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Runa shot me a quick look. “What about Darro? Can he come?”
Solin shook his head. “I’m sorry. He can’t join us for now, but it won’t take long.”
My heart hammered with warning.
Not to let her go.
Not to let Solin reveal whatever he was about to announce.
But Runa gave me an apologetic smile and stepped out of my reach. “I’m sorry, Darro, but will you be alright for just a little bit? I won’t be long, and then the rest of the night, we’ll talk.” Her voice lowered with promise. “Talk about what happened by the river and...your name. I’ll introduce you to your new home.”
Home?
She was my home.
In that hollow part of me, terror howled.
“Go.” I lowered my chin, memorising her lips, her eyes, her smile. “I’ll see you soon.”
Syn slotted herself beside Runa, and Zetas swallowed a growl as if she sensed my unexplainable sadness.
Why did it feel as if I’d lost her, even while she stood there, promising the night to me?
Our eyes remained tangled as Solin touched her elbow, making her jump. With a nervous smile, she sucked in a breath and turned away.
My heart skipped a painful beat.
With my teeth clenched, I followed in their wake.
I grabbed an armful of roasted meat from a platter placed perilously on a log, then stepped into the darkness where the flame’s light couldn’t touch.
Zetas padded silently beside me as we cut into the grasslands.
I didn’t go far.
I picked a spot where I had a perfect view of where Solin had taken her. They stood outside the largest lupic, deep in conversation with the chief’s mate.
I never took my eyes off her as I gave the majority of the fire-warmed meat to Zetas. The wolf curled her nose up at the overcooked flesh.
I took one mouthful and almost retched.
I was hungry, thirsty, exhausted, and terrified but I couldn’t eat.
Couldn’t blink.
Couldn’t breathe as the clan gathered, voices hushed, and all eyes landed on Runa.
Chapter Thirty-Five
. Runa .
I STOOD NEXT TO TIPTU as Solin and Tral kept their heads close together, whispering fervently in Firenese.
I couldn’t hear what they said, but their body language made prickles tiptoe over my skin.
They suddenly strode toward the chief’s lupic and disappeared inside.
Whatever was about to happen, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be a part of it.
Gritting my teeth, I searched the clan who took turns passing around food and drink. Everyone seemed light-hearted and relieved now their Fire Reader was awake.
Everyone but Darro.
I can’t see him.
Our hello had been too quick, too sudden. I needed to touch him, talk to him. Convince myself that he was okay after the second swing to the skull. I needed him to know that, just because I’d chosen to return to the Nhil while he was unconscious, didn’t mean he didn’t have a choice.
Darro had a home here now.
A home he didn’t want.
Solin had adopted me.
I’d been given a power I didn’t deserve.
I had permission to study with a skilled medicine woman and become the acolyte of a Spirit Master.
But all those gifts, far too many gifts, didn’t feel...right.
Not anymore.
“Not too much longer.” Tiptu grinned, her dark brown eyes so warm and welcoming. In her arms, she held her baby son, Bon, who’d fallen fast asleep, safe and round-bellied in his mother’s protective embrace. Naben, her daughter, stood behind her, quiet and pensive like usual, blending into the background, always watching but rarely speaking.
The silver in Tiptu’s thick braids glimmered orange from the fire as Nhil members kept piling wood and bison dung into the heart of it, encouraging one of the largest fires I’d ever seen, searing the sky with its violent yellow light.
I shook away my racing, tangled thoughts and smiled at her son. I looked up, catching her gaze. “W-Will I need to do anything?”
She shook her head. “No. The ceremony won’t take long.” Her smile faded, and the welcome in her eyes darkened with faint apprehension.
I stood a little awkwardly, my mind resuming its chaotic racing. I wanted to thank her for feeding Natim, even if Tral had ordered it. I wanted her to know just how much I appreciated and adored everyone, even if I drowned beneath confusion.
If Darro did choose to stay, would he eventually have a naming ceremony like this?
Would Solin scribe him with his namesake, the moth? His talent at filigree lines and intricate detail would make a stunning work of art on Darro’s earthen-smoky skin.
My eyes fell on the festivities before me again, searching for him.
I kept searching.
The camp was full of laughing faces, lilting voices, and the scents of decadent food. Everyone drank purple wine infused with relief and toasted with joy that their Fire Reader was still the master of their guidance, safe in the knowledge that they would continue to walk in prosperity thanks to the flames.
