Yes, and you make it so easy.“No, I’m simply curious.”
He scoffs and continues leading me toward the camp. I give him a sideways glance.
After a moment of my stare, he frowns. “What?”
“Are you terrible at it?”
Dust kicks into the air as he comes to an abrupt stop and shoves his fingers over my mouth. “Shall I gag you, Sol? Is that what you want?”
My wet hair brushes against my cheeks as I shake my head no.
He removes his hand. “Then cease talking. You’re giving me a headache.”
“You give yourself a headache.”
His brow rises, and his jaw clenches.
“Does celibacy…” I begin as I remember him telling me about his vow to not bed anyone, “…affect your ability to fight?”
I’m not sure why I keep poking at him. I just cannot go back to the silence like earlier. It was deafening. It allowed for thoughts of the past, and I’ll be damned if I think about the past anymore.
So, I keep poking at the bear. “Or do you take matters into your own hand?”
He pulls me close and speaks with his mouth near my ear. “If you keep talking like this, I will take you against the nearest tree.”
Alarm fires through me as I blink and jerk my face away. I cannot think of anything worse than him doing precisely that.
“Not so talkative now, are you?” He grabs my arm and resumes our trek.
As we return to the camp, I’m struck by how precarious my situation is. These men and women are all Bloodstone. Their flags sit proudly outside of their tents. Their broadswords rest on their hips, waiting to slay their enemies.
I glance at the edges of the camp, longing for freedom. I could use the Bloodstone’s magic against them, but I don’t know how to conjure it again. It had manifested when I panicked. Besides, I learned summers ago to not play with darkness. It always wins, and it always takes from you.
No. When I leave here, it will not be by usingtheirmagic. It will be something else. Something clever.
It has to be.
Two men stand guard, Cenric and Hero. I eye Hero, the Carnelian, for several moments, taking in his white hair and the tattoos beneath his eyes. I have never met anyone from the Carnelian tribe who didn’t have those attributes.
I study Cenric next. His long black hair falls in front of his face as he leans against a tree, his posture relaxed, deceiving. He watches everything and everyone, his blue eyes as sharp as a hawk. A scar cuts above his left eyebrow—probably from a battle.
As I approach, his stare follows me, sizing me up and probably judging me. I tilt my chin, meeting his gaze head-on. Hector jerks my arm, pulling my attention from his cousin.
Even as I follow Hector to the fire, I assess the way they set up their camp and the number of men they put on guard.
These men will not be easy to escape. I have no doubt Hector selected them carefully.
He leads me to a log near a roaring fire. Warmth spreads over me as I sit and hold my bound hands toward the flames.
Hector issues orders to his men as they continue setting up their camp for the night. Even without his livery collar, he commands respect.
Why didn’t I notice how people revered and deferred to him before? It happened more than once, yet I never saw him as anything more than a commander.
Hector sits on a log opposite of me and cradles a terracotta bowl, but he doesn’t eat like the other men do. Instead, he stares into those flames, his jaw hard, his eyes unflinching.
Everly fetches soup and hands it to me.
“Thank you.”
