“Like what?”
“Like I’m one ofthem.” He almost spits out the word. “We’re doing the best we can—”
“Are you?” My voice is shrill. I tear my eyes away, squeeze them closed, although the image of the gallows remains. “What exactly areyoudoing, Callan?”
This male. This man, who carried an entire ship across the Sea of Stars and almost killed himself in the process.
That man, I could respect. Perhaps it is unfair to expect any more.
And yet I do.
His eyes tighten.
My heart is so heavy inside my chest that I could drop to the floor for the weight of it. “Your brother lines dying people up and executes them for not wanting to be part of a military with no purpose. Do you do anything to stop it? What doanyof you actually do here to demonstrate to Hala that you are a people worthy of redemption?”
The gallows. The gluttony. The exhaustion in the faces around me. The sheer gall of their assumption that I would set foot on this desecrated ground and immediately dedicate myself to saving them when they seem to want to donothingto save themselves. When they only seem to repeat the behaviors that brought them so low.
“This is not the place.” His eyes flare bronze, his abrupt words pitched for my ears alone. “There are people watching us, Selene. Tread carefully.”
He steps past me, pausing to mutter words that burrow into my chest. But Callan doesn’t look at me. No smile lingers at the edges of his mouth. There is no game here. “I am truly sorry that you think so little of me.”
“I—”
“Cal!”
At the shout, his face changes. The shift is instant, the pinched brow smoothing out. A carefree smile pulls at his lips as he raises his hand, as if I’d imagined the disagreement between us.
As if he’s someone else entirely.
By the time I have steadied myself enough to turn, an unfamiliarinritus is slapping Callan on the back, grinning widely. “I’d thought we were done for. Expected you days ago.”
Callan laughs, slipping his hands into his pockets. “We were delayed, but you should know better by now. How’s your da doing? Any improvement?”
If I look closely, I can just about see the strain that lingers in his eyes. But he hides it from the people here. From this inritus, and his clear relief at Callan’s return.
The male looks to be in his late teens. Broad-shouldered and tall with a barely visible blond scruff that covers his jaw, the girth of a craftsman emphasized by the oil stains covering his hands. The smile slips. “Not so well. Matthias believes he should have gone months ago, truthfully. But you know him. He’s determined to hold on for as long as possible, no matter how much Esa and I tell him otherwise. Ellas has to be better than this place.”
Despite his bravado, he rubs a hand over his face. “Who is your companion?”
I decide to save Callan from the dull flush that crawls over his cheeks, and nod. “My name is Selene.”
His stare deepens, as does the furrow between his eyes. “Selene?”
Callan’s feet shift, just barely. Enough to position himself between us. “Something wrong, Ryn?”
But Ryn is staring, the color leached from his face. I take a step toward him. “Are you feeling unwell?”
He looks as though he might pass out at any moment. His swallow looks almost painful. “My father would like to meet you, Selene. I understand—I know you’re busy, but if you could take just a moment. We would very much appreciate it.”
I look to Callan, to see if he knows what this might be about. His shoulder lifts, but he offers no argument, no reason not to as he leaves the decision to me.
I study Ryn’s pale face. “I will come.”
Ryn nods jerkily. “Now?”
“Yes.” My eyes remain on his back as he turns. Callan falls into step beside him, the two of them conversing about dying crops and lichen and people I have no knowledge of. But there is something niggling in my mind. As though I have missed a step somewhere.
He leads us to a home I recognize. My feet slow to a stop as I stare at the small entrance. “Your father lives here?”
