Chapter 5 Tokens By Firelight #2
Resh didn’t know what to say to that. After a beat, she leaned forward and plucked a crust of bread from his plate without asking. Tore it in half, handed him the smaller piece.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, watching her.
She looked at him like he was the one being odd. “Of course. I used a lot of magic today.”
That was true. He’d seen it—had felt it in his bones when the air had bent to her will near the edge of the ridge. It seemed she couldn’t breathe without exhaling magic.
“You should have said something sooner,” he muttered. “We would’ve stopped to let you rest.”
She shrugged. “You worry more than you should.”
“Someone has to.”
That earned him the ghost of a smile. Small. But it lingered.
Across the fire, Zarrek stood motionless in the shadows, staring after her even as his men disappeared beyond the rise.
His face was unreadable now, carved from stone, but the tension in his shoulders lingered.
Whatever Auryn had touched in him—it had been real.
Deep. And raw. Resh filed that away for later. He had questions. But not tonight.
Another gust of wind stirred the coals. Auryn scooted closer and rested her elbow on his knee, claiming his personal space without a second thought. “Do you think the stars are always watching?” she asked.
Resh tilted his head, caught off guard again. “I…don’t know. Why?”
She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes reflected the sky. “Because sometimes it feels like they remember things I’ve forgotten.”
The cryptic words made something ache in his chest in a way he couldn’t name. “Auryn,” he said again, quieter this time, “I’m serious about the shoes.”
That earned him an exasperated sigh. She leaned her head against his thigh and closed her eyes. “You’re serious about a lot of things.”
“I’m allowed to be.”
“You are,” she agreed. “But it must be heavy, carrying all that seriousness around.”
He shook his head, lips twitching. “It’s heavier when you ignore it.”
She hummed. They sat like that for a while. The fire popped. The stars drifted higher.
Finally, she murmured, “Will you tell me a story?”
“What kind of story?”
“Any kind. One with trees. And rain. And a place where things begin again.”
Resh exhaled through his nose, then leaned back, propping one hand behind him in the grass.
“I’ll tell you about a grove I once saw,” he began, voice low and even. “Far beyond the Reach, past the Waking Hills. It only blooms once every five years, and when it does, the entire valley turns blue from the petals…”
Auryn smiled as he spoke, her breathing slowing. The bread sat forgotten in her hand. Her lashes fluttered, then lowered. By the time he reached the part about the twin silver ravens that guarded the grove, her fingers had slackened, and she was fast asleep against his leg.
He looked down at her.
Bare feet.
Grease on her chin.
And utterly, impossibly unbothered by the weight of the world.
Resh brushed a curl from her cheek and whispered, “You’re still going to wear shoes tomorrow,” because it was easier than admitting any of the things that must remain unsaid.
The next day arrived with an unforgiving swell of heat.
The sun hadn’t climbed far yet, but the temperature had already begun its slow, relentless creep across the moorlands.
Dew steamed off the grass as the company made their way along the trail, a ragged column of footsteps, groaning wagons, and quiet muttering.
The storm hadn’t broken overnight, though the pressure in the air promised it was only waiting for the right moment.
The great war-wagons of the Kelvasari rolled like fortresses across the grassland, their wheels banded in steel and reinforced with ribbed plates to keep them from splintering under the weight of armor, supplies, and siege gear.
Each rotation carved fresh trenches through the moor, gouges so wide that even the tallest warriors stepped around them with care.
After the recent rains, the ruts ran deep—knee-deep for Auryn in some places.
Auryn walked beside Resh in borrowed sandals—straps loose, soles too thin, barely more than a concession.
Resh kept her close to the firmer edges of the trail, positioning himself between her and the trenches without seeming to.
If she’d been barefoot, one misstep would have swallowed her to the shin, and the mud here didn’t let go easily.
He didn’t mention it—he rarely did—but this was precisely why he’d insisted on the sandals.
She hadn’t wanted them, of course. She’d argued until he’d bargained her down from barefoot and belligerent to minimally shod and sulky. The sandals flapped with every step, reflecting their wearer’s malcontent.
Resh glanced at her every few strides, half-expecting her to kick them off and run like a wildling into the trees. But so far, she’d behaved.
A sudden sharp cry rang out. Resh’s heart shot into his throat as he turned—just in time to see her crumple to one knee with a gasp of pain. He was at her side in seconds.
“What happened?” His hand went to her shoulder, steadying her as she braced against the earth.
“It’s nothing,” she muttered, though her face was tight with pain. “Just—stepped on something.”
He knelt beside her, eyes scanning her foot. One of the sandals had slipped halfway off. The ball of her foot was pierced clean through by a plant he didn’t recognize, something barbed and black.
“Stay still,” he said, sliding an arm around her back. “Lean on me. Let me see it.”
She obliged, albeit reluctantly, shifting her weight so he could cradle her foot in his hand. Her skin there was soft, fragile, and the thorn jutted through her flesh like a cruel needle. His brow furrowed.
“All will be well,” she assured him. “Pull it out.”
“I don’t want to make it worse,” he murmured, fingers tightening on her ankle. “If it’s barbed, it might—”
“Kailorien.”
He looked up.
She reached for it herself.
“No—wait—”
Too late.
Her fingers closed around the spiny black quill and yanked.
Resh winced harder than she did.
Silver blood welled from the puncture. Viscous. Luminous. It slid down the arch of her foot and dripped onto the moss.
“Auryn,” he growled. “That could’ve been poisoned. You don’t just—”
But he trailed off. The blood shimmered.
Not just silver but gold now rippling through it like sunlight in a stream.
The wound knit itself closed. Skin drew inward, slow but certain, muscle and sinew reforming beneath a veil of gentle, glowing magic.
Within moments, there was nothing left but a faint line—and then that faded.
She looked at him, smug and breathless. “See? As I said. You worry too much.”
Resh didn’t answer at first. He stared, still cupping her foot in both hands, his breath caught somewhere between shock and awe.
“Just what are you?” he muttered, more to himself than her.
Instead of answering, she burst into laughter.
It startled him.
Auryn wiggled her foot, and his thumbs unintentionally brushed a spot just beneath her toes.
She yelped with a giggle. “When you touch there, I can’t help but laugh. It’s sensitive.”
He blinked and abruptly realized exactly how he was holding her. Her calf cradled across his lap. Her body curled toward his. Her ankle still resting in his hand, his thumb pressed to the arch of her foot like some kind of Voids-damned courtship ritual.
He dropped her leg like it had caught fire.
Auryn, of course, only laughed harder.
“From now on,” he growled, flustered as he shot to his feet, “you wear shoes. Real shoes. No more compromises.”
She gave him an exaggerated pout. “But I hate real shoes.”
“I hate bleeding out in the middle of a migration route.”
“That seems like an overreaction.”
“Put. Them. On.”
She smirked at him. Wicked. Infuriating. And then she reached for the offending sandal. He watched her buckle it without further complaint, though he suspected the giggling wasn’t quite finished. Still, as she stood and brushed herself off, he glanced at her foot one last time.
No mark. No scar.
Not even a hint she’d been hurt at all.
Rumors spread in camp, though none dared say them aloud.
That the Resh’Agar’s companion had gentled Astenos with song.
That she’d made the Bloodletter flinch with a single word.
And that the Arm of the Void himself had knelt in the mud, her small foot in his lap, bickering over sandals like a man possessed.
Some said the woman was a witch.
Others whispered she was a fallen star.
But all agreed on one thing—the world had begun to tilt, and the Resh’Agar was no longer at its center.