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him, for his pain would become hers and she’d have to stay with him until she healed his wounds. It was just the way she was, had always been. Of course he couldn’t know that. As a soldier, weapons were likely all he knew and trusted.
    Solena gave a resigned sigh and lifted the nyka up, holding it up like a curtain. Rundan nodded and held it for her, averting his face slightly. After quickly changing into the dry clothes, she tugged the animal hide down. He took the sodden leathers from her, wrung them out into the briars outside the entrance, and hung them on rocks near the fire, a strangely domestic gesture given their circumstances, one that made him seem less threatening somehow. A dangerous thought, Solena realized. She had to remain on guard. She had to watch him, could n’t allow herself to trust him.
    Then, as he removed his plate of chest armor, she realized she wasn’t so much “watching him” as staring. Though she knew the correct action was to turn her back, she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from him. She continued to watch him move, noting how each motion was performed with the efficiency of a trained soldier. He began to lift his tunic, exposing a strip of marble pale abdomen, and paused. His eyes met hers and held a glimmer of humor as he muttered something.
    Solena spun to face the cave wall, her face burning. Though she’d seen many male bodies in her training as a healer—old men, babies, youths of all ages—this soldier was not her patient and she had no right to look at him that way.
    And why gape at him , she demanded, disgusted with herself. So he had the ridged stomach muscles of a dock worker. And strong shoulders, which tapered down to his waist, and those long, powerful looking legs.... So he was strong and well-made. As a soldier, he was likely accustomed to pitching tents and hauling gear and swords and all sorts of armor. All that meant was he was a nicely formed young man, which was no business of hers. He’d captured her and brought her into that awful camp, hadn’t he? Now he was taking her to the palace, or at least that was where she thought he was taking her, where the Odenian court would likely execute her; she’d heard the stories. And besides that, Solena thought with an inward grimace, he probably had a girl back in Oden wearing his mark of betrothal tied around her wrist. And—and she’d just looked at him like she had a right to, well, to look at him that way .
    Solena thought she heard her captor chuckle under his breath, but she didn’t dare glance back at him. Now was perhaps a good opportunity to grab her votif, but she felt suddenly shy in the hollow of the cave with him. He had given her the dry clothes after all, and they looked to be his own things. He could have easily let her freeze.
    Feeling the beginnings of a headache, perhaps from being under water for so long, or maybe from fighting back the constant strain of fear, Solena turned as Rundan spread the nyka hide near the fire. He beckoned her closer, indicating she should sit beside him. Solena came cautiously, eyeing the fire. From where she stood, the barest hint of warmth reached out and brushed her cooled cheeks. Its heat was tempting, but she didn’t want to go closer to him. Then he held out an even more tempting portion of cheese and bread and her stomach rumbled. Unable to help herself, she dropped to her knees beside him and fell upon the food. She gulped down hunks of bread and hard cheese almost too big to chew. When he handed her a jug of water, she realized he was staring at her.
    She continued to drink deeply, closing her eyes against his gaze. Though her face burned with embarrassment, she was too hungry to stop and kept eating until her portion was gone. Why should she care what he thought anyway? It wasn’t like she wanted to make a good impression on him. She was just hungry and thirsty beyond measure. When she was done with her rations, Rundan simply held out half of his