Reawakening by Amy Rae Durreson Read Free Book Online

there was something sharp and measuring in his faded blue eyes that made Tarn reassess him. This was no country bumpkin.
    “You’d be Tarn, then,” he said, and even his voice had an easy country drawl. “Nice to put a face to the name.”
    “Aye,” Tarn said cautiously.
    He got a warm chuckle. “My office is above young Dit’s favorite storeroom. Quite a night you had.”
    Tarn had forgotten how it felt to blush. He wouldn’t apologize, not for something that had been such a pleasure, but he could say, “No disturbance was meant.”
    “Oh, don’t apologize. It was quite an inspiration.” The slow smile that went with those words definitely wasn’t that of the average bumpkin, unless they’d changed a lot since his day. Tarn was really beginning to wonder who this man was, and what place he had in the caravan, when the man said, “I’m Cayl.”
    He recognized the name, and after a moment remembered where he had heard it. This was flamboyant Sethan’s lover?
    “I’m just a passenger on this run,” Cayl said. “You’ll be wanting the pretty one.” He leaned back and called, “Hoy, Seth. Your northern swordsman’s here.”
    Sethan scrambled out of the back of the wagon a few moments later. He had discarded the flowing robes in favor of tight-fitting breeches and a billowing shirt, all pulled in with rows of polished buttons. His shining hair was clipped up in what was clearly a deliberately artless fall.
    Tarn couldn’t make sense of the two of them. Then Cayl offered his hand to help his lover step forward, and he saw the way Sethan touched him, and the absolute trust with which he let Cayl guide him. Men were strange and wonderful things.
    “And here he is again, complete with mighty sword,” Sethan murmured. “Have you expressed our gratitude, my own?”
    “I have,” Cayl said easily and swung his arm around Sethan’s waist, holding him steady.
    “So,” Sethan said, as Tarn wondered if he was going to be teased for the rest of the journey, “Ia tells me you rode in along the road from Rashamel. If the south continues to grow so frightfully dull and intolerant, I may investigate new routes in that direction. Your observations would be helpful, if you have the time.”
    “I won’t know the names of the towns,” Tarn said. “We have not left the mountains since before their building.”
    “We have a map, dear boy. One does like to include such a thing before one sets out on a long journey.”
    “Be nice,” Cayl chided.
    “Nice is so dull.” Sethan sighed and turned back to Tarn. “So, will you speak, or must I conclude that all your talents lie below your belt?”
    Tarn talked, but he was aware all the while that Cayl was watching him with those assessing eyes.
     
     
    H E SLIPPED into the routine of the caravan easily enough. He took Jirell’s advice and slept on the back of Barrett’s wagon. Hireth and Lyson were new lovers and loud enough that he could hear them even from the next wagon, and Jirell herself spent her nights tucked up with the twins. He heard them giggling sometimes, and it made him smile.
    He took an hour-long shift on the night watch each night, a slot just before dawn. He grew used to watching the sky grow bright as his breath steamed in the cold nights, under increasingly cloudless skies.
    He often rode with Ia, indulging her historian’s curiosity by discussing what he pretended were little-known northern records of the Dragon Wars. Ellia and Jancis became good friends too, and Dit was an easy companion, though they never repeated their night together. Indeed, Dit seemed to be flirting more and more with quiet Barrett, the spice merchant, who watched him with dreamy eyes and blushed at his flirting.
    Eventually, Tarn started unslinging his tent and sleeping alone behind the wagons. It wasn’t long before he was woken by the creaking of axles and Dit’s unmistakable moans. Tarn smiled to himself and turned over in his sleep, pulling his blankets a little