I don’t respond.
Petrik emerges from the trees, dressed in pants and a tunic, like the rest of us. I watch my sister do a double take.
Turns out the scholar had been hiding quite the physique under those robes. You couldn’t really tell in the loose-fitting outfit Volanna had him in for the service, but in regular travel clothes that are just a hair too small for him?
He’s got a fair amount of lean muscle on him. His dark skin looks remarkable against a white tunic and black pants. The tunic parts in the front, showing a little V of skin.
“I don’t suppose you could have found anything bigger?” Petrik asks.
“Self-conscious about your ankles, are you?” Kellyn goads him.
Petrik’s boots cover his ankles, but I suspect the pants don’t go all the way down to his feet.
“You look great,” Temra tells him.
Petrik stops complaining.
That night, when I go to lie on one of the new bedrolls Kellyn purchased for us, I find a bouquet of wildflowers on my pillow.
I turn to Temra. “Did you—”
“Nope.” She smiles to herself.
* * *
I continue to cherish my nightly routine of sequestering myself away. If arriving in the capital will be anything like Thersa, I will get precious little alone time once we’re in another big city.
I’ve found a sturdy tree to lean against. A small brook provides a comfortable background noise. The air is full of the heady scent of large red flowers with pointed petals and protruding stamens.
I hold my hands out in front of me, stare at the faded calluses on my palms. I long to wrap my fingers around a hammer, to feel the reverberations of steel meeting steel pound up my arm. I miss the smell of smoke and the color of liquid metal.
Even as the self-pity sets in, the isolation refreshes my mind. It energizes me in a way nothing else does, not even sleep. Things seem less bleak. I can do this. We will survive. Temra and I can still have a good life. Maybe someday we won’t even need to look over our shoulders anymore. It will never be what it was before, but that doesn’t mean I’ll hate the rest of my life.
“Petrik says food is ready. He sent me to find you.”
Kellyn.
My whole body tenses at the sound of his voice.
“I find that hard to believe. Petrik would send Temra, not you.”
“All right. So maybe I volunteered.” He crosses his arms over his chest, leans against one of the trees, hooks one foot behind the other.
As though he means to stay and chat.
“I’ll be along in a moment,” I say.
He doesn’t move.
I look heavenward. “That was the polite way of me telling you to leave.”
“And I was politely ignoring it.” He moves closer, daring to crouch down right in front of where I sit.
“Go away. I don’t like you. I don’t want to see you.” I don’t care if I sound childish or petulant. I’m going for clarity.
“I thought we had a real connection for a moment. At the tavern. I want to … I want to get back to where we were. It was nice.”
“I’m not the one who ruined it,” I say, barely thinking over my words first. In a whisper, I add, “I will never forgive you for almost costing me her life.”
Kellyn stands back up in one fluid motion. “I—I made a grave mistake. I know that now. I’m not used to jumping into things, especially when there’s so much danger to consider.”
“You still demanded money from me before helping.”
“I did not. You threw money at me as I was standing up to join you. I didn’t actually ask for it.”
“And yet, you didn’t return it.”
“It’s not for me. I need it to—” He cuts himself off, a look of frustration making a line between his brow. He won’t finish whatever it is he started to say.
“I shouldn’t have expected anything more from a mercenary. You’re attached to no one. No place. Nothing. You only care about yourself. About how much money you have. It’s disgusting, and you should be ashamed of who you are.”
He looks down at the ground for a moment. “This is how you see me?”
“You haven’t shown me anything else.” Not entirely true, but I don’t take back the words.
A pause sits heavy in the air, and I look up in time to see Kellyn stagger backward. His hand flies to his cheek. “What the—” His jaw cracks in the other direction, as if something struck him.
He immediately takes a fighting stance, thrusting his arms out in front of him. His fingers close tightly into fists.