Read Online Marri's Approach (Brackish Bay) by Cerise Noble - Free Book Online Page A

arms hurt. My hands hurt. My ribs hurt. I just hurt. It was not the way I wanted to spend my evening. First the chef had me on a sort of risotto, and then a pot of corn meal mush. Then there were stews, and soups, and dessert sauces. Since when do armies eat this well? I wished I knew why she was here. She was obviously a cut above most camp cooks I'd ever known in my life. Maybe several cuts.
    It wasn't until very late when the only light was the fires around us that she let me rest. She handed me a bowl full of soup and a hunk of bread.
    “You did well.”
    “Thank you, madam.” My fingers were almost too tired to hold the spoon. “Where should I sleep?”
    She frowned at me then. “You don't belong to anyone?”
    I hesitated. “The man who brought me here, he didn't say anything about it.”
    She looked relieved. “Oh, well he doesn't have to say. It's an invading army. You belong to the one who captured you, unless he decides to give you away.”
    “Oh.” Somehow, it sounded like she'd given that talk to new girls a hair too many times for my comfort. “How do I find him?”
    “What's his name?”
    “He didn't say.”
    She sighed, exasperated. “Rank? Anything? I can't help you if you don't know who he was. There are far too many men in this army.”
    I screwed up my face, trying to remember. “He had a funny square on his armor that was green and brown.”
    “Green and brown? He's one of the scouts then. What color hair?”
    “Dark. Long,” I said. “It was tied in a plait, all the way down his back.”
    “Ah, why didn't you say so? That's Lorenzo.”
    “All right.”
    “Come on. I'll point out his tent for you.”
    I picked up my bowl and followed her. She pointed across the camp to a particular tent that looked like all the other tents. How she could tell them apart was beyond me.
    “That's Lorenzo's tent,” she said. “He is a harsh master, so be good.”
    “Yes, madam. Thank you.”
    I fixed the location of his tent in my mind and then began to walk towards it, weaving in and around the other tents and the people. Most were men, soldiers, and there were a few women soldiers, but not many. There were women and children, but not many of them, either. I came at last to the row where Lorenzo's tent was, and took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the lust that had reawakened at the chef's parting words. Just as I was about to step in, he stepped out and knocked straight into me, splashing the soup all over my face and arms and chest. I crumpled to the ground, crying for real this time. Food! Fortuna, food when I'm exhausted should be sacred, should not be trifled with! Gods be damned.
    He wrapped a hand around my arm and jerked me to my feet. “Stop your crying.”
    I sniffled, hiccuped, and whimpered, but I stopped. “I'm sorry, sir.”
    His sharp face didn't gentle. “I'm partially to blame. Are you burnt?”
    I shook my head. “No, sir.”
    “Good.” He pulled me towards the tent flap. “Come.”
    I entered. Inside was far more sumptuous than I would have believed before, with a great soft blanket, several pillows of some sort of fleece or velvet, and a sort of gauzy curtain in the corner. With a pang, I realized it reminded me of Aleksei's bedroom at Madame Bon's mansion, though his had gone over the line of elegant and into indulgent. This was just enough, Fortuna, to soften the hard edge of traveling for war. He noticed my wandering eyes.
    “I can be soft.” He didn't sound soft.
    “Yes, sir.”
    He pushed me down to my knees, then removed my boots. Setting them aside, he brought a bowl of water and a rag to help clean my skin. I couldn't help but gasp at the rough touch and the longing it inspired. He reached for my vest, and I flinched away. There was no way my lie would hold up to armor.
    “No, please, sir.”
    My clitoris begged inside my head, yes, please, sir . Traitor. He paused, eyebrow raised.
    “What's the difference between a gag bit and a snaffle?”
    I gaped for a