Bounty Hunter (The Black Tulip Chronicles #1)

25. Vera

Chapter 25

Vera

M y numb fingers slip and scrape clumsily, looking for handholds in the freezing rock, but I bite my lip and force myself to keep going. Rupi rests somewhere beneath us in the cover of the trees, and I don’t blame her. This storm is a bad one. My arms and legs burn, my nose is running from the cold, and I’m almost positive my face is frozen into the unattractive, somewhat distressed expression I adopted at the beginning of this horrid climb. I breathe a sigh of relief once I haul my tired body into the small opening and plant myself on the edge out of sheer exhaustion, my legs still hanging over the side. I sit for a moment to ground myself, pressing my right shoulder and hip up against the rock at my side so Ikar has room to climb in. Even injured, he’s much faster than I am, but I vastly underestimated the breadth of him. When he seats himself, we find our shoulders pressed tightly together, and he hunches over a bit to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.

Our legs hang over the edge while we look over the dreary, foggy view that spreads out before us. Dark clouds churn and hover on the tips of the deep green trees. It’s eerily beautiful. I catch a tall shadow that doesn’t quite match the rest near the edge of the trees where we were just moments ago in my peripheral, but when I shift my eyes to see what it is, there’s nothing there. Again. It’s easy enough to explain away this time. It’s probably the combination of sore muscles, freezing cold conditions, and eerie forest playing tricks on my vision. Still, I won’t deny that I’m glad Ikar is beside me, and I find I’m much more grateful for the height of our shelter than I was two minutes ago. I stare at the spot where I thought I saw the shadow for at least another minute. There’s nothing there but wet soil, grass, and trees.

Ikar turns his head to look over his shoulder and takes in the tiny space, a hint of a dismayed frown pulling at his brows. I twist a bit so I can see, too. It can’t quite be called a cave, the ceiling is so low we won’t be able to stand, and it’s very narrow. So narrow, in fact, that I’m not sure the two of us will be able to lay down to sleep in it. More like a hole in a wall than a cave. But all it takes is another quick glance at the ghostly forest to make our hole in the wall look very, very comfortable.

Ikar is the first to act, always decisive and matter-of-fact. I’m beginning to appreciate that my criminal harbors many helpful qualities. He begins moving and shifting to remove his pack and bring it in front of him. But in doing so, his arm and shoulder jostle against mine even more in the cramped space. I practically get mashed into the wall in the process as I try to press myself against my side of the rock to give him more space, but my efforts prove entirely unhelpful, and I find myself irritated by my awareness of him. Curse his broad, muscular shoulders.

He pulls out his bedroll and then we both move at the same time. I pull my legs up from their dangling position, against my chest almost, and try to gracefully turn toward the back of the cave without touching him. He seems to have the same unspoken idea, and our legs quickly tangle up awkwardly. My left shin is somehow against one of his calves, my right calf is tangled with his left thigh, and my back still pressed to the chilled rock behind me does nothing to cool the temperature of my burning face. I hear him mutter a string of grumbles and curses beneath his breath. I never thought I’d be grateful for wind-chapped cheeks, but at this moment, it’s providing a perfect cover. We untangle ourselves eventually. Then he tosses out his bedroll on the right side of our shelter and does some sort of forearm crawl forward until he settles himself onto it.

I toss out my own bedroll with still-flaming cheeks and pretend like I don’t see that the material of mine covers his by at least a few inches. I crawl onto it without making any sort of eye contact and sit down pressed against the cold rock. I wrap my arms around my knees, staring out the entrance and watching fat flakes of snow fly about in howling wind. The rock shelters us from much of the storm but not all, and I shiver in my still-wet clothing.

Rupi joins us a few minutes later, snow and ice coating her fluffy feathers so thick she looks more like a flying snowball than a bird. She barely makes the opening of the cave when a large gust of wind blows her too far, and she comes to a somewhat rough landing. More of a tumble, really. I laugh a little and am promptly shot a grumpy, frazzled look as she rustles feathers partially turned to quill. I carefully scoop her up and begin brushing the snow off her before she quickly hops forward to warm herself by my neck. I cringe a little at the cold wetness, probably her revenge for my laughter, but I let her stay, and she dries quickly. She’ll be all fluff within minutes. I notice then that Ikar has been watching as he rubs the back of his leg, a small grin lifts one side of his mouth. I look away, slightly embarrassed, and decide I need to redirect his focus.

“Is it worse?” I ask, trying not to be concerned about his injury. Even if it is, I can’t risk helping him by healing it further.

He stares at the roof of the cave. “It’ll be fine.”

“You always say that.”

“It will. I’ve had worse and survived,” he says bluntly. It brings to mind the other scar I saw, and that summons the heat back to my cheeks. It feels like I’ve invaded his privacy. I’m also reminded that he lives a violent life by choice, and I shouldn’t care about his injuries.

I busy myself digging dried meat and fruit from my pack and toss him some of what I find. Meanwhile, two suns have set, leaving us in near dark besides the glow of the heavy flakes that fall outside our cave as the third sun takes its light with it. I could create light using my magic, but it’ll glow an unearthly white, and I don’t want Ikar to see it for too long. Instead, the shadows grow deeper as the already dark sky grows darker.

After we’ve eaten, Ikar insists on perfecting my grip on my sword before we finally call it a night. After I struggle to follow the example he’s mirroring with his own sword he moves closer and repositions my hand for me. I should pay attention to the change he made so he doesn’t have to correct me again tomorrow, but he’s so close, and the smell of leather and pine, and the sound of his low voice beside my ear, and his knee brushing my thigh has me struggling to breathe a little. His large hand is still over mine, and he appears to be waiting for a response to a question, but I have no idea what he asked. My cheeks redden.

“Does that make sense?” he asks, I’m pretty sure this isn’t the first time he asked .

I simply nod since I know my voice will be shaky if I speak. I’ll have to face the awkwardness of admitting I’ll need a redo on this lesson tomorrow, but I’d get a lot more out of it if he’d keep his distance. Not that that’s what I prefer right this moment. I brush a stray strand of my hair behind my ear, waiting for him to move back to his side of the cave, but my bracelet catches his eye. Instead of moving back, his finger catches the bracelet, and it sucks the air from my lungs as he lifts it from my wrist gently.

“No clasp,” he observes, “You cuffed, same as I?” I can hear the joking tone of his voice, and I see that handsome half smile on his face, but the question hits me unexpectedly. I’d never considered myself cuffed, but I can’t remove the bracelet. Something uncomfortable triggers at the realization. I look down at the purposefully nondescript and innocent-looking piece of jewelry. The higher class Tulips have a fancier style, one more fitting for their place in society. Renna’s and mine, though woven with a delicate chain, are merely an unblemished silver. He drops it, leaving my wrist tingly where his finger brushed.

“It’s a friendship bracelet.” That’s my memorized, automatic response to anyone who questions the bracelet that is constantly on my wrist, but I find it comes out a hint defensive this time.

“A friendship bracelet?” He seems genuinely curious. He’s still too close. Intoxicating.

I twist it again, trying not to sound breathless. “Yeah, me and a group of friends have them. We’re like sisters.” I feel relieved I didn’t really have to lie, but then I realize I may have said too much. I wait, a little scared to see what he says next.

“I know Originators are a close group.” He says it like it makes sense that we’d have friendship bracelets. “But all the Originators I’ve worked with dress in white and in styles that always show their mark. Why don’t you?” He looks curious, glancing at my black cloak and the shirt that covers me from wrist to neck.

My heart feels like it’s beating too fast. I’m grateful his hunter hearing is suppressed, otherwise it would surely give me away. I struggle to think of an acceptable response. “I’ve never felt comfortable with the showy stuff,” I mumble, looking down and twisting my bracelet around a few more times as a distraction. It’s not a lie, but also not the full truth.

He shrugs. “I can understand that.”

He moves away after that, and while I miss the warmth his presence gave, I’m relieved I can breathe again and that he didn’t ask more questions. We both quickly climb beneath our separate blankets. It’s too cold to not.

We lay there in the dark, and I’m freezing. I removed my sopping jacket, and that helped for a few minutes, but my shirt refuses to dry in the bitter cold that has crept into our cave from the storm. My eyes and arms burn with fatigue, and my teeth ache from the constant chattering the last several hours. I cuddle in a tight ball against the wall of the cave and try to hide the sound beneath my blanket.

“Toss me your blanket, we’ll layer up to share heat,” Ikar says from a couple feet away. There is a distinct lack of emotion in his voice.

I freeze in a different way and hesitantly turn my head over my shoulder to look at him, desperate at this point for any warmth I can get. Is he being serious? Should I allow this?

He just looks at me, his outstretched hand waiting for my blanket.

Against my better judgement, I remove my blanket and toss it to him, watching as he doubles them up neatly and then lays them back down, but for me to share, I’ll have to get closer. I scootch over, only as far as necessary to fit beneath my side of the blankets, eyeing the few inches between us. Then, I turn away from him and pull the blankets back up over my shoulders. He lays on his back, staring up at the uneven rock ceiling above us.

Everything I was told about Ikar seems wrong, and I feel confused. I feel safe with him, I even feel like we’ve developed a sort of friendship, which has never happened between myself and a bounty. Even Rupi, my trustworthy character judge, seems to have warmed to him. Do I trust my gut and my bird or trust whoever set the bounty? Guess it doesn’t matter, no matter what I decide I won’t be removing the cuff. I’m just as trapped as he is at this point. I feel like a criminal myself, considering breaking rules and handling this entire arrest the way I have. I’ve heard all sorts of sob stories, lies twisted and used to attempt to manipulate a release, but I always see through them. I keep up thick walls around myself as protection, which I’ve tried to do with Ikar, but he seems to have torn them down brick by brick in a matter of days. His strong, steady presence. That smirk that so often lifts his lips. Even the irritatingly confident way he forges through any situation. I usually go with my gut, but my attraction to him has me wondering if it’s reliable in this case. I don’t want to believe that this man, who I’ve come to respect and feel comfortable with, is a Tulip killer. But Rupi wouldn’t peck at his earlobe like she does if he was a Tulip killer, right?

My eyes beg to close. I know I need rest, but before rest, I want answers. I decide to risk it for a short moment and pull magic. I hold a small ball of light in my hand, enough to dimly light our cave, but I keep it at my side and hidden from his direct sight. For a moment, I wish my magic was warm, like an Originator’s, but nothing I wish will change the fact that it will always be cold, bright, white. Rupi lifts her head from her wing and turns an eye toward me inquisitively. Even if she could ask what I plan to do, I couldn’t answer because there is no plan. This is a desperate, spur-of-the-moment decision that I may regret. She re-tucks her head in sleep, and I drag my gaze toward Ikar, lying just inches away. His hands rest atop his chest as he stares at the pitch-dark ceiling, quiet. He doesn’t look at me, but I can tell he’s awake. I can practically feel his thoughts turning. Now, I find myself asking the burning question that has risen to the surface for the last few days.

My voice, though soft, seems loud in the quiet around us, and Rupi lifts her head again to give me a side eye of annoyance at the second interruption. “What were you doing with the mercenaries if you aren’t one?”

My heart beats hard as I wait for his answer. I hope I hate his answer, that my lie alarm starts ringing and I can know he’s just another bounty. Maybe Rupi’s quills will even burst out. But the fear that resisted this conversation reminds me how dangerous it is if none of those things happen. Part of me still thinks I’m nuts for doubting the fact that he is a criminal when the largest bounty I’ve ever contracted for is on his head.

He turns his head to look at me, as if he’s considering if he’ll talk or not. My stomach twists in hope. For some reason, I so badly want to know him. It takes him a moment to respond as he seems to put the right words together. My heart beats a little faster as he begins to speak.

“I’m in search of something that will save a lot of people,” he says carefully, “Two things, actually.”

I stay silent and wait for him to continue. He knows I want more than that. I already know about the flower. I don’t know what the second thing is, but I’m not concerned about that right now.

He turns his gaze back to the ceiling. “Believe it or not, I am not a criminal nor do I plan to become one.”

For some wild reason, I truly do want to believe him. Nothing he will say changes the fact that I have to treat him as a criminal, but I’m relentless. “Why were you with the mercenaries?”

Was he searching out Tulips for money? We haven’t talked about that list since I ruined it. I don’t want to mention it again for fear it will remind him that he thought I knew something. He was suspicious enough that he followed me, or maybe he was out for revenge. But then why did he rescue me? I’ll have to sort through that later, but the Tulips in general are not something I should know or even care about it if I’m an Originator.

I look back at him, but he still stares straight up at the rock ceiling, and the light in my hand is just enough to give shape to his face and expression. Is he waiting for me to get bored and go to sleep? I’ll stubbornly stay awake until he talks. No handsome profile will distract me from my quest for answers. Mercenaries give me the shivers, and I never accept jobs to work with them. That is one of my biggest hold ups in believing his story. I just want to know, but if he tells me, will I even believe him?

Finally he speaks. “My First Co—” He clears his throat and corrects himself, “…close friends and I are on a mission for our kingdom. Darvy and Rhosse. I was never actually with the mercenaries. Merely fighting to gain information. We’d just left them when we... met .” He smiles a little, and my heart pauses beating in my chest for a moment as I wonder if he considers our meeting with fondness as his smile implied. I force my thoughts away from that because he’d just dropped a hint. Before he corrected himself, I’m positive he was about to say his First Commanders are his close friends, and I’m familiar enough with rank to know it indicates he may be a royal soldier for one of the kingdoms. Does that mean Darvy and Rhosse are his leaders? But why would he fight for a list of Tulips? I want so badly to blurt it out, but my anonymity depends on my avoiding that topic, and since he didn’t bring it up, I can’t, either.

“You are claiming to be a royal soldier, then?”

He sits up and pulls his pack closer. I increase the light in my hand to help him when I see that he’s searching for something. Soon, he finds what he’s looking for and tosses something small to me. I catch it and find a small circular patch in my hands, about the size of one of my palms. I don’t know which kingdom it indicates, but it looks very similar to the one stamped on our currency. And, as far as my limited military knowledge goes, it appears legitimate.

I react on pure self-protective instinct. “So, you killed a soldier and lifted his patch? You’ve certainly built a decent cover, probably stole the poor man’s identity, too.” I narrow my eyes at him.

If a glare threw daggers, I’d be dead three times over.

I toss the patch back to him, feeling a little guilty at being the cause of the extinguished hope in his eyes that had flared for a moment.

“Don’t ask questions if you’re not ready to believe the answers.” His tone is as icy as the chill winds outside, and I shutter my gaze so he doesn’t see the guilt there. I should have just gone to sleep. It wouldn’t matter if I believed him anyway, I wouldn’t uncuff him. I’m grateful for the steadying support of my rules. Those rules are my backbone, and they say to never trust a bounty. I broke rules, and now look where I am. Breaking more rules will only make it worse .

He looks away as he places the patch back in his pack. “I know I’m asking a lot here, but I can promise if you release me, I won’t hurt you. And you won’t become a bounty.”

He just can’t help but push my limits. Who does he think he is? I pull my eyes from his and pick at the stitching along one of the blankets that cover us.

“So, you know that if I break the contract and don’t deliver you to the authorities, I become a bounty as well. Interesting that you know that tidbit.” I look at him suspiciously. How many arrests has he manipulated his way out of? “And promising that I won’t become a bounty for breaking it? That is impossible. So, that’ll be a hard no. But I do hope you’re able to find what you’re searching for.” And I mean it. If he truly is a soldier on a mission to save his people, I hope he’s successful. Until then, he’s my bounty. A very dangerous one, at that.

I turn onto my side, facing the cave wall. I’m about to extinguish my light, prepared to fall asleep and forget that disappointed look on his face that will probably be seared onto the backs of my eyelids. I hear him shift, feeling the blankets pull and loosen while he gets comfortable. Then Rupi chirps contentedly, sounding further away than before, and I realize she’s no longer by my side. I lift my head to look over my shoulder and scowl when I see that she’s nestled herself in the warm crook between Ikar’s neck and shoulder. I stare in shocked silence at my traitorous pet. Ikar doesn’t acknowledge me, though I know he knows I’m looking in his direction. And maybe I imagine the smug quirk to his lips as Rupi practically coos as she tucks her head to sleep, but I don’t think so. I purse my lips as I quickly lay back down and stare at the cave wall. He’s so dangerously alluring even my loyal bird has left me for him. See if I ever buy that expensive birdseed again.

And then all is quiet. Tension from our conversation lingers, but I refuse to turn and apologize. This softening heart of mine is growing dangerous. I stubbornly lay facing the wall, unwilling to move any closer to him, even though the warmth he emanates is tempting. But a different sort of tension joins the mix. Every breath and movement feels so close within the confines of these walls. I try to ignore our close proximity. He may be a dangerous, manipulative criminal, but so far, he’s protected me and treated me well, and that only makes him more attractive.

I’d also like to point out that it’s very different sharing a blanket than walking side by side—too intimate and warm. I shift as far as I can toward my side of the cave, which is maybe a hair’s width more, while still ensuring the blankets are covering me. The chill in the cave is deepening, and I don’t want to freeze in my sleep, but I also don’t want to fall asleep beside the man that I feel guilt for calling a criminal even though he is one. I don’t know if Ikar feels the same tension as me as we both lie beneath our doubled blankets, but I assume not, because, within moments, his breathing settles into the deep, rhythmic breaths of sleep. I don’t know how to feel about that, wondering if my attraction is one sided, and then angry with myself for caring if a bounty is attracted to me or not. After fighting with myself for an undetermined amount of time, I also, finally, drift off to sleep.

I’m in that fuzzy state between waking and dreaming, wrapped in warmth so deep I never want to move. I sigh in comfort. I’m content to stay where I am as I enjoy the slow process of coming fully awake. My eyes open blearily, then I blink twice, and they open wide in a flash. Very, very wide. The cave. My body awareness slowly kicks in, and I realize my head rests in the soft spot between Ikar’s shoulder and his chest, his strong arm wrapped around me. My eyes travel the length of my right arm laying across his broad chest and find my hand curled into the fabric of his shirt, his larger hand resting over mine, both of which rise and fall slowly, up and down with the movement of his chest.

I’m afraid to move my head to see what my legs have done, but I don’t need to see to know that amidst the mess of blankets, one of mine is twined with one of his. We sleep as lovers, which we most definitely are not. Don’t cuddle with dangerous criminals. Make that any criminal, I mentally scold myself. Then my eyes snag on a ball of white, still huddled beside Ikar’s neck, near the steady beat of his strong pulse. Rupi’s tiny body rises and falls, her head tucked beneath a small wing, soundly asleep. As content as I was just moments ago. My eyes narrow. Traitor. But if she’s one, then I am too. I carefully gulp and look up just as he’s slowly blinking away sleep himself.

“Storm’s passed,” he mumbles.

And then, for what seems a very long second, he realizes what I realized. We both move at the same time. Rupi flaps her wings ornerily at the disruption as I laugh awkwardly, and I mention in words that leave my lips too rapidly how bad the storm was while he quickly agrees, and I scootch back to my side of the cave feeling cold and something else I don’t want to admit might very well be disappointment at the separation.

Morning light reaches into the space, and already the air is warm enough to begin to melt the icicles that formed from the storm like jagged teeth across the cave entrance. I know we need to leave soon. I sneakily glance across at Ikar again, who has rested his back against the cave wall, and find Rupi once again settled on his broad shoulder, right beside his neck, and frown. Jealous of Rupi? Absolutely not. My eyes don’t linger long, but I notice that what was once a shadow of beard along his jawline when I first arrested him is now darkening, he looks more dangerous, and more handsome, as he sits looking like a pirate, inspecting and organizing his weapons. Though, the white fluff on his shoulder that has her tiny head cocked at an innocent angle is a far cry from a battle-hardened parrot.

Time to go. I swallow dryly.

We set off quickly after that, and the warmth of the morning soon has us removing our heavier layers and strapping them to our packs once again.

“We should be able to cross the Shift Forest in three days, maybe four.” His eyes scan the map that I’ve given him, mentally calculating the distance and time. “Then we should reach the fae.” I’m happy to let him guide. I’ve given up, as long as we really do stop at the fae. I’ve got dues to pay and Mama Tina is my messenger.

“One day there,” he says.

I quickly curb his attempt at taking charge. “Two.” I know he’s in a hurry, but I only see Mama Tina twice per year.

He frowns. “Two days there, then we head to Moneyre. That means we should be there in less than a week, if all goes smoothly.”

A week longer to resist the wiles of my criminal. A week until I get the reward I need. A week until I’m free. I can do this.