Chapter 5 #2
“What?!” Rynna pushed herself upright, one foot catching, forcing her to scramble back on her palms. “I didn’t use the Source! I don’t even know how!”
“Liar!” Mira turned, hair following like a whip behind her.
“Momma!” Ben’s voice, high and scared. His small hands clawed at Mira’s wrist.
She yanked free, never looking down. “Go to the Grannies, Ben.” Her voice was too calm. Controlled. Dangerous. “You shouldn’t have to see this.”
Flame pulsed in the woman’s palms, heat bleeding into the air.
“Whoa!” Rynna staggered to her feet. “Mira. Just—wait! Test me! Fucking test me before you fry me!”
“There is no need to test.” Her arm jerked to the side, and a burst of fire leapt from her hand, consuming the broken bow with a hiss. “You couldn’t have done that without Source-enhanced strength.”
“Please,” Rynna said, louder this time. “Please. I can explain—”
But her teeth were lengthening.
The shift had already started, fangs pushing down with the scent of fire in the air. Her body reacted to threat, to fear, and to the danger radiating from someone she hadn’t realized she’d trusted.
I don’t want to kill you.
Her teeth clamped shut. She swallowed it down. Fought it.
Mira’s hands were still burning. Her eyes, brighter than flame.
“What could you possibly say,” she asked, voice low and trembling, “that would justify or explain this?”
“I… I…”
Rynna cut herself off. Her voice steadied, but not by much. She prayed to the Weaving that she’d read Mira right. That she could trust her.
“I’m not entirely human.”
“What?” Mira froze mid-step, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and rising dread. Her foot hovered dangerously close to the dark patch staining the ground.
“No!” Rynna lunged forward, shoulder low, and barreled into her.
The force sent Mira stumbling back, her boots scraping against stone, so Rynna stood between her and the spilled blood, lungs heaving, heart pounding against her ribs.
“Don’t touch it.” The words hissed through her lips.
Mira's eyes flicked to the smear behind her, then back, confusion warping her features.
Rynna’s knuckles dug into her thighs as she bent slightly, grounding herself, forcing the panic back down. She didn’t know exactly how it worked, or how the blood infected. Only that if it got into someone, it took root fast.
Flames burst from the woman’s palms as she braced her arms to push off the ground, rising back to her feet in a blast of heat.
“How did you move that fast?” Her voice was clipped. “I sensed no Source power.”
Rynna exhaled past her aching ribs.
“I told you.” She gave a half-laugh, then grimaced. “Not entirely human.”
A beat.
Trust her. A small voice whispered in Rynna’s mind.
“And not entirely from here,” she added.
Mira didn’t respond. She stared, the fire in her palms casting her face in flickers of gold.
“I know you’re not of the Hearth,” she said finally.
“That’s not what I mean.” She looked straight up.
Silence again. Mira’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“You meant it,” she said slowly, “when you said you’d never heard of the Source.” Her flames flared higher. “But what are you, then?”
Before Rynna could answer, a flicker of movement caught her eye.
Something red and viscous glided across the stone, inching toward Mira’s foot.
Shit.
“Before we get into that…” Rynna nodded at the blood. “Do me a favor, will you?”
Mira blinked. “A favor?”
Rynna lowered the blood-soaked shirt from where she’d been holding it against her cheek and flung it down beside the smear. She knew the wound had closed by now.
“Burn it.” She didn’t look away. “Burn it all.”
She felt lighter.
Mira knew everything now. Or…everything Rynna could remember. And somehow—Gods knew why—the woman had believed her. Or maybe she’d just decided not to reduce her to ash on general principle.
Either way, Rynna had walked away with her skin intact and the promise of no immediate execution. Which, by Hearth standards, felt like a miracle.
She climbed the ladder slowly, one hand gripping the worn rope rung, the other steadying the sloshing bottle at her hip. Wind stirred around her, sweeping loose strands of hair across her cheeks as she crested the final platform.
It had been over four weeks since they’d arrived in the mountainous village.
Over four weeks without battle or war.
Not quiet, exactly—there were always chores, drills, obligations—but peace. A steadiness she couldn’t remember ever having. And certainly not deserving.
Maybe…
Maybe there was a life for her here. A home.
The thought was absurd. Borderline reckless. But it settled heavily in her chest. Stubborn.
She tugged aside the flap at the top of the ladder.
“Kae!” Her voice rang out into the dim interior. “I got a bottle of last year’s briar mead. Want to share?”
The word tasted strange. Home.
But she’d thought it. And now it echoed through her like a stone tossed down a well, disappearing deep into a place she rarely let herself touch.
Of course, the man would revel in the excuse to get her tipsy. He probably already had some smug comment lined up.
But the room stayed quiet.
There were no herbs scattered across the table, or clatter of mortar, or rush of water from the basin. No sarcastic jibe about her hair or absence of a shirt.
“Kaelith?”
She stepped farther in, eyes adjusting to the dark.
Nothing.
The blankets were undisturbed, and the small shelf of jars untouched. Even the air felt still.
Her shoulders sank as her grip on the flap loosened.
She already knew.
He was gone.