Page 28 of Hearts Lost

ALOSERIN

DISTRACTION

This is impossible.

I know it’s impossible, and yet I can’t quite fight the swell of irrational optimism that seems to be smothering the fear and shock that I should be feeling. Because I have to admit, Ithronel seems to know what she’s doing.

All yesterday, as she led us along the banks of the wide river and beneath the shelter of those tall, pale trees, I’d been searching my mind, trying to remember any trekker who’d survived for longer than five days in the void. Theoretically, of course, there was no reason why they couldn’t. Ithronel had found food, there was ample water, and the air was so warm you hardly needed shelter. That only left the void beasts.

But the trekkers who’d come to my parents’ estate to sell artifacts or stories had been a ragged, beaten-down bunch, still bearing the fading black steaks of void-touch beneath their aromatic bandages or with a wide, haunted look in their eyes that never quite seemed to fade. None of them had laughed or smiled or joked like Ithronel. Voids, none of them had even said anything about the edible, if tasteless, fruits that grew around here. Not one of those trekkers seemed to embrace this place like Ithronel had.

I’d been taught that the void was worse than any nightmare. This place had, in fact, been the setting of almost every nightmare I’d ever had, at least after I’d outgrown spending every night reliving the final battle, the march into the darkness of the Lands Below as the dragon Rensivar the Wicked spread his leathery black wings above us and belched fire into the night, and then waking in cold terror convinced that our house somehow had a basement, and that the black dragon Rensivar now lived in that basement.

I shiver, despite the oppressive warmth of the air wrapped around me like a blanket, and then I grit my teeth. Well, hells, I’d woken up this morning looking for a distraction. And thinking about Rensivar the Wicked is one hell of a distraction.

With fear still prickling the back of my neck, I take in our surroundings. The sultry heat of this place hasn’t changed one bit, but the strange violet sky seems to be getting brighter, just as it had darkened last night as we’d followed the river toward an odd, low humming sound. That sound is louder this morning, more of a roar than a hum, although not as rhythmic as the sound of waves crashing against the black shores.

My eyes trace the pale shapes of the twisting tree trunks, following the shadows that tangle at their roots. None of those shadows seem to be moving. Ithronel swore yesterday that the void beasts are scared of us, that they’d have no reason to approach us. That flies in the face of everything I’ve ever heard about the beasts, but I didn’t argue. Ithronel did survive here, alone, for five days. Six days, now.

I exhale slowly and let my eyes drop to the sleeping figure on the forest floor. Ithronel’s legs are tangled in my cloak, one arm is curled under her head, and what’s left of her dress is pulled tight around her shoulders. Heat rises in my cheeks and gathers between my legs. I spin away, clenching my jaw tight. Damn it, that’s not helpful. That’s not helpful at all.

Although I’d fallen asleep with my back turned toward her, I’d woken this morning with one arm wrapped around Ithronel’s waist, and our bodies pressed together perfectly, as though we’d spent every night of our lives curled in each other’s arms.

And I’d also woken with an enormous, almost painful erection. Which was exactly why I’d pulled away from the soft, warm curves of Ithronel’s body to pace circles in the little clearing we’d chosen as a campsite, searching for a distraction.

My eyes settle on my sword. Perfect. It’s so damn hot here that I strip down to my waist before unsheathing my sword and settling into my exercises. Lunge, parry, twist. Breathe. Lunge, parry, step. Breathe.

As always, the tumult of my mind slowly settles as my body shifts into the familiar patterns of training, accepting the weight of my sword and the old protests of my sore, tired muscles. Even the constant fear of being inside the damned void settles into a dull roar, like the strange noise floating over the placid river this morning. Sweat traces rivulets down my face and stings my eyes. My arms and legs burn as I push them just a little farther, just a little harder.

It’s the slow, ordinary magic of hard training, the way physical exertion pushes all the problems in my life to the side, the magic that made it possible for me to escape my parents’ estate with all its scheming and fighting and pressure, that made it possible for me to find some way to build my own life, my own—

There’s a sharp gasp behind me. I freeze, then spin, my sword splitting the morning, its tip trembling slightly in the thick, steamy air.

“Oh!” Ithronel says.

She’s sitting up in the tangle of my cloak, her eyes very wide and her cheeks very dark. She turns away, then clears her throat.

“Good morning,” she says.

Her voice is stiff and awkward, and my heart does a strange little tripping double beat as I pant for breath. Was she watching me?

Well, obviously. But how long was she watching me? I pick my abandoned undershirt off the ground and run the fabric over my face to hide the burn in my cheeks. Voids below, I’m half-naked, covered with sweat, and I probably smell atrocious.

“Good morning to you,” I reply, my face still buried in my shirt to avoid the awkwardness of eye contact. “Do you think it’s safe to wash off in that river?”

I drop my shirt to cover my chest and glance at Ithronel. She nods stiffly.

“Mmmm,” she says, through tight lips.

“I mean, are there any void beasts around?” I ask.

She glares at me.

“Animals,” I say, correcting myself. She’d been quite insistent on that point yesterday; they are to be called animals and not monsters or beasts. “Are there any animals around?” I ask.

She closes her eyes and tilts her head back. The rising violet light dances over her full lips and, voids help me, suddenly I’m remembering how soft and warm she’d felt in my arms this morning. How damned good she’d smelled. And now blood is rushing back to my cock, undoing all my work with the sword.

I turn away, but her words follow me.