Page 24 of Ties of Legacy

“To Bolivere, I suppose?” he said in a hard tone she hadn’t heard before. “Whether I want to go or not.”

She nodded slowly, wary. She hadn’t been expecting excessive thanks for making the offer—he couldn’t have known what it meant to her—but neither had she expected him to be offended by it.

“It turns out my mother was right,” he said in icy tones that cut. “She always said that if anyone found out about my link to the candelabra, they would use it to control me.”

Avery’s hand tightened around the handle of the lamp.

“You don’t have to come,” she snapped.

He laughed—an empty, humorless sound. “Don’t worry. I’ll follow obediently to Bolivere. My life depends on it, after all. So tell me,” he added in a mocking tone. “What are your commands? Will we camp here for the rest of the afternoon, or will we push on?”

Avery swallowed, unable to imagine sitting next to him on the cart for several hours.

“I think we’ll stay here for today,” she said shakily.

He bowed mockingly. “Your wish is my command, oh master.”

“Don’t!” she snapped. “I don’t want this any more than you do.”

He straightened, his face softening a little. For a moment they looked at each other, and then he sighed.

“I can hear the stream from here. I’m going to gather some water.” His eyes settled on the lamp. “I think it’s close enough that it shouldn’t cause me much of a problem.”

Avery nodded. He clearly wanted to get away from her, and it was best to let him, as far as was possible. They both could do with some space.

When Elliot disappeared from sight behind the closest trees, she sat down abruptly, taking several long breaths. It was earlier than she would usually make camp for the night, but it had already been a long day. Had her tumble into the stream only been a few hours earlier?

It was one thing to accept a traveling companion, but it was another to accept a companion who was both furiously angrywith her and possibly untrustworthy. Could she really travel with Elliot?

But it didn’t matter how much she considered the matter or how much she disliked the idea, the basic facts remained the same. She couldn’t give up the lamp, and she couldn’t leave Elliot to die.

She eventually stood and busied herself with activity. After a life on the road, she could set up camp in her sleep, but she was used to setting up a solitary camp. This time it would look a little different.

Elliot’s bedroll was attached to his pack, and she took the liberty of setting it up on the opposite side of the fire to Nutmeg. She laid out her own roll underneath the cart, only feet from her horse. She usually liked to sleep in the open—preferably with a view of the stars. But she sometimes used the cart for shelter if she was caught in the rain. And on this occasion, she wanted Nutmeg between her bedroll and Elliot’s. She might not trust Elliot, but she trusted that her horse would give her a warning before he got anywhere near the cart.

As she worked, she kept the reassuring weight of the satchel strapped to her back. And when night came, she intended to sleep with it inside her bedroll. The satchel wouldn’t be leaving her side until they reached Bolivere and she handed over the lamp.

When Elliot finally reappeared, a loaded waterskin over his shoulder, he stopped on the edge of the campsite. Taking in her preparations, his whole posture deflated. He didn’t comment, though, placing the waterskin in the back of the cart and running a hand through his hair.

When he turned to her, she spoke quickly. “I’ve heated up some food. Neither of us have eaten since before our adventure in the stream, so why don’t we start with a meal?”

He hesitated but eventually nodded and joined her by the fire. When she handed him his portion, he accepted it silently.

Sitting on separate sides of the fire, they ate in continued silence. Only when Elliot was halfway through his meal did he finally speak. “This is good.”

Avery managed a smile. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“Most people I meet on the road aren’t good cooks,” he said. “Myself included.”

She shrugged. “My mother taught me.”

“Would you be willing to do the cooking, then?” he asked hesitantly. “I have food supplies to contribute, of course.”

“Since you just told me you’re a bad cook, it’s in my own interests to agree.” Avery softened her words with a smile. “You can wash up, though.”

He nodded, chewing in silence for another minute before putting his plate down and sighing.

“I’m sorry, Avery.” He met her eyes, sincerity in his voice and gaze. “My reaction earlier wasn’t fair. As frustrated as I am with the situation, I know it isn’t your fault. And I know you’re not trying to control me.”

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