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portion of bread too.
    Solena froze in confusion.
    He was offering her his portion? He had to be hungry too. So why? It couldn’t have been out of kindness. He was a soldier. His job wasn’t to take care of her. His job was ... She didn’t know what his job was.
    She hesitated only an instant longer and then snatched the bread from him. She sat there chewing and waved at him to eat. He smiled in understanding, as if he knew of her long journey and many days without food. The compassion in his eyes made her look away. He wasn’t kind, she reminded herself. He was her captor and that was all. As soon as she could, she’d grab her votif from him and slip away.
    He brought out some dried meat, which put an abrupt halt to her planning. She closed her eyes in appreciation as she chewed on salted meat surely fit for the feast of paradise.
    Rundan continued watching her as he ate. When the food was gone, he took a votif stand from among his things and set it carefully by the fire. Then he untied his votif from his belt and, after removing its cork, he began breathing prayers over it. Solena watched his every inhalation and exhalation in rapt attention. She couldn’t have moved or looked away if she’d wanted to.
    After placing his votif in the stand, he glanced at her from under the sweep of unexpectedly dark lashes. After some hesitation, he removed the cork from her votif as well and breathed a quick prayer over it. Solena stared at him, not daring to blink. He reached to place it in the votif stand, stopped mid-reach, as if noticing her fixed gaze, and then he replaced both corks and tied the votifs to his belt. With this done, he rubbed the back of his neck for some time and avoided her eyes.
    Solena opened and closed her mouth with a snap.
    He’d prayed over her votif?
    The action was so unexpected, so shocking, she could barely connect her thoughts. What he’d done was the most intimate of acts. What a father might do for his child. Or a husband for his new bride. She and Theta had whispered about it often, wondering what it would be like, and here he was praying for her.
    Rundan’s unusually pale eyes met hers briefly and the flash of vulnerability in them disconcerted her. The expression fled as quickly as it had come and the cool mask he always seemed to wear slid into place. He was again Rundan: captor, soldier, enemy.
    Solena moistened her suddenly dry lips and stared into the fire, desperately trying to make sense of her thoughts—and of the strange tightness in her chest.
    Without a sound, Rundan shifted onto his side and drew her down against him. She was too cold to resist. He pulled the edge of the nyka hide over them both, but it didn’t cover them completely, so she huddled closer, tucking her hands into the folds of her borrowed tunic. Grandpeer would be horrified at her circumstances, being captured, lying in the night beside a stranger, but he didn’t even know where she was. He was probably worried. And he should be. She was worried about him too. Was his cough worse?
    She lay in silence, unable to sleep, but too tired to lift her eyelids, as Rundan curved his body around hers, and fit his face against her neck. Almost immediately, his breathing grew steady and deep.
    Solena absorbed what heat she could from the fire—and from Rundan’s heat at her back—and she waited.
     

Three
     
     
    RUNDAN JOLTED AWAKE, reaching for his sword. He couldn’t find it in the dark and cursed his stupidity. This was the kind of thing the other soldiers mocked him for. The girl was gone; he could see that now. Maybe she’d made some sound that had alerted him. That or he’d missed her warmth next to him. It wasn’t like he’d use the blade on her, but if he was carrying it maybe she’d be less likely to run again. He felt around, finding only the warmed nyka hide, a small pile of kindling, and the votif stand. He searched the stand, but it was empty. Remembering he’d tied both votifs to his belt, he