Caeb had never so shed much of his coat, so that he looked to her now as sleek as a seal.
And he looked like home.
A sudden constriction tightened around her heart. Not a word could she speak as he bounded toward her in great leaps, ending with a pounce that would have sent her flying backward had he not stopped short. As it was, the butt of his head into her chest sent the air whooshing from her aching lungs, and she clung to him, fingers burying themselves in his ruff. He lifted his face to hers and she rubbed her cheek against his muzzle, his velvety fur absorbing her tears.
“So you have not forgotten me?” she asked hoarsely. Feeling as if a hot stone were lodged in her throat, Lizzan scratched Caeb’s ears, listened to the rumbling purr in response. But although she wanted to cling to him forever, she could not linger. Wherever Caeb was, Aerax could not be far behind.
With a kiss to his furred face, she whispered, “You cannot come with me. Go on back to Aerax, instead.”
Never had she been so grateful that the cat, as clever as he was, could not talk. And she had not given Mevida or Laina or any of the others her name. If Temra was merciful, Aerax would never realize she’d been here.
And she could not bear to see him.
With a shuddering breath, Lizzan pulled back. Caeb followed and rubbed his face against hers again.
Foolish cat. And she was a foolish, foolish woman. Heart aching, she turned away from him, then nearly tumbled over onto her head when Caeb nudged her backside.
The fisherwoman watched them without the wariness and surprise that Caeb usually provoked. But perhaps after all of her travels, the sight of a tamed snow cat was an unremarkable one.
With an arch of her brows and a pointed glance at Caeb, she asked, “You are certain your prince does not follow you?”
Once, Lizzan would have believed it. When they’d been young, and she’d been ready to give up everything for him, and he had given up so much for her. Aerax might have followed her around the world then, as she would have followed him.
But the Aerax who had sent her off alone would not even follow her across a few realms.
“I am certain,” Lizzan said, her voice raw. “He is only here to make an alliance with Krimathe.”
With a sigh, the woman returned to her fishing.
Unable to resist the warmth one last time, Lizzan turned to wrap her arms around Caeb’s thick neck and buried her face in his ruff.
“You cannot come with me,” she repeated, and knew not whether she told herself or him.
And perhaps Temra was merciful. Across the river, a half-dozen riders approached, leading three more horses bearing packs.
The fisherwoman hastily drew up her line. “Come with me. Come with me now. We must hide.”
“Hide?”
“Your mail armor does not shine, but they will still take it from you. Just as they will take that one’s pelt.”
Lizzan’s attention sharpened. “They are bandits?”
Wet feet leaving clear prints on the docking, the woman quickly gathered her pack, her blanket. “If they do not see the snow cat or see what you wear, they won’t hunt us down, and instead look for easier prey on the road.”
No easy prey would they find on the road behind her. But Lizzan was not yet certain. At this distance, they appeared no different from any other travelers.
“They seem well supplied for bandits.”
“Because they are back from Oana with the provisions they’ve traded for the goods they’ve stolen. They will steal your armor, then sell it, then eat well off it while the creatures in the jungle eat what remains of you.”
Not driven to thievery out of desperation, then, as some bandits were. Just greedy. “They do not let go the people they steal from?”
The fisherwoman shook her head. “They drag the bodies into the jungle to rot. We only need to wait until they pass us. Then you can take the ferry safely across.”
Lizzan nodded. She should hide and wait. The bandits would pass by . . . and quickly meet their end when they met the red-cloaked warrior who led the caravan, or the Parsatheans who now traveled with them.
But once before, Lizzan had thought bandits would be easily and quickly defeated. If she hid and let these pass by, and anyone in that caravan was harmed . . .