Chapter 13
Kasik’s skin was on fire, and it wasn’t because of Nina’s hands on him, though he had to close his eyes against the feel of
her, small and soft and kind. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been cared for so thoughtfully, so gently.
Any injuries he’d had were treated quickly and discretely by the kancha healer, his tayta none the wiser. The man would’ve
stabbed him before providing any comfort.
This yearning for touch wasn’t a desire he was aware he had, and he hated Nina for bringing it to his attention.
More than that, he hated himself for wanting it. For failing his mission so miserably. They had gotten far off course and
added days to their trip. Days he wasn’t sure he had. The wound and muscles around it burned, and if he didn’t find a healer
soon, he knew he would succumb to the infection spreading through his blood.
A short distance away, Nina flitted from plant to plant, feeling and smelling their leaves and stems, until she yelled, “Aha!”
and snapped several stems in half. When she came closer, he could see that she held small branches, grayish white in color
and dripping a red liquid that looked eerily like blood.
“Hold this, please,” she said, handing Kasik a bundle of leaves. The thought crossed his mind that she could be killing him,
but he shook it away and did as she asked. If she had wanted to kill him, it would have been as simple as leaving him to face
the achiyanga on his own. But she had come back, risking her own life to save his.
Kasik watched over his shoulder as Nina collected the red sap in her hand and then dipped two fingers into it.
“This might burn,” she said, and then her fingers were rubbing the sap into his wounds without hesitation.
She would make a good healer, he thought, biting back a curse as pain radiated up his spine.
“I need something to crush these up,” she said, taking the leaves from his hands and bunching them on the rock. The first
thing that came to mind was the small knife in his boot, but he hesitated. Handing her a blade seemed foolish.
As if sensing his hesitation, she said, “Actually, you can do it for me. My hands are sticky.”
Kasik was filled with guilt when she so easily absolved him of his doubt. The wounds burned as he reached forward and plucked
the knife from his boot. He wrapped his hand around the hilt and crushed the leaves against the rock until it was a slimy
paste.
Nina’s small fingers collected it in her palm and then she was back to work, diligently covering every part that stung and
burned until all he felt was blessed relief.
“There,” she said, “that should help.”
Kasik mourned the loss of her touch as her fingers slid away. He turned to thank her, but the weight of her attention stole
his words. They held each other’s gazes, neither speaking, neither moving, only watching and waiting.
For what, Kasik didn’t know. He only knew that she was arresting in her intensity, that the way her brows drew over her eyes
made him want to soothe the crease with a thumb. That if she allowed it, he would shoulder all her worries. For no other reason
than her well-being was his responsibility, of course. He was simply following orders.
Then Nina’s eyes dropped first to his mouth, then his chest, and her hand slowly reached up to finger the stone around his neck, and the weight of his responsibilities waned under her scrutiny.
She turned it this way and that and pulled it and him closer to her face.
Kasik held his breath as her hair tickled his jaw.
“Achilla,” she whispered. “I saw Mamakuna Dusi wearing it as well. Does everyone in the capital have one?”
“No, not everyone,” he said. This close, he could see flecks of light brown splashed across her dark brown eyes. He cleared
his throat. “Those of us closest to the emperor do, and of course, Emperor Maicu wears many.”
Nina leaned away and dropped the stone, but her eyes stayed trained on it. Kasik felt like he could breathe again.
“We don’t wear them in Limac,” she said. Her eyes got a faraway look. “My people are in tune with the land and each other.
There’s an understanding that if harm comes to us, it is because we have sowed it.”
Her words were innocent enough, but he felt defensive all the same. It was as though she was implying that his choices had
led them there, into chaos and near death. That to wear one at all was an admission of harmful intention.
To him, the stone wasn’t about protection. It was a reminder of his loyalty and mortality. That he wasn’t above duty or death.
Kasik could do everything right and still, death would come for him, just as it had his mamay, who had invited it simply by
giving birth to him. But how to explain that to someone whose views so clearly opposed his? “It was my mamay’s,” he said instead,
and hoped it was enough.
Nina nodded, but gratefully said nothing more. They sat in silence, side by side, on the sun-warmed rock, shoulders touching,
the stream and the insects and the rustle of leaves the only noise. The beauty of the Tuta Kulla washed over Kasik. He had
never been this deep into the forest. When he traveled with his men, they stuck to the road, making camp right off the path
in the less dense trees.
They had been taught that the forest was an evil place, but he saw beauty in the way everything grew wild and free, and he was glad that it had remained untouched.
“We’ll rest here for the night,” he finally said, “and then follow the stream south.” From his periphery, he saw Nina’s mouth
open and close and waited to see if she would gain the courage to speak whatever was on her mind.
“I was thinking,” she started, “that it might be ideal for me to have a weapon.”
Kasik turned. She was staring into the trees on the other side of the stream, her fingers idly tearing apart a leaf in her
hands. He was able to study part of her face, full cheeks and lips and large eyes darting back and forth. “I don’t think that
would be ideal for anyone,” he said honestly.
“If something like that were to happen again, I could help.”
“Do you know how to use a tumi? Or a bow and arrow?”
He could see her deliberating, but she finally said, “No. I don’t.”
“Then you’d be more likely to hurt yourself than help.”
He could see the way her face tightened. He knew she was angry before she spoke.“I think I could manage,” she said sharply.
He grabbed the knife from beside him and slid off the rock. “Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “Try to kill me.”
“What?” She eyed him warily. “I’m not going to fight you. You’re hurt.”
“Even so,” he challenged. “I said try.”
Resolve slid over her features, and she hopped off the rock, landing nimbly on her feet. Kasik wondered if he might have miscalculated,
that she was pretending to be unskilled and this was all an act to kill him while he was injured.
If so, then so be it. He had carved this path with his own two hands and there was no evading it.
Nina snatched the knife from him. Her feet slid apart to shoulder width, and she bent her knees the tiniest bit. Kasik ignored the throbbing in his back and met her stance, waiting for her to make the first move.
When she did, he was surprised at her speed and commitment. If he had been one heartbeat slower, she might have actually stabbed
him, but he dodged sideways at the last moment and pushed her arm away. She whipped it right back, her moves sloppy but fast,
her whole body lunging at him with each jab and swing of her arm.
Impressed wasn’t the right word for what he felt—more like inspired. That tenacity he had seen in her eyes when they first met was dripping from her every move, and it reminded him of how he
had felt just a few years ago, the determination to serve his emperor and empire fuel behind his every action.
Somewhere along the line, he had become jaded, numb to the convictions of his heart, and as Nina split open the skin of his
forearm, a tiny slice that barely bled, he vowed to try to be just as steadfast as her.
They had both been caught off guard by her minute victory, and he used her shock and imbalance to his advantage. He trapped
her arm beneath his and then twisted so that the knife was pointed away from him, and her back was against his chest.
“I win,” she said brightly.
“You surprised me,” he said through a smile. “But you haven’t won just because you landed a single scratch.” He moved his
lips to whisper into her ear. “It would take nothing but a pulse of pressure to turn this knife and put it through your heart.”
“But you can’t,” she said smugly. “Or else you’d have to remove your own head, just as you removed the head of the man who
gave me this bruise.”
The reminder of who he served and why he was there was a punch to the gut.
Kasik swiftly removed his arms and the weapon from her hands. She stumbled forward out of his grip and whirled around to face him. “I won that fair and square.”
Shaking his head, he scooped up his shredded tunic and bow and arrow, wincing as he spoke. “There is no such thing as fair.”