Chapter 17
Aiden
Kiera looked at me with a question in her tired eyes.
I didn’t tell her I couldn’t sleep. That I planned to search for her if she didn’t come back soon.
Instead, I tugged her blanket until it overlapped mine.
She sank down with a sigh. Her cheek was painted with hornleaf paste, so Nikella must have found her. I hoped her wounds didn’t pain her as mine did. I still didn’t know how she’d gotten the one on her cheek, but I prayed to the Four that he was as dead as the Wolf I’d killed for cutting her back.
Kiera curled onto her side and tucked herself against me like she had on the road here.
My arm twitched as if to pull her closer, but I resisted. She hadn’t wanted my embrace earlier. She might not now.
But even just sharing her warmth and having her next to me, to know she was safe, eased my mind.
And hers as well, it seemed, because she drifted off before I did.
I dreamed of fire and arrows, then nothing.
When I woke, the first rays of dawn were piercing the valley.
Something tickled my chin. I glanced down—and smiled. Kiera had rolled over in her sleep and nestled her face into my neck. Her hair—tugged from its braid—caught on my unshaven jaw.
Her beautiful, scarred fingers curled into my shirt collar as if seeking more heat. One of her legs lay atop mine, just below my throbbing stab wound.
My traitorous arm had gotten what it wanted in my sleep by curving around her waist.
I wished we could stay like this for hours more. This was simple and easy. I could almost trick myself into believing she hadn’t spent the last few months lying to me. Our bodies sought the comfort they’d shared in Aquinon. But our hearts? Shielded as ever.
Around us, the camp was waking up. A few Dags stirred the bonfire coals and added fresh wood.
Maz, still covered in blood, stepped around the sleeping warriors and cooking fires. He spotted Kiera in my arms and gave me a tired grin, which didn’t quite reach his sad eyes.
“Figured that’d happen sooner rather than later,” he said. Thank the gods he spoke quietly enough not to rouse her.
“It’s not what you think,” I murmured, slowly rolling Kiera back onto her blanket.
“Sure it isn’t,” he muttered, combing his fingers through his dirty beard. “I need a fucking bath.”
“You and me both, brother.”
Bereft of Kiera’s sleepy limbs, I rose unsteadily from my bedroll. Blood rushed back into numb places. My wounds throbbed, but I ignored them.
“Is it time? I asked.
Maz swallowed hard and nodded. My gaze lingered on Kiera for another moment before I followed Maz.
A chilly mountain breeze that smelled of snow nipped at my cheeks and tried to burrow under my torn clothes. But I’d be covered in sweat soon enough.
We walked past the ashen village to the riverbank. Last night, we’d moved as many of the dead as we could to the shore and wrapped them in shrouds. The bodies laid on the pebbles like odd pieces of cargo, ready for loading.
Jek, along with other Dags, including Sigrid and Yarina, beached the longboats we’d salvaged.
Silently, we placed the bodies into the boats.
I tried to steel my heart against the sensation, but carrying bodies was something I would never grow used to. Despite the number of times I’d done it.
When I scooped up a young boy who couldn’t have been much older than Ruru, something cracked in my chest, filling it with pain.
Fucking Four, watch over Ruru, because I can’t.
My arms trembled as I nestled the boy in the boat with the other bodies. But I went back for another. And another. Until the boats were full.
We had more bodies than boats, so we would have to make multiple trips.
Maz held Davka’s body in his arms as his sisters and I rowed our boat across the river to Arduen’s shore.
It was a short trip, but fatigue already crawled through my bones. Made worse when we began carrying the bodies up the mountain.
Teachers from centuries ago had carved a winding set of stone stairs into the mountain. They were still clear of snow from when the Teachers had harvested the fireseeds before the attack.
As I carried body after body up the stairs to lay them among the dimly glowing fireflowers, I thought about what the Teacher from Keldiket had told me last night.
He’d approached Nikella as she stuffed my stab wound with cloudbird leaves. She’d offered me the last of her hornleaf paste for the pain, but I told her to save it for Kiera. I was gritting my teeth and trying not to pass out when he spoke.
“T-Teacher Nikella?” He looked younger than my twenty-five years, only the first hint of dark stubble appearing on his small chin.
“Yes?” she grunted without looking up from her work.
“I’m Teacher Silas,” he said, his fists clenched in his torn, long-hooded robes. “I’m . . . I’m the last Teacher alive here. Other than you now,” he added hastily.
“You were here for the fireseed harvest?” I rasped, sweat pouring down my face.
He nodded. “My mentor, Teacher Vera, brought me here to aid the other Teachers for this holy event. We traveled from the Keldiket Temple in Hibraxos.”
My eyebrows pinched at the mention of Keldiket’s royal city. “That’s a long journey through some hostile territory.”
Silas dipped his head and ran a hand through his short, dark curls. “Yes, the desert can be unforgiving, and the hostile Dag clans of the west even more so, but Teacher Vera, she . . . she was a legend. She kept us safe.”
“May the gods find her soul,” I murmured the same time as Nikella did. Her eyes flicked to mine for a moment, a wordless emotion in their depths.
She’d been by my side since birth, but one day, I would lose her, too.
“Tell us what happened, Teacher Silas,” Nikella commanded through pinched lips as she started wrapping my leg.
As though he’d been itching to do just that, Silas launched into his story.
“We’ve been here several weeks. The Urzost Clan was very welcoming.
We each had our own room at the inn. Can you believe it?
After months of sleeping in tents and caves, it felt like such a luxury.
I shared a room with three others at the Temple, but we had the softest—”
“The attack, Teacher,” I interrupted, more gruffly than I meant to.
He flushed and shifted on his feet. “Right. Of course. Well, the Teachers here were more than happy to have help with the harvest. They were expecting delegates from all the clans to show up for their bounty over the next few days. And you know how things can get when these clans intermingle. Having Teachers to keep the peace was essential. But few had arrived yet. Which was just fine, as the Urzosts were quite fond of throwing parties every night with so much food and mead as I haven’t seen in years—”
“Why not?” I interrupted again. But, gods, the man didn’t seem to draw breath when he spoke. “Were they starving you in your Temple?”
Nikella gave me a sharp look, but I was curious. I hadn’t been to Keldiket in over a decade.
Silas’s eyes widened. “There’s been a terrible famine the last two years.
The waters refused to rise, keeping the crops from growing.
The emperor wishes to keep it a secret and hasn’t let many leave our borders.
But Teacher Vera convinced him to let us come here so that we might observe the next few holy days here in this sacred place.
That way, maybe the Holy Four would see fit to aid us. ”
I’d heard nothing of a famine. Nor had Nikella from the way she frowned at him, her fingers absentmindedly tying the knot on my bandage.
I stored that scrap of information away and returned to the matter at hand.
“The attack, Teacher Silas,” I said, leveling my sternest glare at him. “When did it start? Why was no one prepared?”
The young Teacher’s eyes widened. “Only an hour before you arrived. They must’ve killed the watchmen along the river who usually blow their horns when something is amiss. At least that’s what Teacher Vera said before . . . before one of those barrels hit her.”
I grimaced. Renwell had probably scouted the distress horn locations in advance. The village never stood a chance.
“It was awful,” Silas continued in a distant voice, staring at the destroyed square behind me. “There was fire everywhere. People screaming and trampling each other, trying to get out of the way. Then those . . . those demons invaded the village.”
“Shadow-Wolves,” I said grimly.
Silas nodded. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard that name. King Weylin’s guard, correct?”
My jaw clenched. Of course, the news hadn’t traveled this far north yet.
“King Weylin is dead,” Nikella said in the silence. “His High Enforcer has declared himself king now. He’s the one who attacked here.”
Silas’s mouth fell open. “Holy Four, I had no idea. Why would the Rellmirans want to kill so many innocent Dags and Teachers?”
I leaned forward with a snarl, my patience snapping. “That’s what we’re asking you.”
Silas looked taken aback, then his face cleared as if remembering something. “They did take all the fireseeds we’d harvested. Every last one.”