Page 79 of A Sea of Fate and Starfire

Kye reached to scratch under the curls at the back of his neck. He gave me a lopsided smile. “Nothing.”

I leaned back in my saddle, coaxing Kolibri to a reluctant stop. If there’s one word a woman can’t let go, it’s that one. Nothing.

It was impossible to ignore. The word nothing was like a loose thread introduced to bored fingers. A picture hanging slightly too heavily on one side. Nothing begged a second glance, and a third, and possibly a fourth. Nothing never meant nothing. Nothing always meant something, and not just any something, something with a dark edge, something he knew I wouldn’t want to hear, something worth tucking out of sight and hoping I’d forget it.

Kye laughed softly, pulling his own horse to a halt a few paces ahead. He gazed back at me patiently. “Stop looking at me like that.” Mother moon. I schooled my face back to neutrality, and Kye’s mouth twitched. “It’s nothing, Leihani.”

I squeezed my thighs, prompting Kolibri back into motion. “If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be gazing back like that.”

He gnawed slowly at his lip. Somewhere in the distance beyond the modest houses and pale-green saplings, an axe struck rhythmically against a tree. Snow had begun to spin in the air, the flakes tiny and thin, dancing lonely against the wind. I waited, letting silence drift over us until Kye felt the need to fill it.

“I was raised for a sole purpose, Leihani,” he said slowly. “I wasn’t born to be a king, which is a relief to fucking everyone. I’d be a horrible king.” He gave a small, disparaging laugh, shuddering as if the words left a chill against his skin. “Tensions with Rivea have been growing since before I existed. And many of the men in Winterlight are friends. Sons of lords I grew up with. I always thought I’d fight alongside them. Lead them.”

I fought the urge to cross my arms, siphoning the meaning from his words, which felt like convincing water to separate from oil, to rise against gravity. “You’d rather be there?”

“No,” he sighed. He stopped again, waiting for me to halt Kolibri beside him. Then waited longer as Hadrian and Aren rode past us, eyebrows raised. Kye waved them ahead, delaying until they were out of earshot. “I know now the real fight is here. That Thaan arranged pieces of the war, shaping it so that Calder would believe that Rivea started the conflict, even if Emilius did cause the drought in the north that killed thousands of Riveans. I think”—he paused to twiddle his thumbs, a deep V creasing his forehead—“I think Thaan needed to keep Emilius busy, or maybe distracted, so he could use Calder to grow his own forces.”

“I’m not following,” I said, but in truth, I was several sentences behind. Stuck on his words like I’d walked into a puddle of deep mud. I was raised for a sole purpose. “Why is that important?”

“It’s important because I’m not sure if the conflict with Rivea is real. A tug-of-war over mines and mountains that started half a century ago, a famine that wasted fields and killed a generation.”

I frowned. “Both of those things began before Emilius”—he wrinkled his nose, and I hurried to move on—“took the throne.”

“Yes, but how old is Thaan? How long has he been here in Calder?” The last of our group passed us now, Selena and Pheolix raising their heads in our direction.

I smiled thinly at my aunt. “We’ll catch up.”

Kye was watching me, brows tilted forward, willing me to understand. “Every king in Calder that I’ve ever known of has gone mad.”

“Yes?” I said, and then I understood. Not mad. Incanted. Vacoused. Plagued with the loss of their mind and memories over and over, cursed to turn into something paranoid and suspicious and cruel the way Kye had been when he’d first brought me to Calder.

Kye watched the connection behind my gaze, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m hiding in the shadows of Ochire, hoping my General doesn’t see me like some weak deserter. My friends are in Winterlight, waiting to fight a war that was likely designed as a distraction. Why do I feel like a coward for abandoning them when I know where the real war lies?”

I thought the question rhetorical at first, a simple prompt for me to glean his perspective. But as the seconds slid past, rain began to fall through the wind and in our hair, I realized he was waiting, hoping for an answer.

“I think you know, deep down, that you are not a coward,” I said slowly. “I think that is a word you throw at yourself because you have been abandoned, and you spent your childhood convincing yourself that you would never leave the people you love, especially if you were leaving them in harm’s way. I think sometimes you see yourself as a tunnel, something empty and dark that people only pass through. Not worthy of any comfort or warmth that might make someone want to stay. It’s easy for me to see that because”—I smiled softly—“I was also a tunnel, before I met you.” A different kind of tunnel, one that expected people to leave, but a tunnel all the same.

“Mmm,” Kye hummed, leaning back into his saddle. He gazed amongst the windy pines, tall giants that stood like a mighty army of ancient guards. His attention always crept from me whenever I tried to convince him of something he wouldn’t let himself believe.

I swung gently off Kolibri’s saddle, his gaze lurching back at the sudden movement. Hand on his hip, I tugged him down as well, forcing him to look into my eyes. “I was alone too, left behind by everyone and everything, and I hated them for it. Rejected them for it. Convinced myself I didn’t need them, that the world would only ever hate me. That no one would ever be there for me, so why should I even try to be there for anyone else?

“But you,” I continued, twirling one of his dark golden tendrils around my index finger. “You did the opposite. You were left, and at some point you promised yourself you’d never leave others, to the point where you abandoned yourself again and again just to prove you were worthy.”

Raindrops carved small passages into the snow. Kye clicked his tongue softly in argument.

I ignored it. “You feel like a coward, Kye, because in the past, whenever you’ve come to a fork in the road, you’ve chosen others over yourself. Except this fork, fighting Rivea or fighting Thaan, doesn’t let you choose anyone over yourself. Because you’re not able to abandon yourself now, and that doesn’t feel safe.”

Kye swallowed. Glanced down the road to the fading line of horses. We’d promised Diara a short detour in Ochire, a visit just quick enough for her to see her parents. The Naiad portion of our company stood in a circle outside the manor doors, a distant Nori-shaped blur pacing back and forth. Kye turned back to look at me, thumb coasting across my ear as his long, graceful hand wrapped under my jaw, his skin cool against mine. “When did you start to read humans so well, Leihani?”

“Shut up,” I scolded. “Not all humans. Just you. You are worthy.”

He looked at me. Really looked at me, head barely tilted, warm brown eyes glittering as they shifted across my face. A drop of rain struck him over the cheek, splashing against my lashes, and I smiled at him. He smiled back. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

“That I’m right.” A cut along his wrist caught my attention. I reached for it, rotating his hand to see it better, a small but deep nick above his palm. “How did you do this?”

Kye bit down a small grin. “I’m pretty sure you did it last night with your teeth. Right before Diara barged in.”

Up the hill, someone laughed. We followed the sound with our eyes, a Pheolix-shaped figure shook out his clothes over the crest of the hill. He held his hand out to the dark-haired Naiad beside him, spinning her in a circle under the rainfall.