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“I’m not angry, Solin.” I brushed down my deerskin wrap. “I’m just...worried.”
“About where Darro is?”
I gritted my teeth and nodded.
Solin paused for a moment before murmuring, “He’s safe. Wherever he is, he’s alright. You’d sense if he was not.”
“Sense?” I frowned. “How?”
“You share a bond, Runa. One that couldn’t be broken with the blood bind with Aktor. Trust that you’ll know if he needs you.” He gave me a fatherly grimace. “He’ll return, I have no doubt. The flames don’t like it, but they know he’ll never leave you. Even when you’re mated to another.”
I balled my hands as Natim skipped to Solin and reared up to place his little hooves on Solin’s thigh.
When did he get big enough to reach the Fire Reader’s hip?
Transferring his boxes into one arm, Solin scratched Natim with an affectionate smile. Natim’s white tail wagged before the fawn grew bored and bounded into the sunshine.
“Pallen awaits.” Solin grabbed a handful of the lupic’s flap. “Go to her. Her teachings will soothe the churning of your mind.”
* * * * *
“No, child! By the fire, are you not listening?” Pallen’s patience toward me grew thin as she showed me how to separate a damaq leaf from its central stem, careful not to tear the fragile veins spiderwebbing outward. “Like this. See? You must not make the leaf bleed. Otherwise, the toxicity will fade and offer no strength for cooling fevers.”
I slouched where I sat cross-legged before her on a worn and patchy bison fur. “I’m sorry, Pallen.”
“Don’t apologise. Just do it right.” The weathered medicine woman sniffed.
Her apprentices, Meko and Jilaa, didn’t look over. Their dark russet and fire-red heads blended together as they slowly transformed humble herbs into potent medicines.
I envied how effortlessly their hands moved and the way they could tell what a flower was by its petals and a leaf by its smell. I wanted to reach that level of mastery, but somehow, whatever Pallen taught me ended up twisted and tangled in my head.
The river ran quietly beside the small glade and the willows had begun to restrict life to its fading leaves. Already, the ground was littered with shrivelled remains, hinting that even though the sun still shone, and the air remained warm, life was starting to slip into slumber that winter always brought.
And once autumn is over...
I gulped.
I would be forced to mate Aktor. To consummate. To trade my life for his.
“Again,” Pallen commanded, placing a new damaq leaf into my hands.
Just like the last time, and the time before that, my fingers tingled as I held the leaf. I could sense its force, feel its subtle existence. I worried the toxic sap would seep into my skin and poison me just like the damaq root had robbed me of breath during my first trance with Solin.
The longer I held the leaf, the less aware I was of my fingers—the tips turning numb.
“What are you waiting for?” Pallen huffed. “Tear the leaf.”
I swallowed and twisted the fragile leaf in my numb and fumbling fingers. A shimmer of green light haloed around the plucked plant, an aura that felt as real to me as the sunshine on my back.
“Stop being afraid, Runa.”
My head wrenched up.
“Enlist the aid of your spirit guardian.” Pallen pointed at the ash bee on my palm. Whatever salve Solin had rubbed into my marks had worked, and all three wounds were healed and no longer uncomfortable. My body had become a story of belongings and secrets—scribed with my new obligations to the Nhil, the fire, and a sunburst rune on my thigh that stubbornly remained a mystery.
The mark hadn’t stung or itched since Darro left.
Is his crescent moon silent too?
“You are guided by a creature that has its own kind of venom. The leaf is nothing compared to the sting of a bee. So stop being afraid and do what I showed you.” Pallen grabbed another leaf from the basket beside her, tearing it with skill and speed. Once the thick central vein was removed, she milked the sticky, cloudy substance into a shallow bowl and set the rest aside. “It has to be simmered over the flames. The leaf’s lifeforce, unlike the root, is not strong enough to combat a mortal’s at this early stage. It needs the fire’s help to become fierce, yet a bee’s sting can stop the heart of those susceptible to its venom.”
“Respectfully, medicine woman, my fingers are numb. That’s why I can’t seem to tear it cleanly. I feel the toxin working—”
“You’re imagining things.” Tapping my knuckles, she ordered, “Tear.”
Sucking in a breath, I tried to obey. Pinching the large, thick leaf with insensitive, bumbling fingers, I tore the tip from the central vein. Another flood of numbness worked up my hands, encircling my wrists as I worked slowly. The leaf seemed to hum. Its green aura flickered with warning as I continued to rip.
