Page 34 of The Rising Wave

Luc knew that had to be true, because they had not so much as stirred, even as he and Ava had ridden away.

No one in the tents had stirred either, but he didn't know how she could have spelled everyone, so he assumed they'd just been lucky, there.

It was what she had done to him, though, that disturbed him the most.

He had a faint memory of waking to find her bending over him, and then nothing until he'd woken again, arrow out his chest, two wounds stitched.

He touched the arrow wound with hesitant fingers, something he'd done at least five or six times already. There was pain, but not what he'd expected. His side hurt worse, but he knew that the riding motion was contributing to that.

She followed behind him, saying nothing, but he sensed her slow and then stop behind him when they neared the northern edge of the forest, and he stopped himself, turning the beautiful Gaspatian horse she'd chosen for him around.

“I have to continue north. You need to go east. I think it's best we part ways here.” She spoke earnestly, her gaze flicking from his face to his chest, and then she urged her mount closer to him to check it.

He pulled his cloak around him, covering it up, because he had a sense she was using his injury as an excuse, a way to deflect from other things.

“Ava.”

She raised her gaze to his. “I . . . I hope I can find your Wave and join you later, if that would be acceptable to you?”

Acceptable to him?

He nudged his horse closer to hers, and pulled her close for a deep kiss.

“I want you to come with me now.”

“Even with . . ?” She waved her arm back the way they'd come, presumably to indicate the general's camp.

“Even then.” She had spelled them. Had spelled him to heal him, he was now certain. So far, she had never done him harm. Had only helped him. He wasn't such a coward that he was afraid of strength he didn't understand.

He had seen the fear of his own strength in the eyes of the guards at the Chosen camps, and he would not be like them.

Never would he be like them.

“I want to come with you.” She leaned closer to him, kissed the side of his neck before she drew back. “But my grandmother deserves to see me, hear what happened to her daughter. And I have another task I must complete before I find you again.”

“Does this task have something to do with the Herald?” He knew it did. Had seen the look on her face when she'd left her mother's body lying in the dungeon chamber.

And could he blame her?

The Rising Wave was more than just an instrument of revenge for his own mother's death, but wasn't that how it started?

He would not be a hypocrite.

She studied his face, and must have found no disapproval there, because she gave a slow nod.

He was afraid for her, afraid of the danger she would put herself in, but he could see the determination in her expression. “All I would say is that revenge often twists in our hands, and becomes something else. Joining me, helping me, would be fighting against the Herald just as much.”

She lifted her shoulders. “I have a more personal revenge in store for him, but I'll keep your advice in mind.” She trailed fingers down his cloak. “And I will come and find you as fast as I can.”

“I will look for you every day.”

She hesitated, and he could see the gleam of tears in her eyes as the sun rose behind him.

“I will think of you every day. And hope you are safe.” She bent, fiddling with the flap of his saddlebag, and pulled out a handkerchief.

Her hand went to her neckline, and she pulled out a needle she must have woven into it. It was already threaded, and she looked down at the scrap of fabric, bit her lip, and then sewed a few, quick strokes.

It was his name, he realized.

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