Whatever it is, I probably side with Rygun.
“Where are we?”
“The village of Beluhn,” Kaan murmurs against my ear, seeming to ignore his leering dragon as he loops the reins around one of Rygun’s spikes. “We’re safe here.”
Bit hasty.
“Howsafe, exactly? On a scale of ‘how many blades do I keep on my body’?”
A pause before he plants a kiss on the top of my head. “None, Moonbeam.”
I frown, further scanning our surroundings, aware of the other rider striding across the snow-dusted grass as Kaan kicks his leg over and grabs the ropes. He stills, teeth gritted, eyes squeezing shut. All the molten cracks around them smooth—
Disappear.
When he opens his eyes again, they look almost normal. Something I think little of until his grip falters.
He slips to the tune of Rygun’s snarl, my heart in my throat until his fists tighten around the ropes again. He shakes his head—seemingly to himself—then moves down at a much slower pace than usual, every shift of his body strained.
I swing my leg over and follow, checking past my shoulder in time to see Kaan embrace the stranger. I leap the final few feet and land in acrouch, pain ricocheting through my wounded thigh as I jog toward them. Slow when Kaan shifts back and turns to me.
“Raeve, this is Siharna Farjór. Chieftess of Beluhn.”
All the warmth slips from Siharna’s face.
She frowns, narrowed eyes sliding back and forth between myself and Kaan, coming to rest on me. “Your name isRaeve?”
“Correct.” I dip my head in greeting.
“I’ve only heard that name used twice before.” She looks at the clip in my ear, back to my eyes again. “What’s your middle name?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Last?”
“She doesn’t remember,” Kaan’s quick to answer, resting his hand on the Chieftess’s shoulder. He shakes his head the slightest amount.
Siharna’s eye twitches, lips pinched like she’s trying to swallow the rest of her interrogation. She clears her throat, dips her head, fist to her chest as she looks at me from beneath long lashes. “Well, Raeve. It’s an honor to host you in my village.”
I’m about to offer my slaughtering services as payment for her warm hospitality when a giggle comes to me on a twirl of wind.
I turn to see a youngling scamper down the stairs of the hutchkeeper’s hut, wearing a smile brighter than the sun. Reaching the flat, she dashes across the snow, yellow smock flicking around her ankles, brown curls bouncing. Seeming oblivious to the massive Sabersythe watching her every step.
A fae scrambles after her, puffing hard, her long gray hair bedraggled. As though the child dug her little fingers through the braid, yanking it in all directions.
Siharna sighs, then looks at Kaan, both hands resting on her pregnant belly. “I’m terribly sorry. I know you’re tired from your travels, but she’s had her nose pressed against the windowpane since you left. We had to drag a pallet beside it just so she’d get some sleep. Four phases old, and she refused to leave the hutchkeeper’s hut like a Creators-damnprotest.”
“Don’t apologize.” Kaan drops one knee to the ground and catches the youngling’s hurried approach, squeezing her against his chest—almost the perfect ruse for the fact that his leg actually gave way.
Almost.
“There is no greater gift to return to,” he murmurs, tucking her wild curls back from her face, his smile warm.
Genuine.
Soft words pass between them, and something flares behind my ribs at the sight. An uncomfortable ache that makes it hard to draw breath. Something that feels a lot like …like—
Sadness?
