“So we’re hiding from Damrienn and Olmdere alike? Great.” I changed the subject, touching a hand to the sticky ointment along my jaw. “The eyes of two kingdoms will be searching for us. I think we should stay with Galen den’ Mora.”
“No.”
“It’s a better cover than us traveling on our own,” I insisted. “The four of us look like what we are—Wolf warriors. Your father’s guards won’t be searching for a traveling group of musicians. They’ll probably be hunting our scents on all four paws and won’t be tracking wagon wheels. Sawyn wouldn’t suspect them either if she catches wind of your plans.”
“We risk revealing ourselves if we stay with them.” Grae twisted toward his pack and grabbed a cloth. “You saw Hector and Sadie. They have probably revealed to the whole camp that they’re Wolves by now.”
“They’ll learn. They can handle it,” I said, watching as he tipped his skin of water onto the cloth. “You just need to remind them. Why would they suspect we’re Wolves? Wolves don’t leave their packs.”
“No. They don’t.” Grae scrubbed the cloth down his blood-stained face. “They don’t abandon their mates, either, but I guess we’re breaking all the rules now, aren’t we, little fox?”
My cheeks burned.
“They aren’t going to help Sawyn,” I insisted. “Look at what just happened to them.”
“Exactly—look at what happened. We also risk endangering them by staying.” Grae stared at me as he scrubbed along his neck.
“I still think it’s a better idea to fade into a human troupe than to travel to Olmdere on our own.”
“And I still think it’s too big a risk.” Grae chucked the cloth onto his bag, his voice dropping an octave. “Listen . . . can we talk about us for a second?”
“There is no us.” The words came tumbling out of my mouth before I could second-guess them. “Not while my sister is lying on that tomb, forgotten in your father’s castle. I won’t forget her the way the world has forgotten me.”
Grae’s eyebrows knitted together. “I never forgot about you, little fox.” He stared at me for a long time and I could tell words were on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t speak them.
My tongue couldn’t even move.
He turned toward the tent flap. “I’m going to check on the others and make sure they haven’t revealed our secrets already.”
“Fine.”
Grae took one more step and paused, looking back over his shoulder at me. “You’re my best friend, Calla. You always have been.” His eyes scanned me up and down. “Would it really be so bad? To be mine?”
My eyes dropped to my split knuckles. The pain of his crestfallen face stung worse than any wound. Is that what he thought? That I didn’t want to be his mate? But maybe that was the case after all. Maybe I didn’t . . .
Gods, I’d messed this all up. I didn’t know how much of me was running from him and how much was running toward Olmdere, but this was Grae, my Grae, and he was mine if only I’d let him be.
“No,” I whispered, though he was already gone. “It wouldn’t.”
Nineteen
We gathered around the open fire, skewering the savory breads Ora made onto sticks and cooking them over the flames. It was a lean meal but better than the dried meat and hard cheese that the Wolves had brought with them. I sat between Hector and Sadie, staring into the flickering orange flames and holding my aching fingers out to the fire. The cold crept deeper into me as the sun fell below the horizon, my joints stiffening and needle pricks covering my nose and fingertips.
Grae tapped Sadie’s shoulder and she shifted down the log. He squeezed in beside me, our arms and thighs brushing together. Sadie passed him a mug of ginger tea.
“Thank you,” he murmured, placing his elbows onto his knees and leaning toward the fire, his shoulders too broad to fit sitting up.
I pondered that thank you—how easily it was uttered by him—and I wondered if those words weren’t actually for show. Maybe he really did speak to his soldiers this way. Perhaps even his kindness toward the humans wasn’t a ruse.
“To our saviors,” Ora said, lifting their mug in the air. “We are forever grateful you were there in Nesra’s Pass. May the Gods grant you all the blessings in this life that you so rightly deserve.”
“Hear, hear,” Malou said, lifting her mug.
I had always found that human prayer odd—that their Gods only granted the blessings that someone deserved. We had just killed seven people. We didn’t deserve any of the Gods’ blessings.