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But he merely sighed in the sunshine and curled into a little leggy ball on my lap.
And that was where I stayed for most of the day, nibbling on dandelion leaves and a few pink and yellow flowers that I recognised from Nhil recipes. I forced myself not to focus on how intimate the conversation had been with Kiu after the stranger left me with the wolf mother yesterday.
How she’d shown me snippets of her life with the pack. Her previous litter. And the love and trust she had for her alpha.
Not that we’d talked.
We hadn’t used words.
We’d shared pieces of ourselves...a knowing of ourselves.
I liked that term.
Or at least, I had until Salak had bitten my shoulder.
My fingers trailed to where his fangs had held me. Only shallow indents remained. No cuts. He’d not bitten to hurt me, merely to inject the same fear into me that swam in him.
He knows who I am.
I dropped my hand, stroking Natim’s softness.
He knew who I was, but he hadn’t shared. He’d merely shown me what the fire had already said: that no matter what I did, who I lived with, or what path I followed, eventually love would corrupt me and life would shatter me, and I’d have to make an unforgivable choice.
I shivered, disturbing Natim from his nap.
Yawning, he scrambled out of my arms, his tiny hooves slipping on my new dress. Picking him up, I deposited him carefully onto the springy grass. With a bleat, he pranced off, returning to his mission to learn how to eat without having to bend his front legs, his little tail wagging in the sun.
Without him to distract me, my thoughts crowded once again.
I needed to go back.
A new day was here, and I ought to start the long walk back to the Nhil camp.
A pang barbed my chest at the thought of leaving the stranger.
I didn’t want to say goodbye.
He was healed by whatever magic he carried in his shadowy blood. His wounds were now scars, and his fevers were now vibrant health. He didn’t need me. Solin did. I needed to ask him why he wanted me as his acolyte. What the fire had said to him when it refused to tell me anything.
Raising my arm, I stared at my palm. My normal, mortal palm.
I willed the smallest spark to appear.
A small burst of sulphur followed by a lick of smoke, and then a spluttering flame flickered from my skin.
I froze, still unused to the tickly, tingling sensation of summoning the fire’s children. It took no effort. No more concentration than swallowing or breathing.
Grow.
And it did.
The flames magnified from a tiny light into a fireball spiralling in my palm. It hissed and smoked, singeing my skin with comforting heat.
“Get away from him.”
I jerked as the fire’s hiss from the trance exploded in my ears.
“You don’t belong where he belongs.”
I clamped my hands together, snuffing out the flames. It didn’t stop the fire from scolding me. “We told you to stay away from the one who walks in shadows.”
“How are you speaking to me without the trance? Without Solin to guide me or the damaq root, mushroom, and symbols?”
Smoke twined lazily through my fingers as the fire slithered in my thoughts. “We told you, you are more than what you seem. You have walked within us, just as we have walked within you. We are one.”
I froze. “You mean...you can speak to me without any sort of ceremony or preparation?”
“We do not speak to everyone. Not all can hear us.”
“So why can I?”
“Just as we speak to the Fire Reader, we speak to you. You should be honoured you are chosen. We do not share our presence lightly.”
“Why do you share it now?” I frowned at the river, watching sunshine bounce and dance on the surface.
“You need to heed our warning. Leave this place. Leave the man you forbiddingly touched. Leave. Before it’s too late.”
My chin arched with defiance. “Tell me what you’re keeping from me, then I might do what you ask.”
Natim raised his head, watching me with curiosity as I spoke to nothing and no one.
“As we refused last night, we refuse again. If you will not heed our messages, you are lost.”
Another wisp of smoke curled around my wrist before vanishing with black scorn.
The river’s babble grew louder, ripping me back into the present moment. The faintest note of music played in the water’s rippling journey.
I blinked at the welcoming wetness, my throat constricting with thirst.
The fire and Salak knew who I was.
Both refused to tell me.
Yet both warned me to run away from the very man I felt so at home with. Who touched my heart with every word we shared. Who chipped away at the forgottenness inside me.
I was sick of warnings. I was sick of fighting with myself over what I wanted and what I shouldn’t.
