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“I’ve never known what it’s like to have a family.” Dessin shifts uncomfortably next to me, speaking with the same level of darkness yet in a quieter tone, like he’s really trying to connect. “Kane is better at this than I am. But—I am grateful to be a part of this one. And,”—he glances over at me and sighs—“the secrets are behind us. From now on, we’ll make decisions together.”
I sit in silence, stunned at Dessin’s response. He’s grumpy and only ever sentimental toward me. It’s a rare moment that he bonds with anyone else.
“You have our word,” I say. And I mean it. I’m grateful Niles had the nerve to stand up to us and put me in my place after all of the stress I put them through.
There’s a beat of silence. It’s comfortable. Heartwarming.
“AndI want a weapons belt like Dessin,” Niles adds.
“Absolutely not.” Warrose shoots him a look.
“Why not?”
“You’ll poke your own eye out.”
Nile shrugs like it was worth a try.
As we settle in to go to sleep, fireflies swarm the field, hovering over us, and blending in with the stars.
And DaiSzek doesn’t leave Niles’s side.
34. The Translator
Ruth
It starts as a whimper but normally grows in volume as the fire lights behind his eyes and roars in his ears.
But I normally catch it when it’s just a whimper. A small, breathy sound that escapes Niles’s throat. It’s a little warning that he’s moments away from groaning in agony. He has these nightmares almost every night. Flashbacks of the fire he jumped into in order to release DaiSzek from his cage. He once told me that in these nightmares, he doesn’t escape the fire. No matter how many times he rolls in the sand or jumps in the ocean. It eats through his flesh until he’s a charred corpse.
Now that I know that, I usually wake up when I hear that sound at night. I know that if he has his fit now, it will wake Skylenna, and nothing will wound her more than seeing the repercussions of his trauma.
I quickly reach into my pack, snatch the jar of burn cream, and wiggle closer to Niles, sleeping on his good side. I lift his tunic to give me access to his healing skin. The cream is thick like pudding, moss green, and smells like rosemary. My fingers curl as I scoop it out of the jar, making small circular motions over his warm, raised skin.
His whimpers grow quiet, shaping into deep breaths. I figured the nightmares might be triggered by the burning sensations that bleed into his unconscious mind. So applying the cream while he sleeps usually helps him have better dreams.
Sweet dreams, Niles.
A pair of cinnamon eyes reflect in the orange light of the fire, and I can’t help but flinch. The RottWeilen has nuzzled into Niles’s chest, keeping him warm as the temperature drops to a windless chill.
I smile down at him. Niles will never let any of us forget that the great beast has shown favor to him.
Wiping my hands of the cream, I lower his tunic, screw the jar closed, and lie back down until I’m facing the sea of stars and fireflies.
It’s funny. I used to think I wanted a life of luxury in Chandelier City. The dresses. The makeup. The glamorous balls. I truly believed Skylenna was living the dream life in Aurick’s mansion. But there was something else. Something foreign shifting under my skin. A realization that Skylenna was the first friend I’ve ever had that didn’t care for any of that. She had this enchanting glint in her eyes, the childlike wonder that wanted adventure, freedom, and friendship.
That night when we soaked in our tubs, drank wine, and ate like it was our last meal—I had a real conversation with her. The kind that didn’t include how long since we weighed ourselves. Or the boutiques that sold the prettiest gowns. It was deep and profound.
It was enough that I left behind the life I thought I wanted for nights under the stars, eating meat off a stick, making a bed out of dirt, leaves, and the clothes on my back.
“Your thoughts are very loud.”
I glance at Warrose. His arms are crossed over his bulky chest, and his eyes are closed like he’s still sleeping.
“Feel free to sleep in the forest where they won’t bother you,” I grumble.
The corners of his mouth tilt upward, not enough to be counted as a smile but as close as it gets for him.
“You’d get separation anxiety if I left your side for too long,” he murmurs, deep and husky.
