Chapter 14
“Once the sails of death have been raised,
Anam demands burial in His namesake.
All must reunite with the Ground from which they once came
as payment for the time they spent above.”
- The Old Book
Isat on a rock at the edge of camp, overlooking the side of the hill and the twenty-three fresh piles of tilled dirt that lay atop it.
Five Veilers and over three times the number of Rebels were buried in the Ground. I don’t know why I mourned the loss of the fallen Veilers. I still hated them; that fact had not changed, yet I could not deny that I grieved their deaths all the same.
Behind me, the remaining Veilers tore down the tents and packed them away in their satchels. There was no breakfast this morning. My stomach twisted at the emptiness, but I ignored the discomfort. It was something I’d gotten used to doing in my few days on the road.
I pulled out the knife I’d won from Balor, and I ran my finger along the smooth side of it.
It was a decent knife, artisan-crafted. The oak hilt reminded me of home, while the blade reminded me just how far away from it I was.
I lifted my hand to my cheek and felt the scab that was forming, just another reminder of where I was and who surrounded me.
I clung to the knife as if keeping it near could keep me safe.
Doubt wrapped my mind, and I questioned whether I had done the right thing by warning Rowan.
He had watched me fight Balor—watched me struggle to breathe as he strangled me, and did nothing to stop it, even though he swore to protect me from him.
Maybe, and the thought was painful, Rowan had been lying about the Rebels as well.
If Rowan lied, then my warning wasn’t betrayal—it was just ignorance. I repeated that until I almost believed it. I had enough guilt weighing on my shoulders already. Knowing I might have stolen a fate where the culled could have been freed was too much to bear.
I was too lost in my daydreaming to hear the approaching footsteps behind me. It wasn’t until she stood right before me that my attention snapped to her presence.
Renata’s hands were on her hips, and she was gritting her teeth at the sight of me. Nothing out of the usual.
“What are you doing with a knife?”
“It’s mine.” I clutched it to my chest protectively.
“You’re a thief. Who did you steal it from?”
I caught myself contorting my face at her sharp accusation. I wouldn’t tolerate being called a thief. That allegation was an attack on my character, and I wasn’t risking that lie running rampant among the other culled.
“I won it,” I sneered.
“Bullshit. You’re too weak to win anything.”
“I am more than capable of fighting,” I growled.
Renata stepped toward me, eager to accept the challenge.
I had gotten lucky with Balor. Over the course of the morning, I replayed the previous night trying to figure out how it all happened, and it still made no sense.
I should never have gotten the upper hand with him.
He was far more skilled than I was in fighting.
Perhaps I bested him at hunting, but hand-to-hand combat was out of the question.
Someone or something had interfered.
Renata grew tense and retreated a step. She never lifted her eyes from me. Her hatred was thick and humid, radiating in the air over my skin. If stares could kill, then I would already be dead.
We both would.
A voice that I instantly recognized coughed. “What is going on here?”
“She has a weapon!” Renata exclaimed.
“Indeed, she does. She won it in a match,” Rowan articulated.
“With whom?!”
“Balor.”
“Yet he still breathes?” She didn’t seem convinced.
“It was not to the death. I made sure of that.”
“Clearly,” she murmured. “Aren’t you at all concerned that she will use it against us?”
“You know the rules, Renata. If you win a match, the weapon is yours by right. Even I cannot change our customs.”
“They won’t allow her to keep it.”
Her words piqued my interest. Who were they? More Veilers?
“Then I guess she will have to get better at concealing it.”
I bristled at the intended jab.
Renata dropped her arms and narrowed her eyes at me.
“You think winning one match makes you a warrior? Balor should’ve finished the job.”
She stormed back into the camp. I hadn’t shifted to look at Rowan, but I knew he still stood behind me. I felt his undeniable presence; it was domineering and all-consuming. Rowan stalked forward, footsteps heavy, until he was practically breathing down my neck. I refused to look at him.
“Can you stop trying to get into trouble?” he all but growled at me.
“Why do you suddenly care?”
“Is this about last night? About why I didn’t step in sooner?”
“He was killing me, and you stood by and did nothing!” I whipped my head toward him so fast that it made me slightly dizzy.
“I wouldn’t have let him kill you.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“That’s fine,” he shrugged.
“Why even let it get that far?” I pressed, irritated with his nonchalance.
I took my survival seriously.
“I wanted to know what you were capable of.”
I almost believed the lie.
He had said it so simply, like it was all a harmless experiment.
I was fuming, my nails biting deep into my knees as I squeezed.
I turned my gaze back to the hills to contain my rage.
My anger had taken on a life of its own ever since my capture from Oak Hollow.
I had allowed it to flourish to keep myself strong and motivated.
However, I found it much more difficult to control and rein in now.
I took several deep breaths in and out. The breath control helped some, but not as much as I needed it to.
“Go away.”
“I know you’re frustrated—” He tried to reach for my arm, but I shrank away. He dropped his hand to his side, and I watched him subtly clench his fist. It was a move I’m not sure he realized he made.
“That’s an understatement,” I muttered under my breath.
“I know you’re frustrated, but I would really appreciate it if you stopped getting into situations that require my intervention.”
“Last night I didn’t need it. I had it covered.”
That was a lie. Something miraculous had occurred, and if it hadn’t, then I would be dead.
“I know you did.” He paused, tone skeptical. “Lorena trapped some rabbits this morning. It’s not much, but even the smallest amount of sustenance can mean the difference between life and death. You need to eat, so come.”
My stomach must have heard his words, because it chose right then to speak. I reluctantly stood, and he followed me back to the camp.
This wasn’t the end of our conversation.