Chapter Six Samira #2
On the adjacent log sat a boy who looked to be the runt of the bunch.
He wasn’t scrawny by any means, but whereas the others’ strength felt imposing, his seemed unassuming.
I guessed him to be about my queen’s age, and he bore a strong resemblance to the large woman.
I couldn’t see his tattoos, but I knew their blue lines must be curling somewhere under his thick clothes.
There was a girl on his other side, maybe a few years older than me, with eyes hard as steel. She glared at me from across the fire, directing every ounce of her sadness my way like a weapon. Like blame.
Velka cleared her throat, finally lifting her head. She looked at me, but her words were aimed at Keir. “You should feed her.”
My shoulders stiffened. Every instinct urged me not to eat anything they gave me. It could be poisoned—though I didn’t know why they’d want to kill me here instead of in Ashorah.
“She can eat tomorrow,” Keir responded, his voice rough with emotion.
I turned to him in surprise, but he didn’t even glance at me.
He held a twig in his hands and was mindlessly breaking it apart inch by inch, tossing the bits into the fire.
Gone was the laughing smirk. He was as somber as the rest of them.
Velka sighed. “She has to eat—”
The Kald who’d told me to sit growled, “Stepping into the Second role a little fast there, eh, Velka?”
She gave him a dark look. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“That’s what it sounds like.”
“Leave her alone, Bain,” said the large woman.
Bain retorted, “Excuse me for wanting just one night to grieve the poor bastard before someone starts using his rank—”
“I’m not using his rank,” Velka snapped. “It’s been a whole day and she hasn’t eaten. Do you want her to starve to death before we get there?”
“Yeah,” snorted the girl with hard eyes. “Because one day without food will kill her.”
In fact, it had been a lot longer than that since my last meal. A few days at least. But of course, I didn’t tell them that.
One of theirs had died, presumably during their raid on the palace. Gods forgive me, but the first thought that entered my mind was Good. They’d killed my people—had killed my king. It seemed only right that they should lose one of their own.
Velka’s lips thinned. “If Rade thinks we intentionally starved her—”
“That’s enough,” Keir said, voice sharp.
“She will eat. Tomorrow.” He turned to Bain.
The kohl around his eyes made him look frightening.
“And yes, temporarily, Velka is your Second. Sillia is your Third.” He gave a nod toward the massive woman.
“They’ve always outranked you, Bain. Alarik’s death doesn’t change that. So don’t be an ass.”
Alarik. The Kald who had stood beside Keir. Who’d ripped that guard’s throat out and spat it to the ground like a dog with a displeasing stick.
Once more I felt a dark sense of satisfaction.
Bain’s shoulders lowered. He didn’t say anything else. Keir’s word was final.
Silence descended again, and I could only blink at what I’d just witnessed.
I had expected blind revelry, a celebration that they’d managed to kidnap the Gods-Chosen.
I didn’t know exactly what the drink was in their cups, but I could smell the bitterness of it.
Not wine like my queen had but certainly some sort of ale.
I would’ve thought they’d be a drunken, laughing, rutting mess.
I had not expected grief.
But they had attacked one of the most well-protected structures on the continent. They couldn’t really have expected to break in, steal the Gods-Chosen, and get out unscathed.
The boy who looked related to the large woman—Sillia—lifted his cup to the empty seat. “To Alarik,” he said.
They all lifted their cups and intoned, “To Alarik.”
Eventually they started talking about plans for tomorrow, what time we would leave and where we would make camp. No one spoke to me, but they never stopped watching me out of the corners of their eyes.
So I watched them right back.
Cano was the name of the boy who had made the toast. He seemed to be beloved, like everyone’s little brother—and Sillia’s actual little brother. Half brother, from what I could gather. He was also at the bottom of their ranking system.
Dalla, a step above Cano, was the girl who shot me accusing glares across the fire.
Sillia didn’t speak much, though she listened attentively. Even when her thoughts appeared to be elsewhere, I could tell that her ears were always alert.
They were at once a cohesive unit and extremely fractured, probably due to Alarik’s death.
When even one maid was no longer able to work in the Gods-Chosen’s rooms, the lot of us were left scrambling to figure out how to fill the void.
The Kaldfolk’s dynamics reminded me a bit of that. A team set adrift.
Around us, Kaldfolk doused campfires as they readied for sleep. My captors left the fire crackling and reclined on the bare ground, no tents of their own to vanish into.
Bain shot Velka a look, but she studiously avoided it as she lay down beside Dalla.
Bain caught me watching. But instead of snapping or questioning me, the edges of his lips quirked up in a malicious grin that was far more frightening than anything he could have said. Ice flooded my veins.
“Bain.”
Bain’s gaze flicked to Keir for a second before he rolled his eyes and got comfortable like the others.
Keir turned to me. “We’ve still got a ways to go. If you don’t sleep, you’ll regret it.”
But my eyes darted back to Bain, whose chest was rising and falling rhythmically. I didn’t believe he was actually asleep.
Keir chuckled. “If any big bad monster’s going to eat you, it’ll be me. And tonight I’m not really craving urine-soaked queen.” He slid off the log to the ground and lounged back against the wood, arms crossed. When I still stared, he jostled my chain, pointed to the ground, and ordered, “Sleep.”
I dropped down instantly and snapped my eyes shut, curling into myself as tightly as I could.
Keir sighed softly. After a beat, I cracked one eye back open. Keir remained awake, gaze never straying from that empty seat Alarik was meant to occupy.
Not once did he close his eyes. I know because I didn’t, either.