Chapter Forty-Two Samira
FORTY-TWO SAMIRA
I was lying on a blanket on the floor of a cove, a smooth slab of rock in the mountain. The lake’s water didn’t ripple beside me, silent as ever, and a campfire blazed a few feet away. Beyond it, stars sparkled in the night sky, the wind whistling.
Blinking blearily, I tried to sit up—but stopped with a hiss when my leg gave an angry throb.
“Easy,” Rade warned from where he sat next to me, feeding the fire. He wore only a flimsy cotton shirt, and I realized it wasn’t a blanket I was lying on after all but his tunic. He smiled tiredly. “How do you feel?”
“Okay.” My leg tingled and pulsed, but as long as I didn’t move it too fast, that horrible pain was gone. “Did you heal me?”
“The bones only. Skin will take longer.”
The wounds on my knee, ankle, and shoulders were wrapped in bits of fabric, which Rade must’ve torn from one of the many layers he always wore. A sharp, minty smell reached my nose, and I spotted a bit of green peeking out from under the binds.
“Neem leaves,” Rade said in answer to the look on my face. “Helps numb and disinfect.”
“Oh.” With shaky arms, I pushed myself up, careful not to jostle my leg, gritting my teeth against the pain in my shoulders. “Thank you, Rade.”
He nodded and tossed another twig into the fire. “What happened, Amunet?”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. But he kept his gaze trained on the fire. “The Behemoth was faster than you said.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” He meant why hadn’t I, Amunet Khada, used my gods-given magic to save us. “Does it have anything to do with that scar?”
I turned to him sharply. “What?”
He nodded toward my chest. “I felt it at the first ceremony. It’s right over your heart. And it’s old. Did something happen to you? Did it affect your power?”
I pressed my hand over the X protectively.
When Keir had asked me something similar, I’d owed him an explanation.
I supposed I owed Rade the same, given what my misstep had cost us, but the answer planted itself stubbornly at the back of my throat and refused to come any farther.
“No,” I said softly. “I just haven’t gone through the Igniting yet. I tried to warn you.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, debating. But then, like he couldn’t help it, he said, “We’re relying on you, Amunet. You know that, right?” His brown eyes seared into mine. “All of us, all of Kaldfold. We’re relying on your power.”
It will break us. Guilt ate away at my stomach lining.
He blew out a sharp breath. “Sorry, I— That’s not fair of me to—” Rade fixed his face into another smile, though it didn’t fully reach his eyes. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
I returned his tight smile and wrapped my arms around myself. The campfire did nothing to chase away the chill in my bones.
Rade cleared his throat. “We’ll arrive back in Frostguard a little later than expected, but we should still have a full week to recover before the final ceremony.”
That picture from the ancient manuscript of the pair bleeding out flashed behind my lids.
“It’ll be easy,” Rade assured. “No gigantic monsters to fight—and no more venturing into the Shroud. The final ceremony is about struggling with inner demons. Though I suppose that might be scarier than a gigantic monster.” For the both of us.
I let out a long breath, sagging against the rock wall behind me. “And then it’ll be over.” All the lying, the ridiculous rituals, the guilt, the unending questions. It would all be over after that ceremony, and I would face Shaya in the After Realm.
“It’ll just be beginning,” Rade corrected.
“Right. Of course.”
He tilted his head to study me, the firelight flickering gently over his red runes. Then his eyes dipped to my neckline. “If you won’t tell me about that scar, can you at least tell me what happened to your shoulders? Those look fresh.”
Bain waiting for me in the dark, his claws sinking into my skin, blind terror.
“Amunet… they look like claws,” he said as if he could see the memory, too. Rade’s face darkened. “Tell me which of my people did it, and I will see to it that they are dealt with. You are under my protection.”
My eyes flicked up to the king, at the intensity in his eyes. Though I’d been taught to fear him and his people my entire life, I always felt safe with him. Even now, with an injured leg and the closest civilization more than three days away, I was glad for his comforting presence.
I—I wanted to tell him. Not just how I’d gotten hurt, but my name, my history. I wanted to tell him everything.
But as I ran my finger over the X again, I heard the warning as clearly as if Amunet had shouted it in my face. Tell him, and he’ll hunt her down. His intentions might be good, but Amunet’s power was hers by Shaya’s decree. Not his to take.
And I couldn’t tell him about Bain. If “dealing” with him meant Rade would have him killed, the Seven would have to face another loss—and I couldn’t do that to Velka.
Plus, reliving that night meant I’d have to think about how Keir had saved me.
How he’d wiped away my tears, how he’d stood close, his breath on my neck, heat at my back, and inhaled my scent.
How it had turned my insides to lava and made my pulse race.
How I’d nearly run just to see what he’d do when he caught me.
I had no desire to think of that.
Shoulders curling forward, I mumbled, “I’ll tell you after the final ceremony.” A ceremony I wouldn’t survive.
Some of the tension leaked out of Rade. “Deal.”
That guilt climbed up from my stomach to lodge itself in my throat. He was looking at me like I’d agreed to save his people all over again. The rage he’d feel when he found out…
“Tell me about your training,” he said, yanking me out of my spiraling thoughts.
“What?”
“It’s one of the few things I know about you—that you trained with a khopesh. Do you enjoy weapons training?”
“Oh, um, not particularly, no.”
“What do you enjoy?”
I looked into Rade’s face, our shoulders almost touching, and found myself answering as Samira. “Bread.”
A surprised laugh huffed out of him. “Bread?”
“Fresh bread,” I amended. “When it’s just out of the oven.
” I could practically see Chef Nena standing in the middle of that kitchen, kneading the dough.
The flour would puff up around her until she set to digging her fists into the pile of dough, wrestling it into submission.
It would suck up all the flour and was almost a living thing when she tossed it into the open-faced oven.
I’d watched Chef Nena do it many times while I’d waited with Tabia to bring my princess’s tray up to her room.
My voice was a distant whisper when I said, “When you crack it open, steam wafts up, straight to your nose, and that steam has a smell. Gods, a wonderful, homey smell. And then the taste—” I drew to a stop as I noticed Rade staring.
“Sorry, that was—that was probably not what you were—”
“No, please, go on.” He chuckled as he turned to face me more fully. “I’ve never heard anyone speak so passionately about bread.”
My face heated, and I glanced away shyly. “I don’t get to have it often, so…”
“Can’t you ask for it whenever you want?”
Yes, Amunet, you can. “It takes water to make bread,” I quickly covered.
“Right.” Rade stared at me a beat longer before he turned to the waterproof oiled bag sitting beside him and rummaged around.
“Now, it’s not fresh,” he warned. “In fact, it’s probably a bit stale—and made with salt water, so it’s…
” He pulled out a hunk of bread. Thick, instead of the flat disk I was used to.
My eyes widened all the same.
That last night in Khada Palace, I’d very nearly snatched it off the princess’s discarded plate. Just a nibble. That was all I’d wanted. And here… here was a piece so big I needed both hands to hold it.
“We also don’t make it often,” he said when I stared in stunned silence. “Only on special occasions. But it was left over from the Lunar Feast, so…”
Mama had made bread once—or at least, once that I could remember.
In my memory, there was no face to accompany the worn hands that held it out to me, but I knew she’d had a bright smile.
And Baba’s warm laugh had echoed around me as I dug into the bread with both hands, dipped it in whatever curry Mama had made that night.
Just hours before I’d been taken.
I’d never resented my life in Khada Palace while I was there. Or at least, not since the inclination was beaten out of me. I was lucky to serve the Gods-Chosen, to have access to water and a safe place to sleep.
But between my revelation in the Eye and this log of bread, the sound of Baba’s laugh fading into the whistling wind, I loathed the life I’d had. And yearned for the one that had been stolen from me.
“Sorry,” Rade said, eyes darting all over my face. “I thought it would be nice—”
“It is nice.” I took his hand and squeezed, even as a ridiculous tear trailed down my cheek. “Thank you.”
His smile was soft, sympathetic, and he nodded toward the bread. “Try it.”
I smiled and took a bite. Despite the protection of the bag, it was damp from our swim, the crust too chewy, the inside too spongy. “It’s delicious.”