CHAPTER 22
DAVINA
Three weeks ago
MY THIGHS WERE ON FIRE BY THE TIME WE STOPPED. I was by no means out of shape, but the ascent up that cursed mountain was definitely not for the faint of heart. In fact, I don’t think the word ascent did justice. It was a climb.
The side of the mountain was streaked with large stones, scattered along its edges as if nature itself had converged to create this . . . I never came up with the right word, but ‘a path’ it was not. At least it was passable, I supposed.
Most of what surrounded it wasn’t. Not even remotely.
Sharp cliff-edges dropped dozens of feet before leveling out into dead ends and smooth boulders eroded by time and too tall for any person to climb. Worst of all were the jagged black spears of stone erupting from the earth like blades through flesh.
As Kani had said, it was clear the only option was to take the route outlined by the few defiant trees clinging to the steep terrain. The path was, in fact, marred by signs of others having taken it; a dusty footprint here, a broken branch there.
I could only hope whoever those belonged to hadn’t gotten to the stash before we could.
Branches clawed at my sleeves, and dust clung to the sweat gathering at my nape. We moved single-file along a sloping ledge cut halfway into the cliffside, the drop to our right growing steeper with every step. Around us, the mountain stretched like a jagged spine against the sapphire-blue sky.
I muttered a thanks as Zephyr reached out, steadying me with a hand just below my elbow while I maneuvered past a jagged outcrop. The ledge narrowed sharply, barely wide enough for a single person, with a sheer drop yawning open to the right.
I understood promptly how Keftara had earned its reputation. One wrong step and the mountain would eat you whole.
Loose gravel scattered beneath our boots as we moved, and I felt the brush of Zephyr’s chest against my shoulder as I turned sideways to wedge myself between a bulging rock face and a hanging tree root.
The slope behind me crunched again and Zephyr appeared, pushing through the same narrow passage.
He had to duck slightly to avoid a low-hanging root, and the movement forced him forward, his body folding around mine.
Too close.
“Keep moving,” he commanded. Warm breath grazed the shell of my ear.
I clenched my teeth, willing my pulse to slow down as I edged forward again, just enough to let him straighten.
This had been the mechanics between us the whole day.
Taunts and barely-there contact. And don’t get me started on the loaded glances.
It was absolutely maddening, and doing no good for my already on-edge nerves.
“Ever heard of the word please?” I asked, glaring back.
“Sure.”
“And?”
“Not in the habit of using it.”
“Evidently.”
He adjusted the weight of his bag, the strap biting into his forearm. His gaze remained on the trail ahead, and I braced for one of his classical comebacks but his tone shifted, jaw grinding.
“When the people around you only respect power and force,” he said, “you learn early that asking is weakness. If you want something, you either take it or you get used to watching someone else take it first.”
The rawness in his tone landed like a physical blow, sharp and sudden. My chest constricted under the weight of the echo of my own words from that morning.
Must be harder for you. Wanting and not having the guts to take.
I’d mistaken his prolonged silence for him taking the time to come up with a retort, but now I knew it had been something else.
I stopped walking, turned, and met his eyes.
For a beat, I wasn’t sure how to respond.
A strange protectiveness surged up, equal parts fierce and foreign, catching me off guard.
“Who was it?”
His eyes flashed. “It doesn’t matter.”
Every molecule in me demanded that I push.
Dig for weaknesses. Learn them, so that you can exploit them later.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Instead, I offered the only thing I could in that moment. “Well,” I lifted a brow, “they’re not around, and I don’t take orders from you, so ask next time, please.”
That hint of a smirk appeared, soft, but there. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought the captain enjoyed when I challenged him.
We didn’t speak again for the remainder of the hike, and only when light began to fade did we stop for the day. Even then, aside from the short exchange needed to set up a small fire and arrange bedrolls, silence prevailed.
The fire had died to a low, pulsing glow, and a mantle of stars became our ceiling. Zephyr lay flat on his back, arms folded beneath his head, his eyes half-lidded. I sat cross-legged atop my bedroll, working at the laces of my boots with fingers gone stiff from strain.
My body ached but my mind buzzed.
I pushed through the dryness in my mouth and asked something that had been on my mind since we watched our companions leave atop that camel. “What was that you said earlier? Right before Kani left with Armand?”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Thought you knew everything, Lachlan.”
I huffed and tugged off the second boot, flexing my toes with a quiet groan as blood slowly made its way back to them. “Like someone wiser than me once said: I’d give everything I know for half of what I ignore.”
The fire caught in his eyes for a beat and I couldn’t look away. There was something in that stare that didn’t feel like it belonged here on a godforsaken mountain between . . . whatever we were.
Heat unfurled somewhere low in my belly, but I cleared my throat. “So?”
Zephyr turned his attention to my feet, gaze trailing up my exposed calves. I focused on peeling off my vest, hands fumbling slightly on the clasps.
“Starnesk means thank you,” he said at last. “In Old Kobrant.”
“Old Kobrant?”
He nodded. “A language spoken centuries ago. Mostly replaced by Arnian during unification efforts, but still used in the rural north. Kani’s from a town near the reservoir. He’s never been farther than Kamea, as far as I know, so he’s most comfortable with it.”
I let out a low hum, thoughtful. It made me wonder if my own continent had buried similar dialects beneath steam and copper. How much of its history had I never bothered to learn?
His hand brushed my ankle as he shifted, and I instinctively drew my legs up, curling them beneath me on the bedroll to make more space. His touch hadn’t lingered, but the heat of it sparked against my skin like embers in the dying fire.
“And you?” I asked. “Where are you from?”
“A small village named Kak,” he replied. “Bit further north than Kani’s.”
“I know where Kak is.” I’d seen the three-letter city scrawled in many of the maps I’d been studying lately.
“Ah.” He smirked. “So you do know a lot.”
I let out a tired huff, flopping onto my back.
“And when did you move to Kantria?”
“My father worked there, and he moved us with him when I was sixteen and could enroll training for the King’s Army.”
Sixteen. So young. In the Paragon, cadets started training at fourteen, but it was more like a school of sorts, not the army.
Something else he’d said gave me pause. “You and your mum?”
He pushed up on his elbows, eyes narrowed on me. “Why the sudden interest, Lachlan? Are you planning to learn who you can use against me?”
I huffed and looked away. I’d had enough of his teasing for one day. “Good night, Kentar.”
“Zephyr,” he corrected softly.
My lips twitched as I stared into the clear sky above. For a moment, I considered fighting him on it, throwing back another barbed quip to keep whatever was left of the walls between us up.
But I didn’t.
“Goodnight, Zephyr.”
No response came. The fire popped softly nearby, low and comforting, and my eyelids gave up the fight.