Page 7 of The Rising Wave

He was silent and she wondered if it was because of the reputation of the Grimwaldians.

They were fey.

Some of them, anyway.

Some of them, like her.

But she had managed to hide it for a long time, and she could hide it again.

She rose up, backing away from him, and turned to the table with its plate of bread, cheese and a wrinkled apple from the summer crop.

First, she poured him some more water, remembering the way he tried to get every last drop earlier.

He took the cup from her, his gaze never leaving her face. “Grimwalt has shut its border.”

She raised her brows. “I hadn't heard that.”

“They cannot think their fate isn't tied up with the rest of the region. Who will they trade with, how will they prosper?” He drank the water, slower this time.

Ava gave a low chuckle. “You know who they will trade with, and as for prosper? We do not care for riches in Grimwalt. Prosperity is measured in peace and tranquility, not gold.” She took the cup back, filled it again.

“You first,” he said.

She hesitated, then nodded. She would have to be strong and able to run when she escaped, with or without him.

Although she knew it would be with him.

She'd made her choice, even though she wished she had enough hardness in her to leave him behind.

He watched her drink, and then took the cup from her when she filled it again. “What is the plan?”

“The plan?” She kept her voice light as she turned away and began to tear the bread in half.

“To escape.” His voice was less raspy now that he'd drunk more water, and he had turned on his side, propping himself up on an elbow.

He looked better than he had when they'd dragged him in. She'd cleaned off most of the blood and his eyes were brighter now he'd drunk the water.

“The guards think you'll harm me. They're hoping for it.” She said it calmly, but the reaction in him was instant.

He looked at the door, face and body still. “Why are they hoping for it?”

“Because they want to claim my death as an accident. They've tried to poison me, but I don't think the food Banyon brought us now is dangerous. He says they want you alive, so we're safe to eat this.” She walked over to him and lowered herself in a smooth motion, sitting beside him, legs crossed. She set the plate between them and took up her half of the bread. “I was going to have to escape today, you see, because I haven't been able to eat for a few days already.”

He hesitated, but she motioned to him with her hand and he took the bread, broke off a piece of cheese and bit into it with strong white teeth.

“They captured you two or three days ago?” she asked.

He stopped chewing, gave her a suspicious look.

“Your stubble,” she explained, waving at his face.

He fingered the dark hair on his chin and nodded. “There was a battle near Zeneca.”

“They took you prisoner?”

“We won. After the battle, they sent in a traitor who pretended to have an urgent message for . . . the Commander, that a nearby tribe were interested in an alliance and wanted to meet, and when we rode out to negotiate, we were ambushed.”

That sounded like Herron's style.

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