had compelled him to tell her? It had been years since he’d spoken of his father. Her gaze roamed over the guard and down the length of the battered steel. The scrutiny felt so much more personal than if she had looked him over with the same admiration. Suddenly it bothered him to be sharing this moment with a stranger, this odd girl who liked swords.
Without a word, he took the weapon from her hands and placed it between them. She regarded him with a confused look before withdrawing. Hugging her arms around her knees, she scanned the darkness. The whir of cicadas filled the night. For a moment the look on her face was so vulnerable, the need to protect her overwhelmed any other urge. They were both stranded out here with no idea what the next day would bring. He wagered she wasn’t as accustomed to it as he was.
He undid the clasp of his cloak and tugged it from his shoulders.
‘I’ve got thick skin,’ he said when she protested.
That earned him a faint smile. She thanked him and wrapped the cloak around her, disappearing into the wool. Seeing her in it sent another wave of possessiveness through him.
He lowered himself to the grass and tucked his arms behind his head. ‘It’s not far to the next town.’
‘Did you just come from there?’
‘Yes. They chased me away with shovels and axes.’
She blinked at him, not understanding.
‘Someone will help you there,’ he amended.
She pulled his cloak tight around her, as if shielding herself from the night. ‘I know you have done all you can.’
A grunt was all he could muster in response.
If she knew any better, she’d have never asked for his help. Even the soft sigh of her breath seemed like seduction. He dug his nails into his palms, using the sharp bite to distract him as he stared at the outline of the trees against the sky, black on black. There was nothing he could do for her and he hated it.
‘I should tell you something,’ he said.
The grass shifted beside him as she turned onto her side. Only her face was visible from under the hood. The fire cast a deep shadow beneath her cheekbones.
‘You do not know how to lie.’
She frowned. ‘I don’t lie.’
‘You carry a sword and have five brothers trained to fight. Why would your merchant father be raising a small army?’
When she said nothing, he knew he’d hit his mark. She had the look of a cornered fox ready to flee.
‘What does it matter? You will be gone by tomorrow,’ she said.
The dwindling fire crackled in the ensuing silence. He let his head drop back against the hard ground. Apparently, he’d made the right decision not to get involved.
‘You’re nobility. Warrior class.’
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Nobility or not, Ailey was not for him. He was a barbarian in this land and always would be. Her sword-wielding brothers would castrate him if they discovered him alone with her. And then they’d kill him.
Chapter Two
Ailey woke with the first hint of daylight, blinking up at the sky in disbelief. It took a moment before she had enough command of her muscles to sit up. Though she couldn’t see any stones now, she had sworn there were a thousand of them beneath her during the night. All digging sharply into the parts of her that were most sore. It was better to wake up on the cold, bare earth than shackled in Li Tao’s wedding bed, but she didn’t want to think of how many more days and nights there were between here and the capital. She had journeyed for over a week by palanquin, escorted by the wedding party. Now she was alone.
Not completely alone.
Ryam slept beside her with his arms huddled over his chest, his chin tucked close. His sword still lay between them and the heady scent of his skin permeated the wool around her. The boyish look of him in sleep sparked some nurturing instinct. She untangled herself from his cloak to lay it gingerly over him. The material barely covered the expanse of his torso. With a muffled grunt, his long fingers curled around the wool to pull it up around him.
Fearsome warrior indeed.
Now that she was more accustomed to him, his features didn’t appear so harsh. She could even see how his strangeness might be considered handsome … if one looked long enough. She turned away as a disturbing awareness fluttered in her chest. Best to let him sleep.
The atmosphere hung damp and heavy, and a sheen of morning dew covered the grass. She stood and raised her arms over her head, letting the blood flow through her languid muscles. The stir of the breeze between the branches greeted her from the woods. A whooping call of a bird in the distance was the only sign of any living creature other than the two of them.
She had only told him part of the truth about her family the night before. Ryam was an outsider who wasn’t likely to have any ties to their enemies. She couldn’t tell who was loyal any more. She lifted her swords and paced towards the centre of the clearing. Restlessly, her right arm directed its blade in an attack pattern. Perhaps she could think of a way to persuade the foreign swordsman to stay with her. The left blade followed out of habit, echoing the same precise movements.
If she was at home, Grandmother would be watching over her as she went through her daily practice. Her grip remained easy as she let the butterfly swords circle in front of her. She tried to conjure Grandmother’s voice. Better. Now again. The familiar exercise held no comfort. She might never see her grandmother or the rest of her family again.
All her life, she’d dreamed she would leave one day to marry. Part of her had always dreaded that moment, but only with the usual sadness of any daughter leaving the comfort of childhood behind. She never imagined she’d defy her betrothal to flee back home.
It was shameful. Dishonourable. The echo of her parents’ disapproval resounded deep within her, louder than any true sound could ever be.
But how could she marry a murderer? Old Wu had told her that her brother Ming Han’s death wasn’t an accident. Li Tao was the one responsible.
‘What is that you’re doing?’
Ryam’s presence broke through her sorrow, shattering the stillness like a pebble tossed into a pond. He stood outside of arm’s reach and his gaze followed the path of her swords.
She stared at her hands as if they were no longer her own. ‘First sword form,’ she replied, at a loss.
Had he been watching her? She had been going through the motions to try to focus her thoughts. Her technique must have been unforgivable—what a strange thought to have at that moment! Her pulse hammered under his scrutiny. She was used to Grandmother watching her with the eyes of a hawk. This was so very different.
‘I was … I was practising.’
‘This is how you practise?’
He folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head as he circled her. The intensity of his gaze flooded her with heat. It was a wonder she didn’t cut herself with her own swords.
‘All those elaborate patterns,’ he murmured. ‘Does that help in fights?’
‘In combat, your body falls into what it has done a thousand times before. A perfect harmony between instinct and thought.’
Her throat felt dry as she recited the words. Her elder brothers were commonly praised for their skill, but never before had a man shown such interest in her. She drew out an intricate pattern with the tip of one sword in three neat swipes, as if wielding a calligraphy brush. It gave her something to do as he stepped closer. All of the air around her seemed to rush towards him whenever he drew near.
‘Your brothers taught you this?’ he asked.
‘My