The Faelar & Zee Trilogy. Book 2 - Where I Choose To Stand

I woke with Faelar’s arm around me.

That, by itself, was not entirely new.

There had been other mornings when I had surfaced from sleep beneath his cloak and discovered that somewhere during the night the careful distance between us had disappeared. Once, I had woken with my head against his shoulder. Another time his arm had been draped across my waist with enough weight to make escape difficult and enough warmth to make escape seem unnecessary.

Those mornings had always come with excuses.

Cold.

Exhaustion.

A badly positioned blanket.

Sleep.

We had been remarkably talented at blaming unconsciousness for decisions our waking selves were too cowardly to make.

This morning, unfortunately, there was nowhere left to hide.

I remembered exactly how I’d fallen asleep.

I remembered sitting beside the fire beneath his cloak. I remembered the rosemary sprig he had carried since the first night we’d met, preserved for reasons he had somehow expected me to believe weren’t sentimental.

I remembered grabbing the front of his shirt.

I remembered kissing him.

Twice.

My eyes opened.

Grey morning light filtered through the branches above us. The fire had collapsed into a bed of pale ash and glowing embers, and somewhere beyond the trees the river moved steadily over stone. Mist hung low between the trunks, turning the forest beyond our little camp into layers of silver and shadow.

Faelar was still asleep.

That was unusual enough to distract me from everything else.

He was almost always awake before me.

His dark hair had escaped whatever order he’d attempted to impose upon it the previous day and lay across his cheek and shoulder. One pointed ear showed through it. His face was softer in sleep, the constant awareness absent from it. No measuring the forest. No watching the road. No pale eyes noticing absolutely everything I would prefer he didn’t.

Just Faelar. And his mouth. I stared at it. That was a mistake.

My mind immediately supplied far too much information about what that mouth felt like against mine.

I looked away. His arm tightened around my waist. I froze.

“Good morning.” His voice was rough with sleep.

My eyes narrowed. “You were awake.”

One pale blue eye opened. “Recently.”

“You were letting me stare at you.”

The other eye opened. “I wasn’t aware there were rules concerning where you may look.”

“There are now.”

“Convenient.”

I attempted to sit up. His arm remained where it was. I looked down at it. Then at him. Faelar followed my gaze with exaggerated consideration, as though he had only just discovered the offending limb.

“Problem?”

“Your arm.”

“Yes.”

“It’s attached to me.”

“No. It’s attached to me.”

I gave him a flat look. That almost-smile appeared. There he was. I shoved at his shoulder. He released me, and I sat up, dragging the cloak around myself against the morning cold.

“Insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Frequently, I imagine.”

“Recently.”

I refused to smile. I failed. Faelar pushed himself upright beside me and ran one hand through his hair. The movement shifted his shirt across his shoulders, and my eyes betrayed me again. They dropped to his mouth. His gaze caught mine. Damn. For a heartbeat neither of us moved. Then, very deliberately, Faelar’s eyes lowered to my lips. Slowly. Without even the decency to pretend otherwise. Heat climbed into my face.

“Bastard.”

His mouth curved.

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“Apparently I’m allowed to catch you staring, but I’m not permitted the same privilege.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“You were.”

“I was thinking.”

“At my mouth?”

“Unfortunately.”

The smile deepened. I reached for the nearest object I could throw. My hand found his flask. Faelar calmly removed it from my fingers.

“No.”

“Coward.”

“Thirsty.”

He drank from it. I watched his mouth again. This was going to become a problem. He lowered the flask.

“Zee.”

“Don’t.”

“I said nothing.”

“Your face did.”

“My face doesn’t speak.”

I stared at him. His eyebrow rose. I pointed at it.

“We have already established that your eyebrows are extremely vocal.”

He laughed quietly. The sound did something warm and irritating beneath my ribs. Yesterday, that sound had belonged to my friend. It still did. That was the strange part. Nothing about Faelar had actually changed overnight.

He was still the man who had walked hours in the wrong direction because my injured leg required “supervision.” Still the warrior who had stood between frightened travelers and bandits. Still the elf who cheated at cards, burned rabbit, stole honey cake, talked in his sleep and had somehow carried a dried sprig of rosemary through half the countryside because I had once thrown it at him.

He was still my friend. Except now I knew how he kissed. That seemed unnecessarily complicated.

Faelar rose and stretched, then crouched beside the fire. I watched him coax the embers back to life. There was something almost offensively ordinary about it. He added twigs. Blew gently across the coals. Fed them thicker pieces of wood. Flame caught.

Apparently a woman could kiss an Elven warrior until she forgot why breathing was important and the following morning he would simply make breakfast. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or offended.

“What?”

I blinked. Faelar was looking at me.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been glaring at the fire for some time.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Again?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Careful.”

He turned back to the fire. His shoulders moved once. Laughing. Silently. Coward.

Breakfast consisted of yesterday’s boar, a handful of berries and the remains of the honey cake Faelar had produced the previous evening. I eyed the last piece. He eyed the last piece.

“No.”

“I haven’t moved.”

“I know you.”

“Apparently.”

My fingers closed around the cake. His hand moved. I slapped it away.

“Absolutely not.”

“You shared yesterday.”

“Yesterday you were charming.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I kissed you. Clearly my judgment was impaired.”

Faelar went still. Only for a fraction of a second. Then his eyes lifted to mine.

“Do you regret it?”

The question changed the air. No teasing. No almost-smile. He wasn’t fishing for reassurance. He was asking. And he would believe whatever answer I gave him. I put the honey cake down.

“No.”

Something in his face eased. Barely.

“But,” I added, “I have absolutely no intention of allowing one kiss to become some enormous declaration neither of us made.”

“Two.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“There were two.”

“That is what you took from that?”

“I prefer accuracy.”

I picked up a berry and threw it. He caught it. Of course he did. Faelar ate it.

“Show-off.”

“You keep throwing food at me.”

“You keep deserving it.”

His expression softened again, but the question remained between us. Not do you regret kissing me? Something larger.

What now?

I exhaled and drew one knee toward my chest.

“Faelar.”

“Zee.”

“There it is.”

“What?”

“The thing we’re both pretending isn’t sitting directly between us.”

His gaze dropped to the ground between us. I kicked his boot.

“Not literally.”

“I was checking.”

“You’re impossible.”

“So you’ve said.”

I waited. He waited. I hated when he did that.

“Fine. What happens now?”

Faelar looked toward the fire.

“Breakfast.”

I stared at him. He picked up another berry.

“Faelar.”

“Zee.”

“If you say breakfast again, I am going to put you in the river.”

“We’ve established you enjoy rivers.”

“We’ve also established I own a knife.”

“You own a very small knife.”

I leaned forward.

“Would you like to discover whether size matters?”

His eyes flickered with amusement.

“That sounded considerably more threatening before yesterday.”

I stopped. He looked entirely innocent. I threw the honey cake. He caught that too.

“Give that back!”

“You threw it.”

“At you.”

“Poorly.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

The words came easily. Too easily. Silence followed. Faelar’s expression changed. Not dramatically. Just enough. We weren’t ready for that word in either direction. Love. Hate. Both suddenly felt too close to something neither of us had named.

I held out my hand.

“Honey cake.”

He broke it in half. He gave me the larger piece. Naturally, he pretended not to notice. Naturally, I did. We ate in silence for a while. It wasn’t uncomfortable. That mattered. Eventually Faelar spoke.

“I don’t know.”

I looked at him. He was watching the fire.

“What?”

“What happens now.”

That surprised me. Faelar usually had an answer, even when the answer was deliberately unhelpful. He rested his forearms across his knees.

“I know what I don’t want.”

“Which is?”

“For yesterday to become an obligation.”

Something inside me settled. I looked down at the honey cake in my hand.

“It isn’t.”

“I know.”

“You just asked whether I regretted it.”

“Knowing isn’t the same as asking.”

No. It wasn’t. I understood what he meant. Faelar turned his head toward me.

“If you don’t want me to kiss you again, you tell me.”

My mouth twitched.

“That’s an extremely unlikely problem.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Liar.”

The corner of his mouth moved. I nudged his boot with mine.

“And if you don’t want me grabbing your shirt and attacking you beside campfires?”

“Attacking?”

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

I smiled.

“Then you tell me.”

He nodded. It should have felt like a negotiation. It didn’t. It felt more like setting down weapons we hadn’t realized we’d been holding.

“I don’t want rules,” I said.

“Neither do I.”

“I don’t want us suddenly behaving like we’re supposed to be something because we kissed.”

“Agreed.”

“And I definitely don’t want you deciding that kissing me means you’re now responsible for protecting me from every sharp object, unpleasant person and badly behaved boar in the kingdom.”

Faelar considered that.

“The boar remains negotiable.”

“No.”

“Large boars?”

“No.”

“Extremely large boars?”

“Faelar.”

His mouth twitched. I pointed at him.

“Exactly that. Don’t become unbearable.”

“Become?”

I kicked him. He laughed. Then he reached across the space between us and took my hand. No dramatic gesture. No declaration. His fingers simply settled around mine. I looked down. Yesterday, holding hands had felt enormous. This morning it felt quieter. Perhaps that was better.

“What if nothing changes?” I asked.

Faelar’s thumb moved once over my knuckles.

“Something already has.”

“Helpful.”

“You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“Very enthusiastically, according to my recollection.”

I tried to pull my hand away. He held on.

“Your recollection is unreliable.”

“I remember everything.”

“Unfortunately, I believe you.”

That smile again. Then it faded.

“What I mean,” he said, “is that nothing has to change simply because something can.”

I studied him. He continued.

“We travel because we choose to travel together. We stop when we choose to stop. If this becomes more, it does because we choose it.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

His fingers loosened. Not releasing me. Giving me the option.

“Then it doesn’t.”

There it was. No trap. No expectation. No price attached to yesterday. I squeezed his hand.

“That sounds suspiciously reasonable.”

“I have occasional lapses.”

“I’ll try not to become accustomed to them.”

“Good.”

We sat there until the fire no longer needed tending. Eventually Faelar released my hand and stood.

“I’m going hunting.”

I looked pointedly toward my basket.

“Would you like me to come?”

His gaze narrowed.

“No.”

“Still traumatized?”

“Deeply.”

“One deer, Faelar.”

“One perfectly good deer.”

“It has been months.”

“I remember everything.”

I laughed. He slung his bow over his shoulder and checked the knife at his belt. The movements were familiar. For a moment I expected the usual departure. A nod. Perhaps my name.

Instead, Faelar took two steps away. Stopped. Turned. Walked back. I watched him approach.

“What did you forget?”

He didn’t answer. One hand touched my cheek. There was enough time for me to understand what he intended. Enough time to move. Enough time to say no. I did neither. Faelar leaned down and kissed me. It wasn’t like last night.

No weeks of swallowed tension finally breaking loose. No fist tangled in his shirt. No breathless surprise. Just a kiss. Warm. Slow. Deliberate. His thumb brushed my cheek once. Then he stepped back. I stared at him. Faelar’s expression was infuriatingly calm.

“What was that?”

“A kiss.”

“I know what it was.”

“You asked.”

“Why?”

His pale eyes held mine.

“Because I wanted to.”

The simplicity of it stole whatever clever response I’d been preparing. Faelar turned toward the forest.I found my voice just before he reached the trees.

“Faelar?”

He looked back. I smiled.

“I wanted you to too.”

Something changed in his face. Warmth. Unhidden this time. Then he disappeared between the trees. I remained beside the fire, staring at the place where he’d vanished.

Nothing had changed unless we chose for it to change. Apparently, we had chosen breakfast. We had chosen the road. We had chosen another day together. And Faelar had chosen to kiss me before going hunting. I touched my fingers to my mouth. Damn elf.

Apparently, something had changed after all.