.

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