Ahvi yawns, his voice still thick with sleep as he says, “Hi, Raeve.”
“Hey, kid.” I sit, reaching over to tuck messy swathes of silver hair back from Ahvi’s face—still too pale for my liking. “You feeling okay?”
Beside him, the Fate Herder opens both eyes, looking at me from beneath heavy lids.
“Not you,” I clarify. “You’re on parchment-thin ice. Eat him and I’ll turn you into a floor rug. Or a taxidermy.”
Ahvi smiles. “I told you, he won’t hurt me.”
Lucky for him. I, on the other hand, might have to start sleeping with one eye open, if our past encounters are anything to go by.
Ahvi digs his fingers into the Fate Herder’s ribboned mane, and the beast closes his eyes, easing into a saw of purrs. “He’s a friend. I promise.”
I frown.
“How did you become friends?”
He glances at the silver tendrils tangled around my hands, bright in the dull light. Tendrils thatoverrodethe nullifying runes in Arkyn’s battle pit, as I assume one did in Bothaim.
Tendrils thatsaved us.
“It’ll make sense soon enough,” he whispers, his smile going from warm and bright to … something else. Melancholy, perhaps.
Something I don’t want to consider too deeply. Not when everything feels just a little bit steady.
“Okay.” I smooth my hand over his cheek. “I’m right through the doorway. Get some more sleep.”
He nods, cranks another yawn, then closes his eyes and immediately begins breathing long and deep. Healthy inhales, thanks to the purifying runes etched all over the walls, shimmering in the low light.
I dim the lantern, casting them in near darkness, then move through the arched doorway separating the two sleepsuites, into the larger space.
Two lanterns offer enough light for Pidra to do her job—the white-robed Fleshthread fussing about Kaan’s still unconscious form on the closest side of the massive pallet. Over its far side, Kyzari’s beneath the pale furs, also unconscious. Kaan’s wounds, visible; Kyzari’s …not.
Pidra presses a fresh bandage to Kaan’s chest, covering one of two wounds having to be mended in increments. Courtesy of weapons that penetrated more than just muscle and skin.
I lean against the doorframe and watch every movement she makes with cutting precision, picking the skin down the sides of my nails.
She looks over her shoulder at me through pale-green eyes, skin pinched at the corners, dark dents beneath them. Tribute to how hard she’s been working since …everything.
“How’s Ahvi?”
“He has a little more color.” I takeherpallor in, now almost gray to match the thick, wiry braid that falls all the way to her hips. “The purifying runes have helped a lot. Thank you. I’m not sure he would’ve had the energy to do them himself.”
A tight nod before she turns back to her task. “I’m almost done here. If you take a seat in the corner, I’ll work on your wounds—”
“Not urgent.” I cross my arms, hiding the shabby bandages I used to wrap the burns on my hands. “You need rest. I’m fine.”
A lie, of course. I’m not fine. But my biggest ailments … she can’t help with those. Of that, I’m certain.
Pidra sighs as she knots off the bind. “As you wish.” She tucks her tinctures into an ash-smeared satchel, begins gathering the bloody rags lumped beside the pallet.
“Leave them, Pidra. I’ll discard them.”
She frowns, though her eyes quickly soften. She offers a small smile and nods, perhaps aware of Sereme’s caustic vial.
Of how viciously it’s been used.
Arkyn may be dead, but I doubtallhis followers were spurred by fear or coercion. Some believed in him. Believed he was going to better the world.
