We had left Alka’s capital weeks ago, and still, every night, I went to his tent. I helped him with his curse. I helped him sleep. I fell asleep beside him. The routine had grown rote, second nature. Now we barely spoke while we did it. When nightfall came again, we awoke without a word to each other, and I returned to my own tent. I never brought it up. I knew he didn’t want to acknowledge it, and this was the time to build his trust in me.
I would wait, I decided, before I started to push. It would be better if he was the one to start talking first. For now, I knew that every night I went without asking questions he didn’t want to answer, he’d trust me a little bit more.
Tonight, he’d started to talk. And now I scolded myself for having the reaction I did.
“Vasai is the only natural next target,” he said. I could feel his stare—the curiosity in it. He was, I’d gathered, unexpectedly perceptive when he wanted to be. I wished he was a little less so.
He was right, of course. We’d traveled north at a quick pace. The Alkan territory was large—a substantial win for Atrius, as it provided an important corridor north, one that his army could use to travel for hundreds of miles. Over the last several weeks, Atrius had sent splinter groups of his army to secure some of the smaller cities in Alkan territory, but none of them would pose much of a threat with Aaves gone and Alka’s capital under Bloodborn control.
But now, we were reaching the edges of the land that Alka could help us traverse uncontested. Atrius would need to continue further north—continue to the Pythora King himself.
That meant crossing through Vasai.
“Of course.” I took another sip of water in an attempt to clear the lump in my throat. It didn’t work very well.
Vasai was only another city on a map. Nothing more.
“I expect it to be more of a challenge,” Atrius went on. “I hear that its warlord is a formidable man.”
“Tarkan.”
I didn’t mean to speak.
I rubbed my chest. It hurt fiercely. Maybe I’d eaten something too acidic at dinner. The vampires kept me well-fed, but since they didn’t quite know what humans ate, it was often with hilariously mismatched collections of random food. Lately there had been a lot of oranges.
“You’re familiar with him,” Atrius said.
“He’s a warlord. Everyone is familiar with him.” I gave Atrius a weak smile that, I hoped, was charming. “This is why you’re very lucky to have a local guide.”
He looked unconvinced. “Hm.” Then he rose. “Meet me two hours before dawn, later tonight. I need you to seer on this.”
I rubbed my chest again. It burned fiercely. Those damned oranges.
“Alright,” I choked out, standing.
He eyed me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re acting strange.” He paused, then added, “Stranger than usual.”
Weaver fucking damn him.
“Tell your men to stop feeding me buckets of oranges,” I snapped, striding to the door. “It’s bad for digestion. Maybe protein! Protein would be nice!”
I left him standing there and huffed my way over to my own tent before he could stop me.
Later that night, I was brought a beautifully roasted quail.
“He wants to see you after you’re done eating,” Erekkus told me.
The quail was delicious, but for some reason, every bite tasted like ash.
Atrius and I walked in silence beyond the boundaries of camp, hiking through sandy plains until we reached a little pond. We didn’t talk, save for Atrius asking, “Was the quail better than the oranges?” to which I replied, too shortly, “Yes.”
My chest was still burning though. Gods help me.
He didn’t say anything else after that. We drew the sigils together in silence. I caught the rabbit and did the bloodletting. I whispered prayers to the Weaver, and he leaned against a dead tree trunk and watched.
“Vasai,” he said, as I settled cross-legged in the sand. “I intend to move soon. Any information is—”
“I know.”
My voice was tight. I regretted my tone the minute the words left my lips. I didn’t know what was wrong with me tonight. Showing all kinds of things I shouldn’t.
The night was damp and foggy. The mist clung to my skin, indistinguishable from the faint sheen of sweat. The heat of the fire licked at the tip of my nose.
With eyesight, the flames would have been too bright to allow me to see the corpse of the rabbit, flesh melting, lick by lick, in the flames. But the threads allowed me to see it perfectly. The rabbit’s open eyes ran down its cheeks like cracked eggs.