“Because killing him wouldn’t have saved us,” I whispered.
His eyes flicked to mine. Searching.
“Then what would?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, shaking my head.
But I believed in a fire that destroyed nothing. In truth that didn’t come at the end of a blade.
Maybe mercy couldn’t win a war.
But it could change one person.
Even if that person was me.
I scrambled to my feet. My hands still smelled of blood and herbs. My heart still ached with the weight of what I hadn’t said.
But I felt his eyes on my back as I walked away.
And I knew he was still bleeding in ways I couldn’t fix with stitches.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wynessa
We left the ruined watchtower after dawn, with blood on our boots and smoke still clinging to our cloaks. No one spoke of the fight, Riven, the light that had erupted from my hands, or the way I’d spared him. The only sounds were the shuffle of tired feet over brittle grass and the soft groan of leather shifting as wounds tightened.
Wildervale had vanished behind us. The dead trees gave way to rockier hills, then dry golden brush. Every step forward tasted like dust and salt. The wind changed first—no longer cold and heavy, but warmer, lighter, carrying the brine of the sea.
By midday, we found the river. It wasn’t wide, but the water ran clear over polished stones, the current tugging gently at the banks. We all knew we needed to wash away the smoke, the blood, the battle stink, especially with a city on the horizon.
“Boys that way, girls this way,” Jasira said, jerking her thumb upstream. “And no peeking.” Her eyes swept the group, lingering just long enough to make the last part pointed.
Gideon barked a laugh, deep and unexpected. Alaric clutched his chest in mock horror. “Gods forbid. The scandal.” Erindor didn’t say a word. But when Jasira smirked, I caught his gaze across the clearing. He looked away so fast you’d thinksomething had burned him; the faintest hint of color touched his cheekbones.
We waded into the water until it reached our waists, shivering as the cold bit at our skin. I ducked under, gasping as the river swept the grit and blood from my hair. The filth swirled away downstream, carried toward whatever lay ahead. My bruises throbbed as I scrubbed them gently, every sting feeling like something loosening inside me—like shedding the last pieces of the watchtower.
“You caught him looking,” Jasira murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.
I blinked at her. “What?”
She grinned wickedly. “When I made the peeking joke. He looked. One of those slow ones.”
Heat climbed into my cheeks. “You’re imagining things.”
“Mm. Sure. And I imagine you didn’t notice how his ears went pink either?”
I ducked my head, pretending to focus on scrubbing my arms. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m observant,” she said, wading further out, her voice lilting. “And if you’re smart, you’ll start noticing back.”
By the time we emerged, the wind had dried us off. We shook out our cloaks, brushed our tunics clean, and combed back our hair. My cloak was a mess: torn along the hem, the embroidery frayed, and a long rip down one side where Riven had grabbed me. I ran my fingers over the damage, a knot forming in my chest.
The boys approached from downstream and also cleaned up. And gods help me—with his wet hair slicked back, his tunic clinging to the cut of his shoulders, and a bead of water sliding down the line of his sculptured jaw, Erindor looked like a temptation I lacked the courage to confront.
My gaze lingered too long, tracing the way his belt sat low on his hips, the faint line of muscle disappearing beneath his shirt. When I realized what I was doing, I tore my eyes away so fast it almost hurt.
He noticed the cloak in my hands. “That’s done for.”
