Page 45 of The Orc's Thief
“I’m sorry.” I clench my hands around the strap of my saddlebag. “I thought there might be information in them about the Ravens. I saw you watching their mansion, so I thought you might know what they were doing.”
“These arepersonal,” he snaps. “Anyone could see that.”
My hackles rise at his tone. “I said I’m sorry. I thought they might be written in code. I’ve never had anyone write to me justto tell me about their fucking breakfast, so I didn’t know they weren’t relevant.”
Arlon stares at me for a long moment. Just as I think he’s going to sulk for the rest of the day—or better yet, leave—he ties the bundle back together and purses his lips.
“Never?” he asks.
I frown at him. “What?”
“You’veneverreceived a personal letter?”
My gaze drops to my saddlebag again. “Not since I was a girl, no. I don’t remember what the last letter was about, either. It’s been a decade, so…”
I don’t know why I told him that. Or why it hurts to think about it. I’ve put my past behind me, regrets, mistakes, and all. I don’t have time to think about it, not when we need to get on the road.
“Are we going to stand around arguing, or are you ready to leave?” I demand.
Then I pick up my saddlebags and blanket and walk away from him. He doesn’t say anything, just silently saddles his horses and comes over to help tighten the straps on mine. Without a word, we break down the camp, hurling the cut branches deep into the bramble patch and covering the fire pit with dirt and leaves, carefully disguising any sign we were ever here.
With the cliffside shelter gone, it’s almost impossible to imagine that I spent the night sleeping safely while Arlon watched over me. For once, I’m well-rested, while he covers a yawn with his broad palm, clearly tired.
He’s the one who didn’t wake me for my watch, so I shouldn’t feel sorry for him. He had to go and play the hero—now he’s paying for it.
“I thought of a game we could play,” he announces when we reach the road and swing ourselves into the saddles.
I nudge Clover with my heels, and she turns up the road, her steps sure and quick on the hard-packed dirt. “I don’t want to play any games.”
Arlon catches up with me. On his big horse, he seems even taller than before, and I resist the urge to gawk at him. He’s a warrior on a quest, as if I’d plucked him straight out of one of those adventure stories I loved reading as a girl too young to understand that heroes don’t exist.
“You’ll want to play this one,” he declares, adjusting the lead of his second horse so the animal can walk comfortably behind us. “It’s a great bargain for you.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t make bargains with men who stalk me through the forest.”
He cocks his head to the side, considering my words. “I don’t think it counts as stalking if youknowI’m here. I could fall back and follow you from a distance, but we have a way to go, and I’d rather we use the time more productively.”
“Gods,fine.Will you stop pestering me if I agree to play your stupid game?”
I look up to find him grinning at me, and something in my belly flips over, a strange, unfamiliar sensation. It’s not lust, that much I know, but it feels dangerously close to it. He’s too damn handsome, that’s the problem. Beautiful men can be dangerous too, as I’ve learned. It’s a defect in my nature, perhaps, that I see a charming smile and lower my defenses.
I really should know better by now.
“All right,” he says, his voice low and resonant. “The game should be familiar to you. It goes like this: I get to ask you one question, and you have to answer honestly. In return, you get to ask two questions of me.”
I think of the last time we exchanged information like that and can’t resist a glance toward his thigh and the wound I knowis hidden there. He catches me staring, so I face forward again, ignoring his quiet chuckle.
“That’s a shit deal,” I retort. “Since I have no wish to answer any questions at all.”
Arlon is undeterred by my refusal. He leans back and plucks a comb from one of the saddlebags, undoes the tie at the end of his long braid, and starts brushing out his dark brown hair while his horse continues on, calm as anything.
“You might not want to answer questions,” he says, running the comb through his hair, “but youmustbe curious about me.”
Ugh, the arrogance!
But as I watch him pull his hair back into a high knot that exposes his pointy green ears, another thought occurs to me.
“You’ll answeranyquestion?” I watch him closely for any sign of deception.
