“Yes now. Someone needs to smack some sense into you before it’s too late.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Being around thatthinghas addled your mind, Resh. And it’s only been a fewdays.”
“She’s not something,”he snapped, his tone still restrained but on edge.
But sheissomething. Something I can’t hope to understand. Something Iwantto.
He hadn’t touched her. Not truly. Not yet. But thewanthad touched him. In his chest, his throat, his hands. A hunger braided with guilt. It would break him if he wasn’t careful.
Perhaps Zarrek is right. He’s always right.
Zarrek growled low in his throat. “You don’t see it. Or maybe you do. Maybe that’s the problem. You saw what it did with that flower. It wasn’tmagic.”
“You’re right aboutthatmuch,” Resh agreed.
Another moment.
Another flare.
Zarrek’s frustration bled into his runes—hissing, tangible. “And what happens when it’s fire? What happens when it bends stone or ruptures armor?”
Resh whirled around. “She’snota threat.”
“You know better.”
Resh closed his eyes and looked away, flames burning in his gut.
“This,” Zarrek spat, voice hard, “this is not how the Resh’Agar should be.”
He walked away without waiting for a response, leaving Resh to stare at his retreating back with a feeling he couldn’t describe. Zarrek had never turned his back on him like this before. Not once. Not even when they were wading through blood, and death, and gore to see another sunrise. Not even when…
His hand came up to touch the back of his neck. Right at his nape. His fingers grazed scar tissue, raised and knotted. He scratched.
You carried me through the worst, only to turn your back when I want to be better than what Krystopolis would make of us.
Again, he scratched, and something churned in his thoughts. A darker tone. A darker purpose. The kind he hadn’t had to suffer in two decades. A presence that was just a feeling, but always existed on the cusp of something more.
I need to sleep. It’s been too long. Even this body has limits.
But with Zarrek brooding over Auryn and the danger she posed to the Kelvasari, he couldn’t start the conversation. Not now. Not when so much was still uncertain.
Zarrek wouldn’t neglect duty over a personal disagreement.
Still, he scratched.
This might be more than that. Might run deeper.
He turned and stepped back inside his tent. After dropping a few more phiros stones into the portable fluxhearth near the cots, he laid down without taking off his armor. He was too exhausted to worry about a bath tonight.
Staring at the ceiling of the tent, he let his thoughts drift. The Moores were silent save for the wind, low and constant against the canvas. He closed his eyes, willing any kind of rest to come.
But it did not. It never did. Not anymore. The back of his neck itched. Why did it seem worse lately? No amount of scratching or distraction kept the itch at bay.
His eyes snapped open when he heard rustling. Linen and furs shuffling. Then a sound he was beginning to recognize. Soft feet padded over the rugs, so light they could have been an extension of the breeze.
And then she was there, standing over his cot, a blanket wrapped around her thin shoulders. Her silver eyes stared down at him.
