Chapter 7 #2
I smile at her and take the offered gifts gratefully, nodding in thanks.
The girl tilts her head at me, studying me in that way that children do, like they can somehow cut through all of the layers of bullshit that a person puts on themselves for protection or to hide everything they don’t want the world to see. What does she see in me?
Odessa reaches out and tugs on the end of one of her braids.
“Off with you then. I’ll be there soon.” Mia nods, casts me another look, and then turns and strolls away, alternating between walking and running and skipping.
Whatever is in the bowl—a stew of some kind by the looks of it—smells absolutely delicious and my mouth waters.
Odessa turns back to me and though I don’t say a word, the curiosity must be clear in my eyes.
I don’t know if it was the moment of almost truce by the river or our shared disgust with Turner, but she lets her guard down for a moment and answers my unasked question.
“She’s my sister,” Odessa says quietly, surprising me.
“Not by blood, obviously,” she adds, the hint of a smile pulling on her lips.
It’s true that they’re complete opposites physically—Odessa with her brown skin and icy eyes and Mia, ivory and freckled, with those stunning fern-green irises—but there’s a certain likeness between them.
Some shared mannerisms, similar quirks of their lips.
Something siblings would share being raised together, blood or not.
“She’s a squire, technically, so that she can travel with me since our parents… ” She trails off and clears her throat.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her honestly, chest clenching at the clear pain in her eyes though she tries to hide it, at the thought of Mia losing her mother and father so young. She seems to shake herself, that guard going back up again, and gives me a hard nod.
“We leave at day light again. Be ready.”
She turns on her heel and strides off, and I cast one last glance at Blackheart’s tent—only to find him standing outside watching me intently.
I inhale sharply in surprise and hold his gaze for a heartbeat before I swallow hard and quickly step through the flap into my tent.
The fire is burning low already and I toss my robe onto the trunk before settling onto the bed with my meal.
I devour the stew and bread, and find fresh water in a canteen beside the water basin.
I braid my wet hair into two long plaits and settle beneath the furs.
I try not think about the coming war or what it might mean, not just for me, but for all of Hypathia—and especially the Gifteds.
I stare at the top of the tent for a long time but can’t settle my mind.
I glance over to the open flap on the other side that allows the smoke from the fire to escape and pull myself out of bed.
I grunt and curse as I drag the cot across the space—the damn thing is sturdier than I would have thought—until it’s positioned just below the opening.
I climb back in and lie down, staring up at the stars now.
I sigh in contentment as I watch them, finding familiar shapes, remembering the stories and silly names Tesni and I used to make up for each of them as children in my canopy bed, remembering the correct names for them that Tobias had taught me as we traveled the road all those years ago, recalling all the nights Math and Cece and I laid on the roof of the tavern together, drinking and laughing and thanking the Makers for the life we’d managed to make for ourselves.
I drift off with a smile on my face, and tears in my eyes.
The next week is much of the same: we ride; we rest; we camp. The only real changes are the landscape and the weather, and perhaps the stares and insults thrown my away are fewer, though most certainly not gone completely.
We’re making our way toward Tithmoore to re-supply before we’ll enter the true northlands on our way to Duskthorne.
Tithmoore is one of the only kingdoms that hasn’t allied with Lyanna, though they haven’t allied with Duskthorne either, apparently.
They’re remaining neutral—I wonder how long that will last when one side or the other demands that they choose, most likely at the tip of a sword.
“How in the hells are these fruits always fresh?” I demand when I open the package that Mia handed me this morning.
She now smiles at me before scampering off, a true smile, the trepidation from before gone, and it makes me happy.
A bright spot in this dark, uncertain time.
The bundle contains moonberries and a variety of melons, in addition to the cheese and meat.
“It’s impossible. The first day, sure, I assumed fresh fruit was purchased in Lyanna before my untimely capture,” I roll my eyes and Odessa’s lips quirk.
She, too, is starting to thaw towards me ever so slightly, that guard still up but not quite as thick. “But now? A week later?”
She gives me a look that says I’m daft and I give her one back that says ok, maybe I am, answer me anyway.
“You really can’t figure out how we have fresh fruit—and vegetables, for that matter, in case you haven’t noticed those in your dinners—out here as we travel? Truly?” She looks at me, willing me to understand.
And then I do.
“A Gifted?? But…Blackheart…?”
“He can choose who is blocked.” Holy fuck.
Great Makers, he must be even more powerful than I thought to be able to distinguish each Gift somehow inside his mind and only block those he wishes.
A thought sends cold fear through my veins, but I discard it quickly.
Of course he can’t know what exactly the Gift is, otherwise he would have known in an instant that I wasn’t Tesni.
He must just be able to sense an energy or something like that, some signal that only he can detect and know who it’s coming from.
“Cookie is a Gifted with agricultural specialties.”
I glance around the camp, all the people milling about preparing for today’s journey.
How many of them are Gifteds? It would make sense to have Gifteds with offensive powers, or healing ones perhaps, in an army.
And one who can grow fresh food within the camp, apparently.
Odessa follows my gaze, tracking my thoughts.
“Yes, there are Gifteds in this army—serving willingly.”
I blink, storing all of this away to think about as we ride, wondering what other kinds of Gifts may be useful in an army and if I’ve crossed paths with any of the wielders.
The only other Gifted I’ve ever known was Tesni.
I think it might be nice to talk to another person who understands what it’s like—though none here are likely to talk to the Flaming Cunt, as someone so lovingly called me yesterday, spitting at my feet as I passed.
I sigh and finish my breakfast and we prepare to leave, the routine becoming familiar to me already.
Late in the afternoon, Blackheart drops back beside us and orders Odessa to arrange a scouting party and have them disperse within the hour. I’m no longer bound to his horse, thank the Makers, but he never rides far from me.
“Yes, sir,” she says, inclining her head and riding off towards the rest of our group a few yards behind us.
He stays beside me, studying me. I keep my eyes forward and remain silent, trying not to let his enormous presence unnerve me.
He’s physically imposing, of course, any fool can see that, but it’s more than that.
His entire being takes up space, demands to be seen and obeyed.
It’s both intimidating and captivating. If he wasn’t such a prick, it might even be sexy as hells.
“What can you tell me about Lyanna’s military and defenses?”
I start, turning to stare at him in confusion. Of course, I know exactly ruddy fuck about Lyanna’s military and defenses, but would Tesni? I honestly don’t know what Barony would have shared with her—or Hastings for that matter.
“And why would I tell you a damn thing?” I reply, pushing my shoulders back and adopting Tesni’s haughty tone, bluffing for all that I’m worth.
He hikes one broad shoulder. “Perhaps if you’re willing to cooperate and share information your stay in Duskthorne could be more…hospitable.”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “So, I spill secrets and I’m not tortured and raped?
Wow, what a deal you propose.” The sarcasm is so thick that I fear I might choke on it.
My power roils in my chest, radiating through my body at the thought of all Dorian might plan to do to me, that he’s already doing to countless others.
His jaw ticks, something flashing in his eyes, but it’s gone quickly and he smooths out his features, that damned mocking smirk tilting his lips.
“You want to use that fire of yours so damned badly against me right now, Red. I can feel it.” Even though I know he can’t know the truth, I swallow hard as fear skitters up my spine.
His smile widens and I turn my face away to look forward again, body tense.
“Oh yes, I can feel it. You’re strong, I’ll give you that.
If I believed for a second that I could trust you, I might even offer you a place here in my army. ”
“Yes, a fire bitch would come in quite handy against your enemies I imagine,” I say in a bored tone. I turn to look at him then before I add in a cold voice, “And I do so love the smell of charred flesh.”
Knowing damn well it’s a stupid decision and could have dire consequences, I still spur my horse onward and ride ahead, leaving Blackheart to stare after me in what I hope isn’t complete and utter rage.