Page 5 of On Burning Paths

I want to go to him. To drop down beside him and confirm with my hands what my eyes are telling me, that he's here and whole and going to be alright. But I don’t. I stay where I am, because I don't know how he'd respond if I did such a thing. We’re not close enough yet for me to know him that well.

He's wearing only pants, his chest bare in the dim light. I try not to look. I fail immediately. He's built with lean muscle and clean lines, nothing wasted, nothing soft. His abdomen is a study in temptation, and I drag my gaze firmly back to his face.

He's still smiling. Like he knows exactly what just happened.

My face goes warm. "You look better," I say, clearing my throat and running a hand over my braid. It's come half loose from days of fighting and sleeping on the ground.

Fenric nods. “I’m feeling better too. Thanks to both of you.”

My stomach growls, and we both hear it.

His smile widens. "Thorian caught some rabbits last night. We saved you some."

I glance at the fire, my stomach roaring to life at the mention of meat. Last night I was so consumed with Fenric's fever that I'd barely registered my own hunger. Now it’s gnawing at me.

Fenric nods toward the far side of the fire. "It’s on the rock there."

I find it exactly where he said, a portion of rabbit set on a flat stone close enough to the fire to still be warm. I eat without ceremony, licking the grease from my fingers, and I don't care even slightly how that looks.

Thorian ducks into the cave as I'm finishing, a makeshift spear in hand, freshly carved from the looks of it, the point stripped clean and sharp. He glances at the empty rock, then at me, and the hint of a smile crosses his face before he settles himself near the entrance and begins checking the weapon over with quiet focus.

Even though I’ve finished the rabbit, my stomach is still not entirely satisfied. A portion of rabbit after everything we've been through is barely enough to register. I can tell from the way Fenric keeps glancing between me and Thorian that he's thinking the same thing.

He pushes to his feet. "I'll forage. Get us something more."

"You just recovered," I say. "Sit down."

"I'm fine," he says, sounding confident, and not at all like a guy who almost died recently. "Besides, I know these plants. Berries, mushrooms, wild onions. I won't be long." He's already ducking out past Thorian into the morning light, and then he's gone.

Thorian hunkers down across from me, and I'm suddenly aware of the fact that he and I are alone. He’s a big man. A man so handsome that I’m sure he has a pack of ladies back home waiting for his return. I try to focus on something else. Something that a logical woman would focus on.

"He's doing better than I expected," I say, more to fill the quiet than anything else.

Thorian nods. "His color came back fast. Whatever that magic did to him, his body is burning through it." He pauses, eyes moving briefly to the entrance of the cave. "Berserkers recover quickly. It's part of what makes them what they are."

"And the others?" I ask. "Any sign of them?"

"Nothing." He says it with flat certainty. "The swamp took a lot out of everyone. We bought ourselves time."

I let out a slow breath. Time. I'll take it.

The quiet settles between us, not uncomfortable, just present. With the immediate emergency behind us and the next threat not yet visible on the horizon, it’s like we actually have permission to breathe. My mind wanders, unhelpfully, to Fenric kissing me after we crossed the swamp. His fingers sliding into my hair, his mouth warm and careful, like he was trying not to startle me. And then back to Thorian, after, and the press of his mouth. How it was entirely different. More certain. More… possessive.

My body shivers faintly at the memory of it.

Having multiple partners isn't unusual. It's arguably more common than not. In the cities, in the higher families, arrangements of all kinds are ordinary. Expected, even.

What is unusual is what my parents had.

My mother and father had been singular in their devotion to each other, and I had grown up thinking that was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed. The way he looked at her across a crowded room. The way she always seemed to know where he was without looking. It was a love so complete and specific it left no room for anyone else, not because they closed themselves off to the world, but because they were simply enough for each other.

I’ve always wanted that. Exactly that.

But now I think about Fenric reaching up to kiss me after we crossed the swamp, his fingers sliding into my hair, his mouth warm and tentative and sweet. And then Thorian, the press of his lips entirely different, more certain, more like kissing me was something he'd been waiting forever to do. I don't understand why that thought affects me so deeply. I barely know either of them, yet somehow I can still feel the warmth of their mouths, still remember the way each kiss made me feel in entirely different ways. And I don't know what to do with the fact that both of those things felt true. Felt right. Felt like something I would reach for again without hesitating.

I wonder what Lyra would say about this. My sister's never been in love, not really, but she's always had a way of seeing clearly through the things that make other people's vision go blurry. She's younger than me and has spent most of her life ill, and yet somehow that's made her wiser. She notices things. She asks the right questions. She's got a gift for sitting with you in the middle of difficult things and making them feel less impossible.

She'd probably laugh first. Then she'd tilt her head and ask me something that cut straight to the center of it, some quiet, precise question I hadn't thought to ask myself, and by the time she was done I'd know exactly what I felt and what I wanted to do about it.