He kept waiting for his heart to stop hammering. For his pulse to cease its endless roar. For his guts to quit twisting.
But hours after they’d made it back to camp, after he’d made his men run drills and spar and memorize new codes, Agrippa still felt like he was about to vomit.
Why had Silvara been out there?
What had she been thinking?
What had she heard?
It was the last that haunted him, because Marcus had explained a critical piece of his mad plan with Silvara only a dozen paces away. A piece that, if revealed, would get men killed. And she would never have gotten that close if Agrippa had been paying attention.
But instead his eyes and mind had kept going upward to where Quintus was climbing, his fear of his friend falling, of another of his friends dying, seeming more important than everything else. And his distraction had nearly gotten Silvara killed—for a surety, if she’d been caught within earshot, that was what Marcus would have ordered. There’d have been no choice. Not with the lives of every man in the Thirty-Seventh on the line.
Which they still were, because he had no idea how much she’d heard.
“I’ll be back,” he muttered at Quintus and Miki when they were done with their duties for the day. “Get everyone to clean their shit and put their tents in order. Felix is definitely going to hit us with an inspection.”
“Where are you going?”
“I need to deal with something.”
Pulling his hood up against the icy wind, he left camp, weaving his way through the groups of Twenty-Ninth at liberty, all of them heading toward followers’ camp. But with his face in the shadows of wool and fur, none of them paid him any mind.
He stepped into the maze of tents and canvas, hurrying through the narrow paths, his nose filling with the stink of unwashed bodies and filth and smoke and the ripe stench of corpses, more followers having obviously succumbed to conditions.
Reaching the laundry tent, he ducked inside, admonishment on his lips.
But though the other women were there, Silvara was not.
What if she didn’t make it back?
What if she’s still out there?
What if another patrol caught her?
Panic rose in his chest, then Agnes said, “She’s minding the fire.”
He headed out the rear of the tent to find Silvara lifting a kettle off the tiny fire. At the sight of him, she froze.
“We need to talk.” The words came out sharper than he’d intended, especially given the only thing he was feeling was relief that she was all right.
Her jaw worked from side to side, an argument rising in her eyes even if it had yet to reach her lips. But all she said was, “Let me give this to Agnes first.”
Habit made him want to carry the kettle in for her, but instead he crossed his arms and waited while she brought it inside, exiting a few moments later with her patched cloak over her shoulders.
Wary of the endless ears in the crowded camp, he led her out into the forest, not saying a word until they reached a clearing. Then he stopped and rounded on her. “You better have a rutting good explanation, Silvara. Because I don’t think you can begin to appreciate how close you came to getting yourself killed.”
The brown eyes that met his did not so much as blink. “We needed the food. All the ground near camp has been picked clean thrice over, so I decided to go farther afield looking for lichen.”
“Lichen?” He stared at her, horrified. “You risked your life for lichen?”
“When you’re starving, not looking for food is risking your life. Not that I’d expect you to understand what it feels like to go without.”
“I might understand your motivation somewhat better if I hadn’t given you days’ worth of food last night.”
She looked away. “Yes, well. I gave it away to those who needed it more.”
Of course she had. Never mind that she was starved to the point of emaciation and so weak she could barely carry a bucket. “If you needed more, you should have asked me. I would’ve gotten it for you.”
She crossed her arms. “I can provide for myself. I don’t need an Empire boy to take care of me.”
An Empire boy. Because that was all he was. A number.
“Be glad this Empire boy decided otherwise,” he snapped. “Else you’d be dead in the woods with a slit throat. Gibzen wouldn’t have hesitated. None of them would have.”
“Then why did you?” Her voice quivered, but her gaze was defiant. “Given there were apparently things going on that I wasn’t meant to see or hear, why didn’t you kill me?”
Because I like you. Because you didn’t ask to be involved in this. “I’d fall on my own blade before hurting you, Silvara. But I betrayed the trust of my men—my friends—to protect you. And I’ve never done that for anyone.”
And though he might be a fool for it, he'd do it again if that was what it took to keep her safe.
“Why?”
He couldn't explain. So instead, he curved his fingers around her cheek, and bending his head, he kissed her.
Silvara let out a soft gasp of surprise, then her arms were around his neck, her tongue chasing over his. She tasted liked sweet nettle tea, her lips soft and warm as he pulled her against him, as he kissed her harder. Her hair was like silk between his fingers as he moved from her lips to her jaw to her throat, her soft whimper sending a hot flood of desire through him.
He lifted her up, her shoulders against a tree and her legs around his waist, her skirts sliding up to reveal naked skin he’d dreamed of touching, and he ran his hand up her thigh, feeling her quiver. Feeling her run her fingers through his hair as her lips captured his again.
His pulse raced, because this was a forbidden thing. A line he’d never crossed. Not the kissing but the caring. For as much as he wanted to strip the clothes from her body to satisfy his lust, he wanted her. Wanted to make her smile, to hear her laugh, and to keep her safe from the nightmare the Empire had brought down on her world.
You are the nightmare.
The thought was worse than a kick to the balls and he jerked away from her, stumbling back. “I can’t.” He wiped a hand over his mouth, because he could still taste the sweetness of her lips. “I can’t do this. Can’t have my loyalties divided this way. Just…please don’t tell anyone what you saw today, all right?”
“Agrippa…”
She reached for him and he took a staggering step back, because he knew if he felt her hands on him again, that his willpower would crack. “Please, Silvara. Just promise you won’t say anything. Promise me I can trust you.”
Her chin trembled, but she nodded once.
“It’s getting dark. You need to get back to camp.” I can’t leave her out here. “I’ll take you back.”
Careful not touch her, he led her back through the trees, stopping at the edge of the forest. The sun was nearly set, the only light an eerie blue twilight that filtered through the clouds, and as he turned, fat snowflakes began to fall. “I’ll ask about getting food to the camp. Just…just don’t go wandering out there again.”
She was shivering violently, the wind rising higher by the minute, a storm coming. And it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms to warm her. Except if he did, he’d stay. Would find her something to eat and wood to burn for heat and then stay with her through the night. And one thing would lead to another. And tomorrow, everything would be a thousand times worse.
“Don’t go,” she said softly. “I don’t want you to.”
His eyes burned, and he rubbed at them before they could betray him. “Goodnight, Silvara.”
Then he walked away.