Free Otherbound by Corinne Duyvis Page B

“It’s not about putting her on the throne. There’s nowhere we can go.”
    â€œIs that all it is?”
    â€œJust say it,” Amara said. Then she wouldn’t be the one to bring it up. She could deny it and be done with it.
    â€œI see how Cilla looks at you.”
    How—how Cilla looked at
her
? She breathed deeply, the warm scent of moss filling her nostrils, and moved her hands carefully. “How’s that?”
    â€œWhy?” Maart asked. “Does it matter to you?”
    â€œDon’t be like this. Don’t play games.”
    He twisted his lips into a smile. “We used to talk about her. We used to hate her.”
    â€œIt’s not that simple. Before you came, Cilla and I played games together. The servant before you was older; Cilla was the only person close to my age I knew. The only friend I had.”
    â€œAnd now?”
    â€œNow I have you. Is that what you want to hear? Now I understand that Cilla and I
can’t
be friends.”
    â€œDo you want to be?”
    â€œIt would not end well,” Amara said.
    â€œBut do you want it to?” Normally at this point Maart grew frustrated. Now, his signs only became smaller, turning his question into a plea.
    â€œI care about
you
. All right?” Amara stepped in and pressed her lips to his. They lingered in the kiss, staving away the chill, which rolled back in the moment they separated. Amara wanted to wrap her arms around herself, rub away that goose-flesh, but couldn’t while they still talked. “That’s what I want,” she said once there was enough room between them. It was true. She wanted Maart. She wanted his teasing and his wide grins and his full lips and the way he’d squirm and laugh when she trailed kisses along his hipbone.
    She didn’t want these endless arguments.
    â€œI want you, too.” Maart pressed his forehead to hers, and she bowed her head to see his signing, pressed close and awkward between their bodies. “You and me, away from them. That’s
all
I want.”
    Amara wished she could say the same thing back.
    Leaves rustled. She jolted away, turning toward the noise. Jorn stood near an oak, one hand on its wet bark. If he’d seen her and Maart together, he didn’t show it. “Amara. I felt an intrusion. It’s probably just a mage dealing with damage from the backlash, but we should be sure. Go check.”
    â€œCilla—” Amara started to sign.
    â€œMaart and I will look after her. If there’s danger, I’ll take them into the woods.” He pointed to the path. “Come back the second you know more.”
    This wasn’t right. They each had their tasks, and this wasn’t hers.
    â€œYou said Cilla should avoid forests in emergencies,” she said. “There’s a beach nearby. It’s safer.” She should listen, not dumbly sign objections—but this was about Cilla.
This
was her task.
    â€œThat’s stupid.” Jorn sniffed. “With open ground like the beach, hired mages would have a field day shooting at her. And they’d have the full Gray Sea at their bidding for power. No. We’ll go inland.”
    If Cilla ran, the branches would tear open her skin within seconds. Why would Jorn change his mind?
    â€œI have to go back to Cilla. I’ve already lowered the boundary spell. Go!” Jorn shoved her toward the road.
    She wasn’t supposed to leave Cilla.
    It had to be the blackouts. Jorn no longer trusted her.
    Before Jorn could see her dawdling, Amara tossed her sidesling at Maart and took off, boots slapping muddy leaves. The forest smelled of moldy mushrooms and wet soil, mixed with pine and the occasional, almost-gone scent of chrysanths, bursts of white flowers fighting to be seen in the few sunlit gaps between trees. The layer of leaves under her feet—deep reds and burned yellows and faded browns—was so thick and moist that she almost slipped.