Look away, Sol.
I pin my focus on the ground and exhale the nightmare away. Down, down, down the pain goes. Forever hidden. Forever burning a flame inside me.
At least, for now.
A blond-haired man with friendly brown eyes and a long scar on the left side of his face, addresses me. “Is your name really Sol?”
“It is.”
He takes a quick bite of food and studies me in the firelight. “Is that a common name for a Kyanite?”
“No.” I offer a half shrug. “But my father liked it.”
“You can’t say anything,” a young white-haired warrior with striking, pale blue eyes and illegible tattoos etched beneath them says, “your mother named you Praxis.”
Surprise ripples through me as I take in the white-haired man for a second time. He’s from the Carnelian tribe, a clan with powerful water magic. They all have white hair like his, and they have tattoos beneath their eyes.
I have heard of the ties between the Bloodstone and Carnelian, but this is the first time I have seen them sitting side-by-side.
Praxis steals the wheat bread clutched in the man’s hand. “And yours didn’t name you at all. The Seer did.”
“Hero.” Luc stands and jerks his hand to the left. “Let’s check on the horses.”
Hero? Truly? Was the Seer sloshed when she named him?
“Yes, Hero. Check the horses,” Praxis says with a grin.
The Carnelian shrugs and follows Luc to the horses corralled nearby.
Kassandra’s grandmother ambles to where we sit. She mumbles as she shuffles along, her words incoherent until she stops in front of us.
“Hector. Hector,” she cries out as she raises her fists to the darkening sky.
Kassandra rushes from her place near a kettle and grabs her grandmother’s hand. “I told you, Grandmother. Hector isn’t here.”
“No.” The old lady bats Kassandra’s hand away. “The Seer promised me the rising sun.”
For a second time, Kassandra reaches for her grandmother, and the old lady bats her away.
Gabriel lifts his goblet and takes a long drink, as if the old woman’s rants don’t bother him. Praxis and the other men mirror him, sipping their wine and ignoring the woman.
“No!” She skirts around her granddaughter and swings her hand toward us. “Hector is the rising sun, and he will bring magic back.”
Apprehension settles like hot embers against my back. The Bloodstone must never practice magic again.
Kassandra speaks gently as she takes her grandmother’s hand. “Yes, the Seer promised you many things, and Olah shall fulfill them.”
Firelight weaves around the soldiers as they resume talking. Maybe they’re used to Kassandra’s grandmother.
I settle against the log and cast a sideways glance at Gabriel. If I’m going to win his approval, I must connect with him. Getting him to speak to me will be the first step.
“Do you believe her?” I rest my hands against my thighs.
He takes another drink of wine and settles the goblet against his thigh. “Do I believe what?”
“In the rising sun. Hector? Magic?”
Hues of red and orange dance across Gabriel’s face as he stares at the fire. “No.”
