Chapter Seven Claire #2
So cynical. Even The Tale of Stars says to dismiss the constellation as Noctu’s petty, vengeful taunt.
“We survived drowning, didn’t we?” I offer. “That’s lucky.”
“I wouldn’t call this situation good luck,” he replies. I open my mouth, but he cuts off my retort. “And before you mention that trophy head in Bourlin, I don’t consider fawna sightings lucky if the animal is dead.”
“Says the boy who ate fawna venison for lunch. You hunted one.”
“Believe me, I wish I hadn’t.”
Well. If he wants to let negativity win, so be it.
I pretend to occupy myself with petting Lucy while he peels his tunic off his dripping torso.
Shiny pink scars crisscross his abdomen and right forearm, too jagged to be blade wounds.
Dragon claws? Fangs? Beneath the overcoat, I run a fingertip along the scar on my chest. A knot forms in my stomach.
He’s had multiple close calls on the job, hasn’t he?
The fog of his breath ripples as he strings a clothesline from tree to tree and throws our clothes, tent, and camping furs over it.
Strung in a half circle, they form a meager wall that blocks out some of the breeze.
It doesn’t stop the cold. Still, with the indent in the rock behind me to complete the circle, at least our little campsite secludes us from the rest of the forest. I close my eyes and try to focus on the warmth.
“Thank you.”
Abel’s voice lures me from my trance. Did I imagine him speaking? It would seem so. He kneels across from me, the fire between us, and adds new stones to the perimeter. When I catch his eyes through the smoke, he rubs the back of his neck and averts his gaze.
I stroke Lucy’s soft, dry ears. Her whiskers twitch, but she doesn’t wake. “She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?”
Abel nods, sniffing back the cold as he flays wet bark off a few branches and arranges them over a batch of dry leaves. The flames grow and the warmth blooms.
I pull his overcoat tighter around me. “My horses died back in Sellecastel. I can sympathize.”
My breath catches at the lack of change in his expression.
I’m basically confessing I killed my horses—and Papa—and Abel has no idea.
It seems impossible that he can’t see my secret when its enormity could burst from my skin.
I want someone to help carry the weight of my truth as much as I want to pretend I’m still human.
Once he piles extra wood beside the fire for later, he sits cross-legged beside me and offers Lucy’s snout the gentlest of strokes. I flush at the sight of his muscular arms up close.
Abel’s attention remains fixed on Lucy. “I lost my first tinderfox when my brother turned.”
“Lucy isn’t yours?”
“She was my brother’s familiar.” He shakes his head but smiles fondly. “Micah loved her too much to properly discipline her.”
I blink at him. Is that the first time I’ve seen him smile? I have an inkling he didn’t mean to show me. Compared to the arrogance and ego I remember from étienne Houdin, this slayer seems to carry kindness.
Abel’s smile turns wry. “That’s why she’s such a menace.”
I press my lips together, stifling a laugh. He has too much love for animals. He belongs on a farm, not in dragon armor.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, sounding wary.
“You are.”
I turn my focus to the stars. The owl constellation blurs, as if cocking its head to the north. I mimic the gesture. The light makes me squint. The stars shine so brightly, it’s as if they absorbed the full moon I missed while under the effects of sleep powder.
“Claire.”
I blink at Abel. “Hmm?”
“Are you all right? You look dazed.”
“Just stargazing,” I answer. “We had a tradition in Sellecastel. The night before every Ignition, we’d sit around the campfire, watch the moon and stars rise, and tell Noctu about the things we were grateful for.”
“You’re supposed to tell those things to Diu. In church, during daylight hours.”
“We did. We just happened to share them with Noctu as well.”
He frowns at the sky. “Odd choice to appeal to the unforgiving God. Especially on nights before the Ignition.”
“Is it so unusual?”
“Most people spend the night taking shelter in their fire cellars. Not just to prepare for the Ignition, but to hide from the full moon,” he explains.
“The Tale of Stars is clear: A full moon precedes every Ignition Day for a reason. That’s when Noctu’s magic shines the strongest and is most likely to harm us.
You might as well have started a tradition of stepping in front of his freshly loaded musket. ”
I laugh. “What a dramatic interpretation of a few extra prayers.”
“I just don’t see the benefit,” he retorts. “Noctu governs the lunar domain of the celestial realm. That’s half of all creation. You don’t want that kind of power directed at you next. You should focus on Diu and thanking him for his protection.”
The fire pops as if demanding my worship. I stare into it until my eyes sting.
“Remind me how slayers get their weapons, Abel,” I say.
“They’re forged from fallen meteorites.”
“Ah, yes. Noctu’s weapon of choice against humans.” I smile bitterly. “You don’t think the availability of meteorites undermines the reliability of Diu’s ‘protection’?”
He visibly tenses. “The majority of meteors burn up before they ever touch the ground. Impact only happens once in a decade or so. That’s why moonmetal is so expensive.
In fact, strikes are so rare that I’d say Diu allows a handful of them to slip through his defenses in order to equip slayers.
He’s likely delaying his final victory until we prove our worthiness to him. ”
“That’s a slayer’s interpretation of the state of the Gods’ War. In Sellecastel, we saw it differently.”
“Then how did you see it?”
“Every tradition the Church promotes revolves around preventing Diu’s curse.
Be grateful. Be generous. Behave,” I say.
“But Papa believed that as long as the Gods’ War continued, even a realm without the dragon curse wouldn’t be safe.
He started his stargazing tradition to prove to Noctu that even though he’s forsaken humankind, we haven’t forsaken him. ”
“So you prayed to Noctu in hopes that he’d change his mind about destroying us?”
I nod. “War can end in surrender, too.”
“I doubt Noctu would stand down. Not after seventeen centuries.”
“I told Papa the same thing.” A tear edges my lashes. “But he was compassionate. He didn’t like to give up on people’s ability to change. A god was no exception.”
Abel’s stare falls to the dragon-skull helmet, jaw shifting as if he wants to say more but can’t for fear of divine retribution.
“I don’t need you to act out the tradition with me,” I say. “I don’t even believe in it anymore. It’s just a memory.”
I close my eyes and imagine my last night behind the farmhouse.
All the neighbors sat blanket-wrapped around the firepit, teacups in hand, and took turns sharing their latest sources of gratitude: Jean-Pierre for his new wooden dentures.
Eugénie for her healthy rhubarb patch. Little édouard for finally memorizing the alphabet.
Papa kept the warmth alive with hay as kindling. It was my favorite smell in the world.
“Maybe our arrangement wasn’t a good idea,” Abel says finally. “This hunt is becoming too dangerous.”
Oh, no. He will not suggest we part ways after all I did to find him. And after I saved his life.
“We had a deal,” I fire back.
“This job is safer for you if I track the dragon by myself.”
My fingers clench the scaly overcoat. “You think I care about danger?”
“No, I don’t. That’s the problem.”
“I know how criminals think. I saved your pack.”
He exhales fog. “Let’s just survive the night,” he says, dragging his feet underneath him. “I’ll make the fire larger. We won’t get warm enough like this.”
“Those people might be looking for us. Thicker smoke could give away our location.”
“It’s that or death.”
I open my mouth.
“Don’t argue. Like you said, I’m the camping expert,” he interrupts. “That includes survival skills you clearly haven’t learned.”