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“Do you have them often?” he asked softly, his eyes meeting mine.
I shrugged against the hard ground.
“Need to know,” I murmured. Riven bit his lip, holding back a retort. He nodded and didn’t ask the question again. I took a deep breath, the tightness in my chest beginning to loosen. When I breathed again, all I could smell was Riven.
“I thought you didn’t make promises?” he asked after my breathing had slowed to its regular rhythm. I froze. What had I said in my sleep?
“I don’t,” I whispered after several breaths. “Not anymore.”
“Because of the nightmares?” His brow furrowed as he wiped away the wetness on my cheek. I’d been crying.
I shook my head. “Because one broken promise haunting me is enough,” I said, refusing to meet his gaze. I rolled back onto the softness of my bedroll.
He didn’t ask any more questions. He just lay beside me until I drifted back to sleep. Just before that familiar blanket of nothingness crept over me, I felt the brush of something warm against my hand. We lay side by side like that, barely touching, until morning.
IWOKE TO THE SMELLof burning wood and cooked meat. Syrra was kneeling beside the fire, turning a fresh rabbit over on a spittle she’d fashioned from fallen branches. Her hands moved deftly as she spun the meat, stoked the fire, and finished brewing the tea all at once. Riven and Nikolai were nowhere to be found, but I had the impression that she’d sent them off.
“You can wake me,” I told her, packing the bedrolls. “I don’t mind doing my share of the work.”
“When I feel like you are not carrying your weight, I will let you know.” She smiled and there was a lightness in her eyes that had never been there before. At least not when she was looking at me.
“How long have you known Riven?” I asked. I’d been wondering about it since we left Aralinth, but I never felt like she would answer the question. Even now, I was worried she’d throw a burning stick at me.
“A long time,” she answered, turning the rabbit over so its cut belly was tickled by the flames. “We both trained in Myrelinth together. Spent many days cutting each other with knives and beating the other to a pulp.” Syrra grinned widely, her eyes glittering as she reveled in some distant memory.
“You’re the same age then?” I asked, crossing my brow. I knew Syrra and Riven could be the same age, Elves and Fae lived for thousands of years before they died. But Syrra had always seemed older somehow, more like Feron. Never in a rush and never rattled.
She studied me for a long while before she answered the question. “I am older,” she said simply.
“How much older?” I asked.
Syrra was distracted suddenly by the fire, grabbing her poker to settle it. I kept watching her.
“I am old enough that years pass like days,” she answered vaguely. I leaned back unable to comprehend the lifetimes she’d lived. My days as the Blade were long. Each minute serving the king pulled against me, stretching out the hours. If Syrra’s days were anything like that, I prayed I had enough Mortal blood in me that I would not be cursed with immortality.
“Did you always want to be a warrior?” I asked, changing the subject. My gaze trailed along the swirling scars carved into her arm. Every branch and leaf marked a mastery of skill or great feat.
Syrra traced the scars along her wrist, smiling at the curved lines of her branches. “I was born a fighter. As soon as I was old enough to hold a dagger, my parents could not keep me from practicing dawn until dusk. I was given an apprenticeship earlier than most.”
I’d never wanted to spar with someone so badly. I could spend days with Syrra having her teach me everything she knew. “And Riven?” I asked.
“He was a late bloomer,” she said with a wry smile.
“Who?” Nikolai called from across the field. Riven was beside him, they both carried rabbits.
“It is no concern of yours,” Syrra replied, flicking a red coal at him. Nikolai caught it in his hand without breaking her stare. I could hear the sizzle against his skin as he crushed it, but there was barely a mark when he opened his palm. I tilted my head, his Elvish lineage must be strong for his skin not to burn.
“We brought food, Syr.” Nikolai shook the rope in his hand that held two rabbits. “It’s only fair you tell us. It’s Riven, isn’t it? I thought we said we wouldn’t make fun of him for never kissing someone until he was twenty.”
Riven tried to smack the back of Nikolai’s head, but Nikolai ducked. Syrra just shook her head.
“Sorry, Riv,” Nikolai teased. “But obviously they couldn’t be talking about me.” He winked. Syrra rolled her eyes as she coaxed the flames. I coughed to hide my laugh.
“Twenty?” I repeated, giving Riven a sidelong glance. He was handsome; it was hard to believe that the Elverin of Aralinth had let him go so long without their company.
“I wasnineteen,” he corrected.
“By two hours,” Syrra mumbled into the pot of tea.
