Unconsciously, my fingers lift to my hair.Like yours.
“Stop touching your hair and go to sleep,” he says in a knowing tone.
I blink and drop my hand. “I wasn’t.”
“I’d believe you more if you lied less.” Even though he speaks evenly, threads of bitterness edge his words.
Guilt constricts my throat as I shift away from him, lying flat to stare up at the ceiling. He’s right.
But I don’t know how to be honestandhide my secrets. Not that I needed to hide the truth about touching my hair. I just didn’t want him to know I cared what he thought.
Like yours.
I smile into the darkness and allow my eyes to drift shut.
Maybe there’s hope after all.
ChapterSeventeen
On the tenth morning after we began our journey, we ride into the Bloodstone city. Sunlight hobbles over the houses they chiseled into the mountainside. A sandstone path winds through the streets and cradles the stone shops in the center of Astarobane.
My heart thrums, and my skin warms as people follow us, cheering loudly and waving their hands. Quick breaths escape me as my fingers tighten around the reins. Bitterness grows like sharp thorns inside me, prodding at the ache Mother’s death left. I foster it for a moment, then shove it back into its cage. Later, I can accept its lumbering embrace to the hilt of my revenge.
Gabriel rides his gelding next to me. After the first day, I was no longer forced to share the same horse as him. Golden rays sprawl across his strong features, and a gentle breeze plays with his midnight hair.
Hero rides on the other side of Gabriel. The Bloodstone people point at the white-haired man as he rides past.
“…look. A Carnelian.”
The crowd follows us as we pass below a massive arch that is carved into the mountains and overlooks a valley. Their largest building sits nestled behind it—a marble palace stamped into the cliffs.
As we dismount, a procession of people greets us from the front of the palace. They part as a tall man with frigid eyes and hair as black as a raven walks toward us. He lifts his hand in greeting.
“Welcome to Astarobane.”
My first thought is that he is the man I seek. Roland. Upon a second glance, I realize he’s not the one. Roland has a scar near his mouth. This man doesn’t.
The crowd gathers near and raises their fists toward the sky. “Welcome, brave warriors,” they chant, their voices rising in harmony.
Heaviness assaults my limbs as I dismount along with the rest of our group. Gabriel turns and takes my hand. I flinch and swallow through the ache in my throat. His eyes narrow a fraction, and his fingers tighten, as if daring me to rip free.
I cannot.
As Olah is my witness, I cannot.
The wind picks up, whipping long strands of hair into my face as Gabriel guides me to the man who resembles Roland. The man’s attention flickers to me, and my chest squeezes as if he reached out and clutched me as tight as he could. As quickly as he met my gaze, he looks away.
I look beyond the man’s shoulders, expecting Roland, but nobody else approaches. Luc steps forward, and the man embraces him beneath the watchful stares of their people. The other three members of Luc’s council talk to the man next. Fondness glints in the man’s eyes as he greets each of the men like they’re heroes. Maybe they are to him.
The man I bound myself to steps forward last.
“Welcome to Astarobane, Gabriel,” the man says, his voice searing my skin. He sounds like Roland.
Gabriel tightens his fingers around mine. “Thank you.”
“It’s done,” the man says, his voice low enough I barely hear him.
Gabriel offers a curt nod.
