Alexander’s feet were sore from the walk. They knew they would be taking a boat, so the horses had been left behind with the Nomads and with Lissie. Riley had not spoken to him during the long journey.
The southern tribe wore suspicious eyes and frowns, and nothing else.
Their clothing would never dry as much as they seemed to go in the water.
All bottles almost empty. Alexander hated the world with a hangover, and as long as he stayed drunk he wouldn’t have one.
Have to ration the rest.
He took another drink.
Tlaso translated Riley’s words.
Alexander stared at the man’s back. His skin was tan and tight over rippling muscles. He’d shed his shirt as they entered the southern territory, but still wore the white trousers. He hadn’t sung on the trip and neither had Alexander.
No more flirtation. I must smell or something.
Alexander sniffed at himself. It wasn’t lilac and lavender.
You can crawl out of my pores, and I’ll pour more back in, he thought at the alcohol trying to escape through his skin.
“Tell them war will come here too. Disease. We have to get a boat.” Riley averted her gaze from the nudity of the group.
Tlaso translated. Dark looks were the only response.
Alexander scratched at Ruskin’s ear and thought about other boats. Ships. Gallian barques in the harbor with their triple masts and bright paint. The men hauling lines on the deck, and shouting at each other.
Sailors always look so busy.
He looked past the naked men and women to where the Plains melded into the murky water. No ships here. Long flat boats with heavy oars hanging off the side. The looming trees cast the water into dark shadows. A man and a woman were pulling in a net full of fish out on the water.
Alexander slipped off the horse. His foot stuck in the stirrup and he planted his face in the mud.
Really need to ease down.
He achieved verticality, though everything was spinning.
Buttons on his shirt fought him, but he got it off. His trousers were more accommodating, and slipped down.
Boots in the way.
The wet soil felt cool on his butt and thighs.
Who tied these knots?
He tugged at his boots, and waged war on the laces. It was a hard-won victory. They came off and a pungent odor assaulted him. The socks clung to his feet, and he balled them up and shoved them into the boots.
He grabbed the side of the saddle, and pulled himself back to his feet.
Monsieur d’Cirque shuffled his hooves and snorted as Alexander stabilized.
He patted the horse’s flank. The wind was a relief after the damp cloth, cold though the winter made it. A buzzing in his ear made Alexander swerve in avoidance, sending his vision spinning. He grit his teeth and walked toward Riley and Tlaso.
“For a woman raised in nobility, you don’t seem to understand societal expectation, Riley.” He laid a hand on her shoulder as he spoke.
She turned and cringed away from him. “What are you doing?”
He grinned. “Moving with the times.” Alexander put a hand on Tlaso’s hip.
So much muscle.
Tlaso looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “You had your chance.”
Alexander moved his hand to Tlaso’s shoulder and clapped it. “Dress to the audience, because the audience is always right.”
Tlaso shrugged and slipped out of the loose white trousers.
Alexander stared at his backside.
“Right.” He turned to the blushing warrior. “You too, Riley.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Absolutely not!”
“What did you wear for the ceremony after the Triad?” He leaned on Tlaso. The ground shifted under his feet like an untrustworthy behemoth.
“I wore the Nomad garb.”
“It would have been an insult to dress like an Arilander.” He gave her a pointed look. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, and nothing Tlaso is interested in.”
She disrobed and made him a liar. Her body was painted with scars. They trailed and blazed like stars against her skin. The torchlight threw them into harsh contrast, deep and red.
A gasp ran through the locals. One of them stepped forward and began jabbering.
Tlaso said, “They are apologizing.” He waved a hand toward her. “They did not realize you were such a seasoned warrior despite your years.”
Alexander took a closer look at the group.
Not just frowns, they dress in scars. Are those teeth marks?