There was no bite to his words, only truth. I’d loved Iseneld before I ever saw it, because Reyker had loved it and showed me all the reasons why. Being here only made me love it more, even as it tested me, exhausted me, tore me open with grief—grief that might make me reckless if I had no one to care for but myself. “I’d be lost without you, Quinlan.”
“We’ve been lost since we got here.”
“You know what I mean.” I scanned the fields around us for the best spot to make camp. “We need to start a fire and get you dry.”
We could afford to slow down, and an extra day of rest before reaching the Highlands would do us both good. Silently, I made a fire, set out our bedrolls, and unpacked the last of our food. I turned my head as Quinlan stripped, wringing out his wet clothes and lying them flat to dry before settling into the warm wool blankets. He fell asleep soon after.
I looked at him, the dark circles under his eyes, the sharp angles of his cheekbones. A warrior used to hearty meals and heavy training, he was losing weight faster than I was, growing weaker by the day. We both had wounds around our wrists where we’d been shackled to the Renegades’ longship, but while mine had scabbed over, Quinlan’s remained raw and red. Over the course of our travels, he’d twisted his ankle in a rockslide, burned his hands when he mistakenly tried to drink from a hot spring, and now he’d almost been swept away by a swollen stream.
A sudden realization made me shudder, the mystic’s prediction dragging its nails up my spine. Many forces seek to destroy him. She’d been talking about Reyker; Glasnith had tried to kill him—a trespasser who did not serve my island’s gods—in many different ways. Was Iseneld returning the favor, trying to kill Quinlan?
“I won’t let you,” I said.
I pulled a knife from its sheath. There were many ways to die in Iseneld, some easier to avoid than others. At least I could keep us from starving.
Unwilling to leave Quinlan, I didn’t go far, just to the edge of the stream, taking a net with me. I closed my eyes, seeking that spark of Veronis’s power in my blood, using it to call to the fish floating below the surface. They heard me, crowding together into a school, inching closer, but they darted away from the net I tried to toss over them.
I threw the net aside and called to the ducks clustered in the rocks and drifting along the calmer waters upstream. It was the same as the fish—they came out of curiosity, but they did not obey. The ducks were gone in a flap of feathers as soon as I started to raise my knife.
With a hiss of frustration, I screamed in my mind.
Come to me! Come, now!
I sent the call to every creature who could hear me, waiting. Waiting. But nothing listened. I wasn’t sure why I’d expected them to—if fish and birds eluded me, what hope was there that anything bigger would come?
Finally I stood up, brushing off snow, heading back to the fire.
A forlorn creature crouched at the bottom of a dune. A small wolf with white fur, its outline barely visible against the snow. Watching me.
Answering my call.
The wolf, lean and blue eyed with youth, cocked its head, creeping toward me. It barely came up to my knees, but its claws and fangs were sharp. I extended the hand that held the knife, and the wolf sniffed it, licking my fingers. Bowing its head willingly beside the blade in understanding.
“Why?” I whispered.
Sorrow swam in the creature’s eyes. Wolves traveled in packs, but this one was alone. Lost, or forced out, or the only one of its family still living.
I looked from the wolf, to Quinlan, and back. One life in exchange for another. There was no other choice.
I put the blade to the wolf’s throat. “Thank you.”
It was swift. I held the wolf as it twitched, its lovely white coat stained red. When it was over, I sliced the fur from its body, cut open its belly and pulled out its organs. I’d only done this once before, to a grouse I’d brought down with an arrow, because Garreth insisted it was a skill I might need one day. I was clumsy then, and I was clumsy now, my stomach roiling at the scent of blood. This creature had given its life for me, a willing sacrifice.
When I closed my eyes, I saw my mother’s face, smiling at me from beneath the waves.
“Lira?” Quinlan said softly as he kneeled beside me.
Only then did I realize I was shaking, a keening noise rattling my chest. Quinlan’s arms came around me, and I let them, keeping my bloodstained hands in my lap. “How many people have you killed?” I asked.
The question seemed to startle him. “I don’t know. Ten? Twenty? Some I wounded, and I have no idea if they lived.”
“How do you bear it?”
He pulled back to look into my eyes. “Because the only thing worse than bearing it is letting it eat you alive.”
I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “Who knew you were so wise?”
“I’m not. Garreth told me that once, and I stole it.”
Together, we finished preparing the wolf. With the meat sizzling over the fire, hunger erased any reluctance I might have otherwise felt. We ate our fill, silent, staring into the flames. Our bellies full, we lay down once more. I moved beside Quinlan, nestling close. For warmth, and for necessity—his presence was a barrier between me and the gnashing teeth inside my head.
I was half asleep, thinking out loud. “I don’t want to be ruined, Quinlan.”
He sighed. “Then you must let yourself laugh without guilt. And care about people. And fight for your own causes. If you hold too tightly to the dead, you’ll live halfway in the pyre.”
“Did you steal that from Garreth too?”
“Those bits of wisdom are all mine.” There was a long pause, and then he said, “You’ll love again, Lira. Not soon. Perhaps never as much. But you will.”
Maybe, I thought, and it was enough to soothe me into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I woke before Quinlan did, bleary-eyed. There was a woman sitting beside me.
I bolted upright, drawing my knife. “Who are you?”
Her hair was black, her eyes shiny gold like a pair of coins. She wore garments of thick fur the color of grass, the sort of coat no native animal of the Frozen Sun possessed.
The woman waved at my weapon. “There’s no need for that. I’m only here to warn you.”
“Quinlan,” I called. He should have woken at the sound of our voices. Something was wrong.
“Let him sleep,” the woman said. “The words I bear are for your ears, not his.”
“Did you do something to him?”
She smiled. She wasn’t pretty, but she was striking. I was drawn to her, frightened of her. She felt almost familiar, though I was certain I’d never seen her before. “He will wake when our discussion ends. When he does, you must leave this place. Turn around. Go back the way you came, and all will be well. You will find what you seek.”