He left Naavah Ora to sit under a tree and read, and didn’t pay any attention to the others. Ash was old enough to know not to antagonise serious elves, and Levi—where did he stand with Levi? He hated that concerned look in Levi’s eyes when their eyes met, like Levi was worried Doran was about to do something stupid all the time. He’d hoped Levi would understand he was better off without Doran, and it seemed he had.
If only Levi had realised it sooner, before Doran had started to like him.
Doran crouched down by the stream and removed his shirt. Thanks to Naavah Ora, his injuries no longer hurt. Being chased by angry spirits made it difficult to remember that magic could do so much good, and yet Naavah Ora was a constant reminder. He ran his finger over the spot where his shoulder had been cut and examined his leg. The skin was smooth. There was no sign he’d ever been hurt. Even a few of his older scars, some several years old, had gone.
He splashed his face with water. Despite the heat, it was cold and refreshing.
“What was that?”
Doran spun around to look up into Levi’s accusing stare. Ginger’s arms were folded. He’d never seen Ginger this angry. He looked strict, in charge. Not at all like his Ginger. A bit of authority looked good on him.
Doran smiled, and looked away when he realised it.
“What was what?”
“You know what I mean. You telling Naavah Ora that she should open the gateway. Do you want the spirits to attack us?”
“It’s important that we know what’s going on, isn’t it? Unless you have a way into this magical realm of the angry dead, I don’t see how else we can get information.”
“You want to die.” Levi said it with so much conviction that Doran flinched. Was he right? Somehow, hearing it from Ginger hurt. Ancients. He was guilty for Rhys’s death, he knew he needed to atone for that somehow, and he loved danger, but he didn’t— “Doran, look at me.”
He got up, and his eyes met Levi’s. It was difficult to keep them there.
“You want to die,” Levi said again. His voice was softer this time, the hard undertones gone. “Well, I won’t let you.”
Doran felt a smile at the corner of his lips. He fought it. “That’s not your choice to make.”
Levi stepped closer. So close they nearly touched. He ran a gentle finger over the same spot Doran had inspected only moments ago.
“It could be.”
Levi turned around. For the first time in his life, Doran felt too dazed to speak. But if he didn’t say anything, Levi would walk away and beyond everything else Doran didn’t want that.
“Wait.” Levi stopped, but didn’t turn back to him. “I’ve been punishing myself, believing it’s the only way I can make it up to my brother, and then you come along. You with your incredible ginger hair and your kind eyes. After everything those cultists have done to you, you’ve got every right to be angry and bitter but you’re not, you—” This was frustrating. Why was this so difficult? “I don’t want to hurt, Levi. But it’s the only way I know to make up for what I’ve done.”
Finally, Levi turned around. He took a few steps closer to Doran, and stopped mere breaths away from his arms.
“When you close your eyes, what do you see?”
“Rhys.”
“And does he look angry with you? Does he look like he wants you to suffer?”
Doran was tempted to close his eyes to check, but he didn’t. He kept them locked with Levi’s.
“No. He looks like he always did when we were kids.”
“And how’s that?”
“Like he’s about to steal apples from the neighbour’s farm.”
Levi smiled, and it silenced something inside him. Something that had been aching and screaming and crying for years and now, finally, because Levi smiled at him, it was silent.
“Have any of your previous injuries ever changed that image of him? Has Rhys ever looked happy when you suffered?”
Ancients, could it be that easy? “No.” He wanted Levi to make it better. He didn’t want to hear those screams and the crying again for as long as he lived—and he was in no rush to see his life end. “But I don’t know if you can fix me, Ginger. I think I’m too broken for that.”
Levi closed that painful gap between them. “I told you, I know how to keep wounds from getting infected. I know how to right a broken bone.” How badly Doran wanted that to be enough. “I’ve never healed something like this before, but I will. I’ll help you heal.”
Levi stood so close to him that Doran couldn’t breathe. He felt Levi’s breath on his chest. Saw the glimmer in his green eyes, and the sun dance across his incredible hair.
Doran wanted to reach out and hold him, but before he could Levi stepped away.
“Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
I locked him inside my city, certain that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t. He was more intelligent than I gave him credit for. I could no longer end the threat he posed alone.
Chapter 51
Ash
Ash emptied the contents of his bag onto the ground. There wasn’t much left. He’d used his best surprises against that bandit and his group of merry idiots, but he had just enough left. Creating something from the leftovers would be a challenge, but it wasn’t impossible. If there was one thing he was good at, it was making an entrance. Or an exit, in most cases.
Kult had sent people to take him in. People who would have killed Naavah Ora and Doran and Levi. How long would it take the survivors to get back to Alt Võina? How long before Kult learned that Ash was still alive? He couldn’t waste time—but he had promised Naavah Ora that he’d help her too. He had many flaws, but he didn’t go back on his word.
He took out his notebook and pen and began to take notes. Kult would regret messing with him and his friends.
Ash wanted to be smart like Naavah Ora, or brave like Doran, or embrace life like Levi, but he wasn’t. He was Ashwin Okoye; nothing more, nothing less. But maybe that was all he needed to be.
His mother had hated him. She’d never said it out loud, but Ash had always been a disappointment to his family. He wasn’t smart enough or skilled enough to work them out of the poor town with a trade—she’d placed all her hopes in her son, envisioned such a bright future for him, and instead Ash was… Ash. Never good enough. Never smart enough. Never enough. His father had known it, too, and so, when his mother had taken her life, his father had blamed Ash.
Ash had left the only home he’d ever known that same night. If it made him uncomfortable and he was scared of his impulsive father, then it wasn’t much of a home. Home was safety and warmth and comfort. The small house where he’d grown up had been neither of those things.
He had felt smart that night because he was doing the right thing. He’d felt brave, leaving everything he had behind to make a new life for himself—a life where he and no one else decided his future. And he had embraced life too; the life that could be his, if he was smart enough and brave enough to seize it.
When Ash had packed his few belongings and left, his father had called him an ungrateful mongrel. Ash hadn’t visited Onwwe since. He had no idea what had become of his father, and he didn’t care either. He no longer needed a family. He was his own family.