Something in me eases. It will be like bringing her memory withme across the continent. She would love that—she always wanted to travel far from home. A quiet reverence settles over me. I can do this for her.
My eyes flick to the side as Arlet walks ahead. Something tugs at me, an unseen thread drawing me toward her.
No. I correct myself. It isn’t a pull.
She is vulnerable. Prone to dying. I don’t want something as innocent as her swallowed by the depths of this cruel world.
“You think so intensely, it’s almost as if I can hear the words cross the distance between us,” Arlet says.
I stop dead in my tracks. Hear thoughts? That’s something that belongs to mates.
We aren’t mates.
“You don’t know anything,” I snap.
“Dioses míos,I didn’t expect you to shift moods faster than a storm wind over the Enduar Peaks, yet here we are—grumbling and brooding once more.”
“We should rest,” I quip, still a bit raw after thinking of Adra.
That does the trick to silence her, but now I berate myself for my actions. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am mercurial. She doesn’t know how to treat me because I’ve never given her a clear indication.
I went to that cursed festival for her. I brought her into my space the night before and then cast her out. We were there for each other when we suffered.
I all but kissed her in the salt room.
I close my eyes. The more I think about this, the more I’ll convince myself of things that do not matter. I need to let go. Let the past be what it is instead of begging for more.
Deep breaths.
In and out.
We will make it through this journey, and we will go home. If Liana believes the Mrath and her elves will have the answers, then they will. I just need to trust the path the god of stone has laid before my steps.
The first nightalone together is quiet. Once the camp is set up, the fire lit, and the food roasting, I finally look at Arlet.
She sits perched on a flat rock near the flames, her hands resting lightly on her lap. The flickering glow highlights the soft angles of her face, the warmth of the flames chasing away the last traces of the day’s chill.
Earlier, I had taken down a wolf—a clean kill. Arlet hadn’t flinched at the sight of the body or its blood when I dragged it back to camp. Instead, she had wordlessly helped me gather the right branches, lashing them together with a practiced efficiency to create a sturdy tripod over the fire.
Now, the rich scent of roasting meat curls into the air, mingling with the crackle of burning wood and the distant sounds of the chilly forest settling into night.
Tomorrow, we should be out of the snowy areas. The white blanket has already started to grow more patchy.
I shift my weight, stretching out a hand toward the warmth. “You’ve done this before,” I say, not really a question.
Arlet tilts her head, a small, knowing smile flickering across her lips. “I used to help Estela cook. In our section of the slave pens, our foreman let us forage and hunt for meager rations.”
I hum. “It is a good skill. During the war, I spent a lot of time in the over world,” my hand gestures around me, “and I picked up a few tricks as well. Life under the sun is no enchanted haven, but neither is it a cursed wasteland.”
She stands, and grabs a stick to help her turn to food. Her head turns to the side and says, “I’m sure you’ve seen more of the world that I will ever.”
“Most of what I have seen is the battlefield.” I furrow my brow. “I remember pausing to take in a sight or two while marching, and, believe it or not, I like trees, but my memories from those days are soaked in red. By the end of this journey, I may be a new man.”
She lets out a bright laugh which cuts off. “Wait, how long do you think it will take to heal me?”
Arlet goes rigid, shifting away from the food, and she pulls on her fingers, nervously.
“I can’t give you a specific time, I only know I will be with you.”