The crack was quick and clean, and Bastian’s head wrenched sideways at an angle that made my stomach lurch. He collapsed, crumpling into the dirt.
Kairos gestured at the body. “Get rid of him.”
Two warriors dragged the corpse into the trees.
I couldn’t move. I’d witnessed Kairos kill many times. In the Square, he’d wipe his broadsword after every death. I used to think it was ritual, a monster cleaning his tools before the next victim.
Now I watched him flex his hand. Open. Close. Open again.
Suddenly, it hit me. The wiping had never been a ritual. No, it had been the only way he could stop the shaking.His fingers shook, a flicker of pain so raw it echoed in my ribs.
Gods, I wanted to take his face in my hands and ask if he was alright.
I stepped toward him.
His shoulders tensed, and mist swallowed him in a thick cloud. When it cleared, he was gone.
I waited, but he didn’t come back, so I crawled into my bedroll and fell into an uneasy sleep.
When I woke, an eerie dawn seeped over Wraithspine, staining the mountain in red light. The camp was already stirring—warriors packing gear, mairen being saddled, and Kairos stood in front of me, gripping the pommel of his sword. Did he sleep, or had he spent all night like this?
My poor beast.
I got up and drifted to his side. “Morning.”
He grunted.
I wrapped my arm around his. “Did you eat?”
More grunts.
“Kairos. You okay?”
He turned slightly. The knitted brows and the promise of violence coiled in his taut muscles should’ve made me sprint for the woods.
I squeezed his arm tighter. “You know, most people greet the day with actual words. Even something likehello.”
No grunt this time. Just brooding silence.
I poked at his bicep. “If you keep scowling, your face will freeze that way, and that’ll make for awkward lovemaking.”
His head jerked toward me. “Say that word again, and I’ll throw you over my shoulder, march you into those trees, and make every warrior here think I’ve lost my godsdamned mind.”
“I mean, if it’ll snap you out of this mood, go ahead.”
His glare darkened. “I’m in this mood because we’re riding toward a bastard who thinks you belong to him.”
I frowned, about to ask him what he expected me to do about that, but he was already turning away to disappear into the woods. His harsh voice rang in my ears as footsteps scraped behind me.
“Don’t take it personally,” Uther said. “He’s been like that all night.”
I turned. Uther stood with his arms crossed, the early light catching his dusky blue skin. Beside him, Elwen braided her hair, her slender fingers working quickly.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
Uther shrugged. “Growing pains.”
I stared at him. “He’s over a thousand years old.”
